Chapters (93)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Eighty-One
- Eighty-Two
- Eighty-Three
- Eighty-Four
- Eighty-Five
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Books by Kelly Yang
- Back Ad
- About the Publisher
“What are these for?” I ask. There are black and gray masks of varying thickness. I take the thickest one and put it on. It makes an uuufff sound when I breath in, like something out of Star Wars. “We don’t even wear these here!”
My mom rolls her eyes. “That’s because the pollution here covers up the UV. But in America, it’s sunny all the time.” She points a finger at me. “I won’t have you coming back brown!”
I close my eyes, feeling the fury and frustration building inside. It brings me back to when I was twelve and my mom made me quit the swim team.
She had told me the coach said I didn’t have what it takes. Swimming was my passion. I loved the way the water cocooned me from the outside world. It was the one activity that I did for me. Tearfully, I went to say goodbye to my coach and thanked him for all the years of training. I apologized for having wasted so much of his time. That’s when I learned that he never said those words. My mother just didn’t want me to keep swimming because she was concerned I was gaining too much muscle.
I blew up at her when I got home, and she’d blamed it on my grandmother. But I was mad at my mom. When you’re always going along with a seventy-four-year-old madwoman, how are you any better than her?
I squeeze the pollution masks in my hand. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing I’m leaving. I can finally take back control of my life.
On the car ride to the airport, I stare at my WeChat. Still no message from Teddy. He must know I’m leaving today. My friends made such a big deal about it at school yesterday, getting me flowers and balloons. I tap on his name to compose a message.
Hey. Just want to say bye. I’m leaving today . . .
I pause and delete it.
“The driver’s picking you guys up at LAX,” my dad says as we arrive at Pudong International Airport. “His name is Tong. We use him all the time.”
My mom, who is going with me to LA, adds Tong’s contact into her phone as Patrick, our driver, pulls up to the curb. We get out, and Patrick starts unloading all our suitcases—we have so many, thank God we’re flying business. My dad jumps on a call.
When all the suitcases are loaded onto the cart, my dad gets off his call and we walk into the airport and check in. As the woman at the business-class counter hands us our boarding passes, I hear someone calling my name. I turn and see Teddy running toward us. He’s carrying roses and a card.
“Claire!” he exclaims.