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
I would have been humiliated if I’d ever been a helper, but my mom still talks about it with pride. How Madam was so important and Sir so successful. How they took her on trips and always stayed in the nicest hotels because “Madam never stayed anywhere less than five stars.” How little John and Bennie, the two boys she watched, were so adorable. She talks about them as though they were her own kids.
Some days, I think she prefers her fake family to her real one. I think a part of her regrets ever leaving them, coming here and having me. On those days, I sit with my knees to my chest on the rancid mattress in the spare bedroom, thinking of how I’m gonna prove it to her. I’m gonna prove to her that I can do it. I’m gonna make it in this world, even if all those around me are cheating.
“All right, you guys ready? Heather, you’re up first!” Mr. Connelly announces on Wednesday.
We’re practicing in the auditorium, and Heather smiles as she gets up and goes to the podium. I squeeze my hands into balls, hoping she won’t use the speech she bought off Coach Evans, that she’ll somehow come to her senses, but she delivers line by line what he fed her. As she recites all the glorious reasons why we should tax inheritance at 100 percent, I almost want to laugh, because I’m pretty sure if we did tax inheritance at 100 percent, she wouldn’t be able to afford the speech she’s just given.
“Da-amn!” Mr. Connelly exclaims, slapping the seat in front of him and jumping up when she’s done. “That was amazing, Heather!”
Heather beams.
I’m next. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. I walk to the podium and try my best to debate the merits, even though it’s extremely hard going up against a forty-year-old, two-time national-champion college debate coach masked as a teenager, which is effectively what Heather is.
“That was . . . good,” Mr. Connelly says. I feel his letdown as I lean against the podium and squint into the light. “But with a little more feeling next time?”
I nod, shifting my weight as I take in Heather’s delighted smile. When I get back to my seat, Mr. Connelly turns to me and asks, “Something wrong? You’re usually so on fire.”
Heather’s totally cheating, I want to say.
Instead, I shake my head and vow to do better next time.
At the end of practice, Mr. Connelly tallies up our scores and announces who the team captain will be at our next tournament in Irvine. “Heather!” he says. He pulls me aside. “I’m sorry, Dani. I really wanted it to be you. But scores are scores. And Heather’s are higher.”