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
“That’s what they call us. Kids from China who come to the US on our own, without our parents. We parachute in . . . get it?” she tells me. Her silky hair flows over her white top. A few white boys holler at us as we walk.
“Hey, girl, you wanna meet at Panda Express this weekend?”
“Ignore them,” Jess says, linking her arm with mine. She whispers in my ear, “American boys are all the same. They’re all horny as hell and cheap as fuck. They never pay for dinner. What they lack in wallet size they make up in catcalls.” She stops walking and smiles at me. “But they give the best shoulder rubs.”
I laugh. Sounds like she has some experience.
“How long have you been here?” I ask.
She tells me she’s been at the school for a little over two years. Like me, her parents were worried about the gaokao, so her mom made her come.
“I wouldn’t talk to the bitch for months,” she says. “But I’m glad I came. You should come out with us this weekend. We’re going clubbing in San Gabriel Valley!”
I don’t know. I’m not a big partier. Even in Shanghai, where people are a lot more relaxed about drinking, I wouldn’t go crazy. I like to have a glass of Clicquot once in a while, sure. But you won’t find me dancing on tables, downing Grey Goose and slurring my words. I’m confused though.
“Aren’t we underage here?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “There are ways. . . . Don’t worry about it.”
When I don’t say anything, Jess reaches out and touches my arm.
“Hey. We’re all stuck in this together. We might as well have fun.”
Jess pushes open the door to my English classroom, and the teacher, a white guy in his late forties in jeans and a wrinkled khaki shirt, turns to us.
“Welcome!” he says. “Or shall I say, huan ying.” He turns to his class, full of Chinese kids, and asks, “Did I say that right?”
Some parachutes nod at his Chinese, others barely look up, as Jess goes to her seat. The kids around her are playing with their phones. The guys in the back are pounding so hard on the keyboards of their MacBooks, I wonder if they’re gaming . . . in class?
“I’m Mr. Harvey,” the teacher says to me.
“Claire,” I say.
“Claire, that’s a pretty name,” he says. “Did you just make that up for yourself?”
My cheeks color. “No . . . I’ve had it since I was little,” I tell him. Jess stifles a laugh from her seat at Mr. Harvey’s reaction.
“Your English!” he exclaims. “Wow. It’s amazing!”