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 giggled. I still can’t believe she’s messing around with her personal trainer.
She told me they started a little over a month ago. It’s purely physical. She would never “date” a white guy—her parents would kill her. And she swears it’s going to end soon, he’s going to UCSD in the fall.
“So he’s older?” I asked her. “Are you being safe?”
“Of course I’m being safe!” she insisted. “I put, like, five condoms on him!”
I shake my head. That crazy girl.
I’d be okay with staying in the class with Jess if we had someone else as our teacher. Ms. Jones for instance, our substitute, is amazing. She’s a warm and funny African American teacher with long braids, and she actually made us read. Unfortunately, she only taught us for one class. Mr. Harvey came back the next day, and it was back to playing categories.
Mrs. Mandalay’s assistant nods at me and tells me to go in. I walk inside Mrs. Mandalay’s office and take a seat.
“Claire, how are you adjusting?” Mrs. Mandalay asks, looking up from her laptop.
“Good,” I say. “I was hoping to talk to you about my English class.”
She puts down her black-rimmed reading glasses. “What about it?” she asks.
“I just . . . I’ve always enjoyed English, and I’d love to have a chance to take a class with”—I look down at my phone at the name of the teacher Dani had recommended—“Mr. Connelly.”
Mrs. Mandalay shakes her head, lips puckering.
“That’s not an option, I’m afraid. His classes are all full, and he only teaches honors,” she replies quickly.
I wonder, How does she know I won’t qualify for honors?
“Well, is there someone else who’s teaching English Three?” I ask. “How about Ms. Jones?”
“Ms. Jones is just a substitute,” she says. “And I have to warn you. English Three is tough. They’re reading F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby.”
“I love The Great Gatsby!” I tell her.
“The book? Not the movie with Leonardo DiCaprio,” she clarifies. The condescension in her voice makes me look down.
She taps a few keys on her computer. “The only teacher who has a spot available in her English Three class is Mrs. Wallace,” she tells me. “That is assuming you pass the test.”
I walk out of Mrs. Mandalay’s office with a date to take the English placement exam next Thursday at 9:00 a.m. As I head back to the cafeteria to tell Jess and the others, I pass by the auditorium and hear Dani’s voice inside. I stop and peer through the door, listening to her for a few minutes.