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
Damn, she’s good. I’ve heard her practicing in her room for the tournament this weekend. I was in awe. There are so many questions I want to ask her, like how did she learn to debate like that? How does she come up with such powerful lines, about individualism and diversity and justice? Does she really believe them?
I wish I had a chance to ask, but at dinner, Dani sits there and reads—reads—while I try to make conversation with her mom. I know she’s still mad over the bed. Had I known it was going to cause this much of a problem, I would have never let my mom buy the stupid mattress.
Jess says Americans are like pendulums. You never know which way they’ll swing. Dani’s mom, though, is consistently nice. She’s always complimenting me on my clothes and shoes. She’s noticed that I don’t really like to eat Filipino food, so she’s been making more Chinese food. I feel fortunate, especially compared to Florence, who orders all her food from Uber Eats, and Jess, who says her host family just puts out bread and cheap bologna slices and tells her to make a sandwich.
I walk to the cafeteria and make my way to our table. Florence, Jess, and Nancy are picking at their lunches—the American cafeteria food is so calorie-rich compared to back home. I tell them about testing out of English, but they’re too preoccupied staring at Jay, two tables down.
“I heard his family has a private plane,” Nancy says.
No way. “If his family has a private plane, why would he come here?” I ask. Flashy clothes are one thing, but private planes are a whole other level of wealth, one that usually comes with bodyguards and a lot of supervision.
“Some of my dad’s clients have private planes.” Florence shrugs. “They’re not that uncommon.”
“Maybe his family doesn’t like the prep schools,” Nancy says. “All those rules . . .” She shudders. “Plus, it’s so damn cold all the time in New England.”
The girls sigh at Jay. “It should be illegal to be that rich and that hot.”
“I bet he has a million girlfriends,” Nancy says.
“I would love to be another one of them,” Jess volunteers.
Florence rolls her eyes. “You guys, stop,” she says. “He’s just a guy.” Before she could finish the rest of her sentence, there’s an announcement on the school intercom.
“Attention, please. Will the student driving the gold Bentley please move your car out of the faculty parking space?” the loud voice boomed.
As we all look around the cafeteria, there’s a wave of snickers from the Asian American table across from ours. “Move your car!” one of them, a girl, yells from the table. Florence whispers the name of the girl—Emma Lau—whose locker is next to Florence’s.