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
Nancy and Florence snap pictures, flooding their social media with posts I hope our parents will never see. Thank God Insta’s blocked in China. The music is so loud, I can feel my whole chest vibrating. The pic that Nancy and Florence just posted has Nancy sticking her butt way out and Florence looking like she’s grinding into it. The caption reads, #girlsnightout.
“Claire! Come on, get into this pic!” they shout. I shake my head shyly, but Nancy and Florence pull on my arm and start snapping shots. They post and tag and heart and caption to the delight of their five thousand followers.
When I sit back down, three white guys walk over to our table.
“You girls look hot tonight,” one of the guys says. “Where are you from?”
I open my mouth to say China, but Jess beats me to it.
“OC,” she says.
The blond guy, who looks like a surfer dude, announces he’s from the OC too. His friend laughs, unsatisfied with our answer, and asks again, “No, but where you really from?”
Jess looks confused. “My mother’s uterus?” she tells them.
The guys say, “All right, all right,” and chuckle. They ask if they can join us. Jess and Nancy quickly nod, eager to add some fresh arm candy to their Instas. Florence looks uneasy but scoots anyway to make room. I move down too, hands carefully holding my dress in place as I move. I regret not having gotten some double-sided tape. Jess pours me a vodka tonic while the blond surfer dude extends a hand.
“I’m Eric,” he yells over the music.
“Claire,” I say.
He compliments me on my dress, eyes lingering at my plunging neckline as he whispers, “You’re just my type, Claire.”
“What type is that?”
“Asian.”
“That’s not a type,” I inform him.
“Sure it is,” he says, smiling. He points to the dance floor. “You wanna dance?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m good.”
The dance floor is so packed with sweaty bodies, it looks like the Shanghai subway during rush hour.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun. You look like you could loosen up,” he says, reaching for my hand and trying to pull me up.
What’s that supposed to mean? “No,” I tell him, looking over at the girls. Nancy is busy flirting with his friends, Florence has her eyes glued to her phone, and Jess is busy pouring drinks.
“It’ll be fun,” he insists, pulling on my arm.
“What’s up?” Jess says, looking up at me from the drinks.
“I don’t want to dance with this idiot,” I say to her in Mandarin.
Eric releases my arm and whips out his phone. To my horror, he starts recording an Insta story. “Watch me persuade this Asian chick to dance,” he says into the camera. Jess grabs the phone from him and deletes the story.