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
On and on they go, gross messages that make me want to wash my eyes out and never turn my phone back on. I immediately close Insta—I am tempted to delete it altogether—and call Jess.
“Wei?” she answers, sounding like she’s half-asleep.
“Jess! I’m getting these sick disgusting DMs from rando creeps on my Insta!” I tell her.
Jess yawns. “Calm down,” she says. “Show me the messages.”
I tap back into Insta, screenshot the DMs, and send them to her. As I wait for her reply, I see that in the short span on our phone call, she’s already posted three pics of her lying in bed, talking to me on the phone, in her silk slip, dreamily looking into the cam, hashtag #aboutlastnight.
“This isn’t so bad. You should see the ones I get,” she says.
“How do I get them to unfollow me?” I ask.
“You don’t!” she snaps. “Look it’s not who follows you. All people care about is the number!”
For some reason, when Jess says this, it makes me think of my mom, and I miss her. But even my mom would draw the line at using slutty pics to attract followers. I scroll down on the tagged pics of me from last night and my toes curl with regret.
“Jess, I need you to delete the pics of me right now,” I say.
“No!” she exclaims. “I’m not doing that!”
My lungs fill with panic. “What do you mean you’re not doing that?” I ask. “I look like a cheap whore!” What if my parents see this? What if colleges?
“You look amazing,” Jess insists. “You rocked that dress.”
The phone shakes in my hand. “Jess, you’re not listening to me!” I all but scream. “I don’t want it out there!”
There’s a spell of silence, during which my stomach tightens into a knot as big as the mountain of dirty clothes sitting at my feet.
“Jess?” I ask.
I wait for her voice, and when it comes back on, it takes an entirely different tone.
“You know, you think you’re so above it all. Too good for English class, you gotta test out. Too precious for Instagram. Well, guess what? You’re not that special,” Jess yells. “I’ll do whatever the hell I want with my Insta. It’s my Insta.”
And just like that, she hangs up on me. I sit in bed, wondering what just happened. I stare at my phone. What should I do? Should I call her back? I want to call Teddy, but he’d be so upset if he saw my pics and the DMs from the creepy guys. For the first time it hits me, how utterly alone I am in this big foreign country.
Five minutes later, Jess calls me back. I wipe my eyes as I try to pull myself together and take the call.