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
She asks me about debate. I tell her about Mr. Connelly’s offer to coach me.
“That’s amazing!”
“Yeah, but don’t you think it’s weird? Being coached on the side by my own coach?” I ask.
“Happens all the time in China,” she assures me. “But never for free. That part is bizarre.” We both think about that for a second.
“He must really believe in you,” she concludes.
I get off the phone with Ming and go to the kitchen to return a glass when I step on something hard in the hallway. I hear a crunch under my feet. I lift my foot and see a hardened contact lens on the bottom of my feet.
Ugh!
Did Claire seriously take her contacts out and just flick them on the floor? I feel like banging on her door—what the hell! But then I think about my mom and how much the $2,000 a month means to her, and I swallow. I kneel to the ground, pick up the hardened contact off the floor, and put it in the trash.
The next day, after my morning-period classes, I duck out early to find Mr. Connelly in his classroom. I have a free period and thought this might be a good time to do our extra training.
“That is, if you’re serious,” I say to him.
“Of course I’m serious,” he says with a smile. As luck would have it, he’s also free until lunch.
The next hour flies by. We run motions, everything from banning junk food to the merits of investing in space travel. Because none of my teammates are around to rebut my statements, he personally debates against me. He throws me rebuttal after rebuttal, arguments so airtight, they leave me scrambling. The whole time, I’m sitting there thinking how incredibly lucky I am to be trained solo by one of the greatest debaters of our time, ranked thirteenth internationally when he was just nineteen. That’s something not even Heather can brag about.
By the time we’re done, it’s a little after noon when we both collapse onto the chairs. Mr. Connelly tosses me a Gatorade.
“You want to grab a bite again?” he asks. “Off campus? C’mon, my treat.”
I politely decline, shaking my head. It’s already beyond generous that he’s training me privately. Plus last time I was half an hour late for concert band and the entire orchestra had to stop when I came in. Mr. Rufus was pissed.
I tell Mr. Connelly I have to meet up with someone at lunch.
“A boy?” he teases me.
I blush. “Just someone I’m tutoring,” I say.
“Well, I’m sure he’s a very lucky guy,” he says.
I get up from my seat. “Thank you again for the extra training.”