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 put my flute back in its case and wait around until all my classmates leave before returning the loaned flute back to its loaned-instruments cubby.
After school, I push open the door to debate training. As usual, Mr. Connelly greets me with a smile.
“Dani! How’s my Thunder Girl?” he asks.
I roll my eyes at the term. Ever since one of the judges at a recent tournament called my speech “thundering,” Mr. Connelly has been calling me that.
“You ready to go up against Heather today?”
“Yeah, Thunder Girl, you ready?” Heather jokes. I laugh and tell her I was born ready. My teammates, for the most part, are friendly. There’s an unspoken understanding that my situation is different from theirs, and so sometimes they don’t invite me to things, like if they’re all going to an expensive restaurant after a tournament to celebrate.
As he divides us into teams, Mr. Connelly reminds us that he’ll be looking closely at our performance in practice as well as in the next two tournaments to see who gets to go to Snider. As much as we’ve all been trying to avoid it, the simple math stares us in the face: there are ten of us, and only six get to go.
“So today when you debate, don’t hold back!” Mr. Connelly urges. He tells us the motion—“This house would eliminate tracking in schools”—and asks me to begin the debate.
I get up and walk to the front of the room, while my teammates pull out pieces of paper to scribble down responses to my opening statement.
“Close your eyes and picture your ideal audience,” Mr. Connelly says.
The ideal audience is a concept Mr. Connelly came up with. It basically means closing your eyes and picturing someone—could be a real person, could be fictional—who is patient, kind, thoughtful, smart, and who desperately wants to hear what you have to say. It’s kind of embarrassing, but my ideal person is Mr. Connelly. He’s been my ideal person ever since he pulled me aside freshman year and said to me, “You have a voice. Let me help you find it.”
I think about that first year, how he spotted my mom $20 because she was so behind on bills she couldn’t pay for a pair of Payless black pumps for me to wear to the tournament. And at the tournament, when he asked me why my parents didn’t come and I told him I don’t have a dad and my mom’s busy cleaning houses, he gave me a hug and said, “Well, you have me.” Yup, he’s my ideal person. I don’t even have to close my eyes.
I take a deep breath and smile at him.