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
Florence leads us into her house. Her house is three times bigger than Dani’s, and there’s tequila, vodka, rum, wine, and champagne set up. A few parachutes have already arrived and are standing around the spacious living room.
“How’d you get all that?” I ask Florence.
“Online,” she says. “My mom left me her ID and when they come and deliver, I just tell them I’m her.”
“They can never tell Asians apart,” Jess chimes in, making herself a martini.
As she’s sipping her drink, she looks up and sees a familiar face. “Look, it’s Jay!” she exclaims. Jess waves to Jay, who is there with a bunch of his friends.
Jay smiles and walks over. “It’s you again,” he says to me. “From English class.”
“Not anymore,” Jess informs him. “Bae so smart, she just tested out!”
“Is that right?” Jay asks, his eyes twinkling. “Then we should celebrate!”
Twenty-Eight
Dani
Mr. Connelly looks up from his desk when I push the door open to his classroom.
“Oh, good, you’re here,” he says. “I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t show.”
I slide my backpack off my shoulder and take a seat in the front row. Of course I’d show. This is for Yale, for my future. I take out my cue cards and ask if we can get started, and Mr. Connelly, for the most part, keeps it professional. He listens attentively to my speech, giving me feedback and suggestions. There are no weird comments about “Junior” or digs at my focus level—thank goodness.
When we’re done, I sit down and unscrew my water bottle, thirsty from speaking nonstop for forty-five minutes.
Mr. Connelly walks over from his desk and slides into the seat next to mine. “Hey, I’m sorry again for what I said the other day,” he says. “I guess I can get a little overprotective.”
I muster a smile and say it’s okay.
His face brightens, and he claps his hands. “Let me make it up to you. There’s an Italian restaurant—”
“No,” I say. I think about Ming and what she said about establishing boundaries. She’s right. I have to do it, even if it’s with the guy I most admire.
Mr. Connelly looks down, hurt, and I vacuum in his disappointment.
“Hey, but maybe we can all have lunch as a team, before the tournament on Saturday,” I offer. I can’t believe I’m suggesting dining with Heather as an alternative.
Mr. Connelly nods as I reach for my backpack and get up out of the seat.
“I’ll see you at training later,” I say to him as I leave.