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
At lunch, Ming is talking excitedly about her new part-time gig at the host agency. They’re paying her $11 an hour, and while she doesn’t get to screen potential host families, she does get to call up parachutes and remind them to pay their rent, since she speaks Mandarin.
“Most of them are okay with their host families,” Ming says. “But I talked to two girls yesterday who wanted to switch.”
“Really? How come?”
“They wouldn’t say,” she says. “But they’re coming in to talk to me this weekend. I hope it’s nothing like what I have with Underwear Kevin.” Ming sighs. “If only I had my own place like Florence . . .”
At the mention of Florence’s place, I chew my lip. Ming still doesn’t know about Florence’s house party this weekend.
“You should see it, her house is incredible,” Ming continues. “She even said the other day if things ever got really bad with Kevin, maybe I could move into her place. . . .”
I don’t know about that. She can’t even invite Ming to her party.
“What is it?” Ming asks.
I look up at Ming. I so don’t want to tell her, don’t want to hurt her, but I also hate seeing my best friend get played. Florence never walks with her to class. Never sits next to her at lunch. Never so much as waves to her!
Gently I tell Ming about the party.
Ming doesn’t say anything for a long time. She reaches up and touches her necklace with her fingers. She has a gold necklace with a small violin on it that her mom gave her before she left. Whenever she’s nervous, she touches it. As she strokes the tiny violin, I look down. I should have just kept my big mouth shut.
“Whatever,” Ming says. “I wouldn’t have gone anyway. I had to practice for my solo for the spring concert.”
“Totally,” I say.
As Ming takes her tray and stands up, I peer at her face. She’s looking over at Florence, sitting with Claire and laughing. For a second Ming looks like she’s going to march over there, but then she puts her head down and walks over to empty her tray instead.
Later that afternoon in debate training, I shift my weight, leaning against the podium, as I squint into the light. Mr. Connelly has just cut me off and told me to start over for the third time. I don’t get it. He was fine with my speech in our private session. It’s the same speech. Word for word.
“I don’t know, it’s just not doing it for me,” he says, shaking his head. He turns to my teammates and asks them, “Is it working for you guys?”
“No!” Heather hollers, sitting up, her forehead glistening like a sugar-sprinkled ensaymada.
“It doesn’t feel authentic!” another one of my teammates, Gloria, calls out.