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
“This is my friend Dani, Ma. We’re going to help you sober up,” Zach says. I hold up his mother’s head in my hands while Zach gently pours water into her mouth. “C’mon, we need you to drink.”
“What did she have?” I ask.
Zach shakes his head. “No idea.”
He wets her face with the rag while his mom mumbles incoherently. “I didn’t do nothing . . .”
My eyes slide down her arms to the needle spots near her veins.
“She’s been getting better, honest,” Zach insists. “She’s been holding down a job, going to meetings. But . . .” He wipes the corners of her mouth. “She relapses sometimes.”
Zach’s mom closes her eyes. We lift her onto the bed so she can sleep it off. When she’s quietly dozing, I ask Zach whether they’ve thought about rehab.
“You know how much rehab costs?” he balks at the suggestion. “We don’t have the kind of money for that.”
He tells me they have no family nearby, and as I look around the trailer, it’s bare, save for a few swimming medals and a poster of Michael Phelps on the wall.
We leave Zach’s mother in the trailer and go outside. I sit on the curb next to Zach, staring at the sky above us shifting and changing colors. Zach takes a rock and throws it on the ground. “I didn’t want you to see me like this . . . ,” he mutters. He looks so naked sitting there, his pain exposed, I want to wrap a blanket around him.
“So what’s going on?” he turns to me and asks.
Suddenly, I don’t feel like telling him. My issues seem so small compared to his.
Zach bumps his shoulder lightly against mine. “C’mon, out with it,” he says.
I look down at the dirt, stalling, not knowing where to begin. I don’t want to tell Zach that it started with him coming to see me at training, because then he won’t come see me at training. And I liked that.
“I’m just having a rough day. My debate coach was crazy harsh to me at training,” I say. Then quickly shake my head. “It’s nothing.”
“No, that’s real,” Zach says. “I get that. My coach can be an ass too. Once, he said, if I don’t swim faster, he’s going to kick my poor ass back to the trailer park.”
I turn to Zach. He said that? I tell him I’m sorry his coach is such a douche. Though at least with swimming, there’s a clear winner, unlike debate, where it’s up to the judge.
“I don’t know how Mr. Connelly can go from loving my speech to hating it, in the span of less than four hours. What happened? What’d I do?”
“I wouldn’t overanalyze it. Guys can be dicks sometimes.”