“Thanks so much for coming,” she tells the guy, letting him in. “I just need you to draft my speech. We’re debating on ‘this house will tax inheritance at one hundred percent.’”
My jaw drops. Who is this guy? She wants him to draft her speech? That’s the motion we’re debating on Wednesday.
“No problem,” he says. “I just did that one with my team last week. We beat UCLA at El Camino.”
“Well, try to tone it down, Coach Evans.” She laughs as she guides him over to the couch and coffee table. “Remember, I’m only in high school.”
Oh my God. Is Heather buying speeches from a college debate coach?
For the next half hour, I listen as Coach Evans feeds Heather line by line, exactly what she needs to say to win the debate. As they’re wrapping up, Heather’s mom walks down the stairs with her wallet. She pays him $500 cash.
“There’s a bonus if she makes it to Snider,” she says. “And of course the ten thousand dollars we talked about for the recommendation letter.”
Coach Evans nods as he puts the money into the pocket of his faculty jacket. The whole time, I’m sitting eight feet away, completely invisible to them, scrubbing at their ivory wool carpet until my finger is rubbed raw and the burgundy stain seeps deep into my nails.
Seven
Claire
In the weeks leading up to my departure date, my dad is home every night, my parents reunited by the happy news that I’m leaving for America. They take me to the agent, this guy who grins at me with yellow jigsaw teeth. He tells me everything’s all set for my arrival, and my host family’s so excited. My parents picked the De La Cruzes, figuring I’d be more comfortable living with a Filipino family, since Tressy has been taking care of me all my life. They take me to the consulate to get my visa. To the health insurance broker to get me international health insurance. My father gives me a platinum American Express credit card with an outrageously high limit and tells me to use it in emergencies. My mother tells me to use it whenever.
My grandmother throws me a goodbye party, which all my aunts and uncles come to. Nai Nai congratulates me on being the first of her grandkids to be educated abroad, while my parents stand by proudly and my cousins roll their eyes. I glance down at my phone. Teddy and I still haven’t talked since the day at the park. I can’t believe it’s really over.
My girlfriends and I go to sing karaoke one last time while my mom runs around town doing last-minute shopping. She gets me a new backpack from MCM, makeup from Shu Uemura, beauty products from Dior, and a Moncler jacket, which I put back in the bag.
“Mom, I told you, it’s always warm in LA,” I say.
She takes the jacket, adds it to my mountain of clothes and says, “You never know.” Then she dumps about a pound of pollution masks from Taobao on my bed.
I pick up one of the masks, confused.
“What are these for?” I ask. There are black and gray masks of varying thickness. I take the thickest one and put it on. It makes an uuufff sound when I breath in, like something out of Star Wars. “We don’t even wear these here!”
My mom rolls her eyes. “That’s because the pollution here covers up the UV. But in America, it’s sunny all the time.” She points a finger at me. “I won’t have you coming back brown!”
I close my eyes, feeling the fury and frustration building inside. It brings me back to when I was twelve and my mom made me quit the swim team.
She had told me the coach said I didn’t have what it takes. Swimming was my passion. I loved the way the water cocooned me from the outside world. It was the one activity that I did for me. Tearfully, I went to say goodbye to my coach and thanked him for all the years of training. I apologized for having wasted so much of his time. That’s when I learned that he never said those words. My mother just didn’t want me to keep swimming because she was concerned I was gaining too much muscle.
I blew up at her when I got home, and she’d blamed it on my grandmother. But I was mad at my mom. When you’re always going along with a seventy-four-year-old madwoman, how are you any better than her?
I squeeze the pollution masks in my hand. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing I’m leaving. I can finally take back control of my life.
On the car ride to the airport, I stare at my WeChat. Still no message from Teddy. He must know I’m leaving today. My friends made such a big deal about it at school yesterday, getting me flowers and balloons. I tap on his name to compose a message.
Hey. Just want to say bye. I’m leaving today . . .
I pause and delete it.
“The driver’s picking you guys up at LAX,” my dad says as we arrive at Pudong International Airport. “His name is Tong. We use him all the time.”
My mom, who is going with me to LA, adds Tong’s contact into her phone as Patrick, our driver, pulls up to the curb. We get out, and Patrick starts unloading all our suitcases—we have so many, thank God we’re flying business. My dad jumps on a call.
When all the suitcases are loaded onto the cart, my dad gets off his call and we walk into the airport and check in. As the woman at the business-class counter hands us our boarding passes, I hear someone calling my name. I turn and see Teddy running toward us. He’s carrying roses and a card.
“Claire!” he exclaims.
He throws his arms around me, a messy embrace of flowers and hair. I wait for him to catch his breath while my parents stare on.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I acted like an idiot.”
They were the words I’d been waiting for, staring and willing them to appear on my phone. I smile at Teddy and kiss him, a long, wet kiss that makes my dad look away.
“It’s okay,” I say.
Teddy takes the flowers and presents them to me along with the card. I smile as I take a whiff.
“I’ll be waiting on Skype every night,” he says.
“Me too,” I promise.
I stand on my tiptoes and hug him once more as he whispers, “I love you,” in my ear. My dad walks over, gives Teddy an eyeful, and reminds me that it’s time to go. Reluctantly, I let go of Teddy’s hand. I give my dad a hug, eyes still glued to Teddy. My mom tugs me lightly, and I follow her, waving at Teddy and my dad as we walk through security.
When I look back, they are both gone.
On the plane, the tears come. My mom sits across the aisle and is too engrossed in a TV show to notice.
I make myself wait to open Teddy’s card, slathering cucumber cooling gel on my eyelids to minimize the puffiness from my tears. I drink myself to oblivion, downing glass after glass of champagne. The flight attendant neither notices nor cares.
When I absolutely can’t stand it any longer, I rip open the card. Teddy has written the words “DON’T FORGET ME” in all caps. Underneath, he has drawn three guys in color pencil. Two are American, one with blond hair and one with red hair. He made the American guys look ugly, with orange skin and pimples all over their face. As if that’s not enough, they’re both x-ed out. The third guy is circled. It’s a self-portrait of Teddy, a smiling Chinese guy with the words “I’m belong to Claire” in English tattooed on his arm.
I laugh out loud at his grammatically incorrect tattoo and miss him so much I want to press the emergency exit lever and jump out. I start ugly crying all over again.