Parachutes Page 7

  Jess takes my paper and quickly scribbles, I love hot dogs. They are my favorite American food because they are long. I love long foods.

  “Done!” she announces.

  I look down in horror at what she wrote as she holds out her hand.

  “Now give me your phone. Let’s set up your Insta!” she squeals.

  For the next half hour, Jess helps me set up my Insta in class while I erase what she wrote about hot dogs and try to write something meaningful. I end up going with minestrone soup and how I like it because it represents the melting pot of American society. When I’m done, Jess glances over at my essay and says, “Damn. Mr. Harvey might actually have to put on his reading glasses.”

  “How do we get out of here?” I ask her.

  “What do you mean?” she says, handing me back my phone. She’s made my Insta handle @ClairrreLA and posted a picture of her smiling and me writing my essay in the background with the caption “smartbitches.”

  I point at Mr. Harvey snoring at his desk. “He’s sleeping!”

  Jess glances at him and shrugs. “Whatever, could be worse,” she says. “At least he’s not straight-up racist. I heard the teachers in the normal stream, they write, ‘Do not cheat’ in Chinese and put it up in their classroom!”

  I make a face. For real?

  The bell rings, jolting Mr. Harvey awake. He scrambles to get out of his chair to collect the papers before his students leave. “Great class, guys! I can’t wait to read these!” he exclaims.

  Jess hands him our essays as we walk out. In the hallway, two Chinese girls run up to Jess. Their bracelets clink and clang as they run.

  “Florence, Nancy, meet Claire,” Jess says. “She’s a new parachute.”

  They smile and compliment me on my backpack and my shoes. As we walk, they ask me about my host family.

  “They’re okay,” I say. “It’s this woman Maria De La Cruz and her daughter, Dani.”

  “You’re so lucky you don’t live with a guy,” Jess says. She makes a face. “My host dad leaves the toilet seat up all the time. And, like, he always misses! There’s pee everywhere!”

  “My host,” Nancy says of the ABC family she lives with, “she looks at me like I’m the shittiest thing to happen to Asian Americans since affirmative action.”

  “Wait, I thought we’re Asian Americans now,” I say.

  “No, we weren’t born here. That’s why it’s called ABC—American-born Chinese,” Nancy explains. “God forbid we take up one of their precious few seats in uni. . . .”

  “Or they’re mistaken as one of us,” Florence adds.

  Wow. I had no idea. I turn to Florence and ask her who she lives with. She says she lives alone in an apartment.

  “Florence’s dad is a hedge fund mogul,” Jess brags, rubbing her fingers together for money.

  “Stop,” Florence says, slightly embarrassed. “But, yeah, it’s nice.”

  As we’re walking, I notice all the parachutes are going one direction and the other kids a different one. It’s the weirdest thing. An entire lane of black hair headed one way, and every other color of hair the other.

  I point to the white kids as they walk past. “So they really don’t take classes with us?” I ask.

  “You sound so disappointed.” Jess giggles. She flashes me a wicked smile. “Someone likes some milk with her tea!”

  I blush hard. “No, no, no . . . that’s not what I meant,” I say. I try to explain I have a boyfriend. But no matter what I say, the girls won’t stop teasing me. They make kissing lips at me and all the American boys stare as they walk by.

  Twelve

  Dani

  When I get to work later that afternoon, I find Ming sitting outside Budget Maids on the curb. She’s in tears.

  “He took away my violin,” she says. “My host dad, he just grabbed it from me. I thought he was going to break it!”

  I dig into my backpack for tissues and hand her a pack as I sit down next to her. She blows hard on her nose.

  “I wasn’t even practicing loud,” she says. “I wasn’t!”

  I put my arm around her and try to calm her down. “I know,” I say. Our heads touch. “You’ve got to get out of there. You can come and stay at my place for a while.”

  Ming twists away from me. “I just want my violin back,” she says. “Please, Dani, help me get it back. It was a gift from my uncle!”

  I pull out my phone and start scrolling through my contacts. I pause when I get to the headmistress’s office, but Ming shakes her head.

  I try to reason with her. What he did is not okay. He can’t just take her violin, that’s her personal property!

  “There has to be another way,” she says. “I don’t want to go to the headmistress, okay?”

  I rack my brain trying to think. “How about Mr. Rufus then? He can call your host dad and ask him to explain where your violin is.” Having a school official call up Underwear Kevin might scare him, and Mr. Rufus will be extra motivated to help, since Ming’s his star violinist.

  Ming doesn’t say anything.

  “C’mon, we have to tell someone!” As I search up the direct number for Mr. Rufus, I tell her about the loaned-instruments program at school. It’ll tide her over until she gets her violin back. Ming nods, rubbing her eyes and resting her head on my shoulder. She gazes out at the strip mall plaza, and I tell her about the confrontation I’ve just had with Heather.

  “That’s so mean,” she says. “If it makes you feel any better, they call me foreign aid. And the parachutes—they call me an international mooch.”

  I put down my phone, so shocked to hear this. I thought all the parachutes would be so proud of her, I know I am!

  “Well, not all of them,” Ming sighs, tugging at the colorful braided bracelets on her wrists. “There is this one girl, Florence. She’s pretty nice.” Ming blushes. “And gorgeous,” she adds. “She asked me to give her violin lessons sometime. . . .”

  “Are you going to do it? Give her lessons?” I smile.

  “I dunno . . . ,” Ming says. “She’s from a totally different world.”

  I understand Ming’s hesitation. I tell Ming about having to clean up Claire’s vomit last night.

  Ming shakes her head. “That’s why I don’t want to ask her out . . . they’re so spoiled.”

  But maybe Florence is different. I shouldn’t let my experience with Claire color Ming’s perception of her new crush.

  “You should give her a chance,” I encourage Ming.

  “Maybe,” Ming says. “First I have to get my violin back.”

  I text her Mr. Rufus’s number as Rosa walks outside and shrieks at us to stop braiding our hair and get back to work.

  Thirteen

  Claire

  After school, my mom picks me up out front by the entrance. The driver gets out of the car and opens the door.

  “So how was it?” my mom asks, taking off her sunglasses.

  Different from my school in Shanghai, but interesting. I really liked my psychology class. In China, we don’t get to take psychology until we’re in college. The only class I didn’t like was Mr. Harvey’s. I don’t care what Jess said, I’m totally testing out of his class.

  “Did you make any friends?” my mom asks.

  I tell her about Jess, Florence, and Nancy. It was clear by lunch from the way they carried themselves and the way the other parachutes looked at them that they were the queen bees. My mother smiles, proud that I’ve so quickly established myself with the crème de la crème of the parachutes hierarchy.

  “And how about the guys?” she asks.

  I shrug. I don’t tell her about Jay. Knowing her, she’ll probably start stalking him on WeChat. Besides, I have Teddy.

  “They’re okay,” I say.

  My mom tells the driver to take us to the mall. I furrow my eyebrows. More shopping?

  “What?” My mother looks at me. “You don’t think I’m going to let you keep sleeping on that god-awful mattress, do you?”

/>   “It’s fine. Plus they cleaned it.”

  My mom takes a deep breath. “Look, I know I’m not the most hands-on mom in the world . . .”

  You think?

  “But what I lack in . . . handiness, I make up in spending power,” she says, patting her LV tote. She reaches for my school bag, peeling the heavy backpack off my shoulder, and I let her.

  I nestle into the crook of her arm. As we drive over to the mall, my mom fiddles with her phone. I ask if she’s texting Dad. My dad called to wish me luck this morning, but I was running late and couldn’t talk.

  “No, not with your dad.” My mom sighs. The driver glances at us through the rearview mirror. “He’s busy,” she explains, more to him than to me. “It’s not easy being the vice president of a big company. He’s got so many projects going on.”

  I wish she’d stop making excuses for him. But maybe it’s a face thing. In China, everything is about saving face. Maybe she’s just saying it to the driver, so he won’t look down on her.

  The car pulls into the mall parking lot, and my mom’s face brightens the way it always does whenever she’s within one hundred meters of a credit card machine. She reaches into her tote and pulls out a black pollution mask. As if that’s not enough, she puts a huge Balenciaga visor over it. She steps out of the car looking like a well-heeled Darth Vader.

  “Where’s your mask?” my mom asks, pointing at my unprotected face.

  Reluctantly, I fish mine out of my school bag. I haven’t worn it all day.

  “Mom, it looks silly here,” I protest.

  My mom gazes up at the blazing afternoon sun and barks from underneath the mask, “What’s silly is you coming back to China looking like a pretzel. Now put it on!”

  Teddy adjusts his laptop and stares into the screen as we Skype each other for the first time. The lighting is poor, and he moves the camera too close to his face, making his nose look like a garlic bulb.

  “So tell me about the other Chinese kids,” he says, yawning. It’s midnight his time, 9:00 a.m. my time on Saturday.

  “You’re tired. . . . Let’s do this another time,” I say.

  “No, no, no! I really want to know!” he insists. He opens his eyes wide and rubs his face to try to wake up.

  I start telling him about Jess and Florence when I hear Dani open her bedroom door. I get up and go out into the hallway. I have a question for her.

  “Hey, what English class are you taking?” I ask her.

  “AP English Literature,” she says. “Why?”

  I tell her I’m thinking of switching out of my class. I ask her who are the good English teachers.

  She thinks for a second. “Mr. Connelly. He’s my debate coach, but he also teaches English Two and English Three honors. But I think you might have to—”

  “Test into them, I know,” I say. I repeat the name a few times in my head Connelly, so I remember. “Are there any teachers I should avoid?” I ask.

  Something catches Dani’s eye. She peers into my room and points to my bed. “Is that a new bed?”

  “Yeah.” I smile. “Do you like it?”

  She puts a hand over her stomach like she’s having cramps. “What’d you do with the old bed?” she asks.

  “We threw it away,” I tell her. The delivery guys helped us chuck it. But now, judging by Dani’s expression, maybe that was a mistake?

  Dani calls out something to her mom in Tagalog, and Mrs. De La Cruz walks over. My mom follows her from the living room. I turn to my desk and see that Teddy has logged off.

  “Why didn’t you tell us you were going to throw away the old bed?” Dani asks me and my mom.

  My mom raises a sharp eyebrow at Dani’s tone while Mrs. De La Cruz puts a hand on Dani’s back, trying to calm her.

  “Dani, it’s okay!” she says.

  “No, it’s not okay, Mom!” Dani responds. “My dad got us that bed!”

  There’s a hitch in her voice as she says the words, and I suddenly realize how important it is to her. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I say. I run inside my room and grab my phone. “Maybe we can call them. Maybe they haven’t thrown it out yet!”

  As I google the number for Sealy, my mom reaches for her purse. She starts pulling out cash, and I’m so embarrassed, I pull her into my room and hiss, “Put it away,” in Mandarin. Can’t she see? This is not something her money can solve. The mattress is priceless.

  I dial the number for Sealy and explain the situation. We all crowd around my phone while the Sealy customer service rep puts me on hold. The whole time I’m saying, “I’m so sorry . . . I didn’t know” to Dani, who doesn’t say anything back, just stands there, trying to keep it together, staring at my new mattress like it doesn’t belong there. Like I don’t belong there.

  Finally, the rep comes back on, only to say, unfortunately, the delivery guys have already discarded the mattress at the dump.

  “Do you want me to go look for it?” I offer. “We can go to the dump.” I look over at my mom, who wrinkles her nose, a hard no.

  Dani’s mom says that won’t be necessary, and my mom breathes out an audible sigh of relief.

  “I will of course pay for the mattress,” my mom says, getting her wallet out. “How’s one thousand dollars?” She pulls out a thick wad of cash.

  Mrs. De La Cruz and Dani are silent. I don’t know if they’re offended by my mom’s offering or that she’s offering too little. Awkwardly, my mom fumbles with her wallet and pulls out another stack of hundreds, increasing the amount to $2,000.

  The cash lies cold on the table. “Now that that’s settled,” my mom says, turning to me, “I should be going back.”

  It takes me a minute to register. She’s leaving. Like leaving leaving.

  “But we just got here!” I say. It’s only been two days.

  “Yeah and now you’re all settled in. Your classes are sorted. You’ve got a new bed. You have your Amex. And Dani and Maria here are going to take excellent care of you,” she says, nodding at Dani and Mrs. De La Cruz standing next to her. I can’t believe she’s doing this right in front of them.

  She holds out her arms for a hug. “I gotta go back. Your dad’s in Shanghai all alone . . .” She doesn’t have to say it. We both know what that means. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

  She looks at me with wet brown eyes. There are so many things I want to say to her. Like I need more than a bed. I need more than an Amex. But what’s the use? I take a deep breath and walk into her open arms. My mom kisses my hair and says all the things: Take good care of yourself. Don’t eat too much fried American food. Take Uber, don’t walk around by yourself. And all I can do is nod.

  Later that day, after my mom leaves for the airport, I call Jess. We go to the South Coast Plaza in Costa Mesa.

  “I don’t know why they’re making you pay for their old bed. If it was so important to them, why’d they put it in your room?” Jess says, holding up an Alexander Wang lace camisole in front of a mirror.

  “They didn’t make us pay for it,” I say. “We wanted to.”

  Jess puts the top back and gives me a look. “You know they’re just taking advantage of you, right? I’ll bet the mattress wasn’t even special.” She walks toward the shoes section. “So why’d your mom leave so soon?”

  I groan, looking down at my phone to see if her flight’s taken off. She’s probably boarding. “To keep an eye on my dad,” I mutter. I put a hand to my mouth. I can’t believe I just said that to Jess. I barely know her.

  “You know you can hire someone for that,” Jess says, examining a pair of white crocodile-skin sandals.

  I’ve never talked about it with anyone, not even to my best friends. I was always too embarrassed. Jess puts the shoes down and takes a seat next to me on the plush white chairs. In a low voice, she tells me her father too had wandering eyes for years, but her mom hired an agency and they took care of it.

  “What do you mean ‘took care of it’?” I ask.

  “They broug
ht in a mistress dispeller,” she says, shrugging. “This young, hot guy to seduce my father’s mistress away.” She grins and taps my arm with her hand. “In China, there’s always a private solution.”

  Wow. That sounds so wicked and brilliant at the same time. Also I can’t believe her dad had a mistress too! I know it’s common in China, but to hear someone else go through the same experience, it warms me in places I didn’t even know were cold. I want to ask her what it was like for her and her mom, and now that her dad’s back, are things okay? But Jess is more interested in unpacking her wallet than her feelings.

  “C’mon, let’s go to Gucci,” she says, dumping all the stuff she’s picked out on the sales counter and pulling out her Amex.

  I can’t believe she’s buying so much. “Where do you even have space to put all that?” I ask. I can barely manage to squeeze all my clothes from China in my small closet. I’d taken a pic of the tiny closet and posted it this morning on my WeChat, to the horror of my girlfriends back home.

  “My mom rented me two rooms. One for me and one for all my crap,” she says.

  I laugh. “What?” I ask.

  “She can’t put me here and not let me shop!” she cries. “I told the bitch, ‘You want me gone? You better give me storage space.’”

  I crack up so hard, the other shoppers look at me. I stroll over to the swimsuit section while she pays. I reach out with my finger and touch the stretch fabric.

  “Hey, have you signed up for any extracurriculars?” I ask.

  Jess shakes her head, making a face, like, Ew, gross. Then she spins around and flashes me a naughty smile. “But I am hooking up with my trainer. Does that count?”

  Fourteen

  Dani

  Claire’s mom slid $6,000 cash in big bulging envelopes, three months’ rent in advance, across the kitchen table before she left. Together with the $2,000 for the mattress, it’s more cash than my mom and I have ever seen. Still, it does little to assuage the fact that they threw out my dad’s mattress without even asking. And now it’s gone.