Page 83 of If You Could See the Sun
Both of them look older than I remember. Frailer.
“Found these folks walking around the primary school. Say they’re looking for a Sun Yan in Mr. Murphy’s office,” the boy tells us, shooting me a glance that’s at once pitying and curious.
“Great. Thanks for bringing them here, Chen.” Mr. Murphy smiles.
“No probs.”
The boy glances at me one last time before disappearing behind the door.
The second we’re alone, Baba stalks over.
I’m still holding on to one last straw of hope that he and Mama won’t react as badly as I feared—not without hearing my side of the story first, at least—but then I see the fury in his eyes.
“What were youthinking?” Baba shouts, spittle flying from his lips, a dark vein bulging at his temple. He’s shaking, he’s so mad. I’ve never seen him this angry before, not even that time I accidentally spilled water over the laptop he’d spent years saving up for. His voice is deafening in the closed space, and I know from the sudden hush that falls over the courtyard outside that everyone must be listening. That all my classmates and teachers can hear every single word. Chanel. Mr. Chen. Rainie. Vanessa.
Henry.
For the first time I find myself praying that I can turn invisible permanently. Disappear right this instant, sink into a void deep beneath the hideous office carpet and never resurface again.
“Are you trying to rebel?” Baba continues, his voice getting louder and louder. “How could you even—Your Mama and I don’t believe it at first when the school call us, not for award, but say you’re acriminal—”
Mr. Murphy keeps his gaze leveled at a random spot on the wall, looking terribly uncomfortable. When Baba takes a short break from his yelling to breathe, I muster all the courage I have left and whisper, “Baba, can we please—please—talk about this somewhere else? Everyone’s listening—”
But this is the wrong thing to say.
An awful, unforgiving look flashes over Baba’s face. “Do you only live for other people?” he demands. “Why do you care so much what they think?”
I don’t know how to reply without enraging him further, so I keep quiet. Pray this will all be over soon.
“Sun Yan. I’mtalking to you.”
Then he reaches down for his shoe, and I recoil, certain it’s going to come flying my way, but Mama quickly intervenes.
“Laogong,now’s probably not the best time for this,” she murmurs to Baba in Mandarin, with a pointed look at Mr. Murphy.
“Fine.” Baba grabs my wrist—not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough to hurt. “Let’s go.”
I dig my heels in, wrenching my arm away with difficulty. “W-Where are you taking me?” I blurt out. There’s a low buzz building in my ears, a painful pressure rising up my chest and throat like bile. “I still have class—”
Baba barks out a laugh. “Class?” Without warning, he slams his hand down on the desk with a hardthud. Everyone jumps, including Mr. Murphy. Then Baba switches abruptly to English, and his already-disjointed words jumble together further in his rage. “Do you know what education for, huh? Why school charge 350,000 RMB—”
Mr. Murphy clears his throat. “Well, actually, it’s 360,000 RMB now—a reasonable price, if you consider our new state-of-the-art facilities—”
Baba ignores him. “It help you grow, form connection, see the world, one day give back to society. Not worship money. What your Mama always say? If you not good person, you’re nothing.Nothing.”
Heavy silence falls in the wake of his words like the drop of an axe. I’m trembling uncontrollably, my teeth chattering in a loud staccato. I think I’m going to die, or throw up, or both.
Then Baba shakes his head, eyes fluttering closed. Heaves a sigh. When he looks back up at me, he seems to have aged ten years in the span of ten seconds. It’s in Mandarin that he says, “No matter what happened, your Mama and I always felt so proud to have raised a daughter like you. But now...” He trails off.
My skin burns with shame.
“I—I’m sorry,” I choke out, and once the words have left my lips, I can’t stop repeating them. “I’m so, so sorry, Baba—I really am—I didn’t want it to be like this either...”
But Baba’s expression doesn’t soften. “We are leaving.”
Mr. Murphy chooses this moment to speak up. “Actually, given the current circumstances...a short break from school may be best for Alice.” He catches my look of horror, and quickly adds, “Not saying that she’s expelled, of course—it’ll likely be a while until Peter’s parents and the school board reach a decision. But until then...well.” His eyes flicker to the window, as if he, too, knows the entire Year Twelve cohort is eavesdropping on our conversation. He sighs. “I believe some distance would be beneficial. Give us all time to reflect and potentially make amends. What do you think, Alice?”
All three adults turn to me, and I realize it doesn’t matter what I think. The decision has already been made.
