Page 97 of If You Could See the Sun
“A call?” I say, feigning surprise.
“Yes.” He moves to sit on the opposite end of the couch, the springs creaking under his weight. “They told me about app... What’s the name... China Ghoul?”
My pulse speeds up.
“Beijing Ghost, you mean?”
He nods slowly, and continues in Mandarin, “Why didn’t you tell me or the teachers earlier you were part of the study group?”
“I guess...” I fumble for the right words, for an answer as close to the truth as possible without giving everything away. “I was scared it’d seem suspicious. I mean, Ididmake a lot of money off the app—just through tutoring. Over one hundred thousand RMB. I was worried you or the school would make me give it back.”
Baba’s eyes widen a fraction with shock. “Onehundred thousandRMB?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “It’s a lot, I know. Hence why I was worried...”
“And you earned that much only by helping your classmates study? Nothing else?”
I have to laugh, though nothing about the question is really funny. Just ironic. “Well, you and Mama spend almost all your income on my school fees,” I point out. “Is it so surprising that other kids would want to invest in their education, too?”
“Hmph,” is all he says, but I can tell he believes me.
“Anyway,” I continue, more quietly. Sincerely. “I’m really sorry things turned out the way they did. I just... When Andrew offered me the money, all I could think of was how you and Mama were struggling to pay for school—how you were struggling because ofme. At the time, his offer seemed like the quickest solution to everything. Like completing the task might somehow allow me to pay you guys back.” I swallow and press my hands together to keep from fidgeting. Every word feels like pulling teeth. “But I was being irrational, and greedy, and just...incredibly dumb. And I understand if—if you can’t forgive me, or if you plan on being disappointed in me for all of eternity, but... I wanted to say I’m sorry, Baba. That’s all.”
Baba takes a deep breath, and I hold mine, anticipating yet another lecture. But it doesn’t come.
Instead, he places a gentle hand on my head, briefly, the way he used to when I was a kid, whenever I was scared or injured or couldn’t fall asleep at night. When I look up in surprise, all the anger is gone from his eyes.
“Alice,” he says. “Your Mama and I don’t work hard for you to repay us. We work hard so that you can have a better life. An easier life. And sending you to Airington—that was our choice. Spending our income on your school fees—that was also our choice. In no way should you feel obligated to take on the burden of our decisions for us. Is that clear?”
To my embarrassment, my throat constricts, the basin of my heart overflowing, spilling into hope. There is so much stubborn hope.
I manage a small nod, and Baba smiles at me.
Maybe everything will be okay,I think.
“Speaking of Airington...” Baba pulls his hand back. Rests it on his lap. “They’ve already passed on the new information to Peter Oh’s parents. Since you apparently play a more minor role in the incident than they initially thought, they’ve chosen not to press charges.”
“But?” I press, sensing the shift in his tone.
“Peter’s parents are not pressing charges...but theyarepressuring the school to make you leave once this semester is over. And based on my call with them earlier, I believe the school would like that as well.”
Oh.
I bite the inside of my cheek, waiting for the anger and panic to hit with full force, the questions to go off in my brain like a string of firecrackers:What will I do next? Who will I be without Airington?
And while I dofeel all those things, dully, an unexpected calm washes over me. A kind of resignation. Deep down, I’d suspected something like this was coming; there was no way I could walk away from a crime of this magnitudecompletelyunscathed.
“I understand,” I say, and the steadiness of my own voice surprises me. I sound calm, confident like Chanel or Henry. In a weird way, after hitting rock bottom and confronting Andrew and standing up to a representative of the school board, I feel ready to take on anything. Or survive anything, at least. “We’ll work something out.”
“What will you work out?”
Baba and I both turn at the faint rattle of keys, the low click of the front door shutting behind Mama. She’s wearing the old coat she bought on sale in America, her hair pulled back into a tight bun that emphasizes the sharpness of her eyes and chin.
“It’s...nothing to worry about. I’ll explain over dinner,” I say as she heads into the kitchen for her usual after-work routine: washing her face and scrubbing her hands for twenty seconds. After a moment’s deliberation, I get up too.
When Mama reemerges, I’ve already laid the small paper box out on the couch, the white of the package almost blinding in contrast to the old mustard cushions. It’s a silly little gift, probably a basic necessity for other families—but since gifts are so rare in our house, I’d been wondering when to give it to Mama. In light of Baba’s news, now seems like as good a time as any.
“What’s this?” Mama asks, eyeing the box.
