Would you fake-date a popstar to get into Harvard? Sara Wang travels from New York City to Shanghai before her senior year to take a class in Eastern Medicine. Her parents think she's there to buff up her college application, but she's actually ther...
After Bloomingdale's, we drop Lauren off at the 7 train stop. Fang and I went back to his apartment at 432 Park Avenue. The views from his apartment make me feel like a bird flying over the city. He wants to take me out to dinner, but he needs to drop some things off at home first. He says that he's been entertaining friends at Gabriel Kreuther and would love to take me, that is assuming I like fussy French food.
I tell him I don't mind it, even though I've been eating two-dollar lo mein from the street stall by the Flushing 7 train station for as long as I could remember. Fang informs me that he's going to jump in the shower first because he had gone to the gym earlier. I suspect the real reason he wants to shower is because he's still drenched in milk tea (but as always, he is too polite to put the blame on me).
I don't mind, I reply.
"Sorry about the mess," Fang says, almost blushing in shame. "I'm still getting the cleaning lady situation figured out."
Yeah, I'm sure that's it and not his paranoia at having anyone near his things. I nod knowingly, pretending as though I'm part of the income bracket who understands how hard it is to find a good maid here in the city. His apartment is not as bad one would expect a college-aged boy's dorm room to be. For one thing, there are three bedrooms, and the living room features floor-to-ceiling windows and gravity-defying Murano glass chandelier.
There's a strange sense of relief when I see a dirty sock lying around on the floor by his hamper. At least now that he's in New York, he can leave his socks around without fear that a chick is stealing them to stroke them under her covers at night or sell online for others to sniff creepily.
As I hear the shower turn on, I chuckle and kick the sock aside. Even though Fang's just started dating me again, I feel as though I'm his girlfriend. He belongs to me now. Each and every dirty sock is mine to protect.
I pick it up like a lobster using my index finger and thumb and gingerly drop the sock into the hamper. There. Now it's safe from the sock thieves. I feel mighty proud of myself and dust off my hands.
There it's in the hamper. All in a day's work for a girl who saved her boy's life by teaching him to trust her.
As I turn around to head back to the living room, I accidentally knock over a travel bag that had been casually slung over Fang's work desk. A laptop falls out of the bag along with a scattering of random objects, including chewing gum, an old notepad, a photo of his parents. I get down on my hands and knees to shove everything back inside.
The contents of the bag don't fit anymore since they had been disturbed from their neatly arranged rest. I am panicked and ashamed that I had made a colossal mess. On top do that, I may have broken his laptop. How will I explain to him that all I was trying to do was toss a simple sock into his hamper? There's only one thing left to do. I decide to dump out the bag's contents and then completely rearrange it so he would never know that any of this happened.
As I reach into the bag, my hand lands on something soft and furry. I try to move it aside to make room for the books and photos, but it won't fit right. Angrily, I yank it out so I can see what exactly it is. I thought it was an old scarf, but it turns out the object is a stuffed penguin.
It's missing an eye, and there's a tag around its neck — Central Park, New York, it says.
I can't believe my eyes. It's my penguin, the one in the photos my mother showed me.
How is this possible?
"What are you doing?" Fang asks as the bathroom door swings open.
"I knocked some things over. I—I'm so sorry."
"Leave it. It's mostly junk in there from when I was a kid. My mother sent it to me because she's cleaning out her house."
"Is this yours?"
"You want to know why I have this old toy, don't you?" Fang laughs and plucks the penguin out of my grasp. "It's embarrassing. I've had this penguin for as long as I could remember. It was my favorite toy growing up. I don't even remember where it came from. I don't have any relatives who have been to New York, so I don't know how I got my hands on it. I've stared at it for so long that when you came along, out of nowhere, I felt as though I wanted to know more about you. I've always been curious about what life is like over here. You probably think I'm crazy, don't you?"
"No. Not at all," I immediately reply. "But that wasn't the question I wanted to ask. I wanted to know is — did your family ever live in an apartment on Huaihai Lu? One called Huahai Park Residences? Perhaps on the fourth floor?"
"How did you know that?" Fang asks, suddenly suspicious. "Did Dr. Su tell you that? I thought no one knew that. I grew up in that part of Shanghai until I was discovered. That place was the last place where I ever felt normal, where I ever felt happy."
"I think I understand. You felt like you belonged there."
"Don't tell anyone about Huaihai Lu, all right? Next thing you know, people might find out that my childhood nickname."
"What is it?"
"I'll never tell."
"Is it Yang Yang?"
Fang laughs at that. "Yes, how did you know? Is it that obvious?"
"Lucky guess?"
"It's Yang, as in a baby sheep. My hair used to be curly like a lamb's butt. My mother and all her friends called me that because I was afraid of haircuts."
"That is pretty funny."
"Yeah," Fang says and tosses the penguin onto his desk. "Now that I'm here, maybe this little guy has done his job. It has led me here, and I'm going to start a new life, in America, with you."
"I'll show you my city, Fang" I chirp and reach for his hand again. "Like I've always dreamed of doing."
"Why are you smiling? Are you laughing at me?" Fang teases as he playfully bats at my ponytail.
"I'm smiling because, perhaps for the first time, I think I believe in fate."
"Why is that?"
I doubt Fang would believe me if I told him, so instead, I stick out my tongue at him.
"I think this penguin and I have met before. I'll take him off your hands if you want."
"Okay," Fang says and retrieves the stuffed animal. He hands the penguin carefully into my cupped hands. "Take care of him. He and I have been through all sorts of trials and tribulations. I have never let him out of my sight."
"I will," I answer and place the penguin in my jean pocket. As Fang leaves to put on his clothes for dinner, I smile at my long-lost friends — at both of them— both human and penguin. "And thank you for returning him to me."
THE END
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