Unknown
6:47 AM
Heyyyyy
Groaning, I turn onto my side, tugging the covers to my chin. Through my squinted eyes, I turn the brightness on my phone all the way up, shoving it closer to my face so I can make out the source of the loud buzzing. Although my vision is blurred, it doesn't take a genius to know who it's from. I don't know why anyone else would be contacting me at this ungodly hour. Quickly, I tap a reply.
Leighanna Chua
6:47 AM
How did you get my number?
Hunter D'Medici
6:48 AM
some things are better left a secret
Read 6:48 AM
Before I can tap out an aggressive reply, the sound of footsteps growing louder by the second steals my attention.
"李花 , 起床了吗 [have you woken up]?" my mom asks, peeking her head through the crack of my ajar door. Tendrils of stray hairs stick out of her ponytail, framing her small square face. Currently, she's dressed in her work clothes—a blue skirt apron and a black shirt with the company dragon logo on the back. Usually, I am never up early enough to catch her before she leaves for her shift. My mom works two jobs. On the weekdays, she's a dishwasher at Lucky House, which is a restaurant nearby. On the weekends, she's a nail technician at a local family-owned salon.
Letting out an extremely loud (and exaggerated) yawn, I sit upright, rubbing my eyes. She takes that as confirmation.
"我今天要上班 [I have work today], okay? 早餐 [breakfast] is on the table. Don't eat too much. You've been gaining a lot of weight recently. You need to diet," she tells me, shaking her head.
Her last comment doesn't go unnoticed by me, though I suppose it is true, regardless of how she said it. Even after years and years of her constant criticism, I can't help but feel hurt every time she says something about my weight or my grades.
"Okay, 宝贝[pronounced bao bei, affectionate term]," I reply, in my somewhat clumsy Chinese. When I was younger, I used to be more fluent, but as time progressed, and I started to notice the dirty looks people gave me in public for conversing in Mandarin, I gradually spoke the language less and less. Ever since then, we would communicate through a combination of heavily accented English (for some reason, whenever I was around her, I'd speak English like it was my second language as if somehow that would help her understand) and common Chinese phrases. Occasionally, it would be difficult to understand each other—like the times I'd use American slang or when she'd try to explain the latest trends in China or other cultural nuances. Stuff like that remains...well, lost in translation.
Part of me is worried that if I ever have kids of my own, I wouldn't be able to teach them how to speak Chinese or show them Chinese traditions without feeling like a fraud. I am terrified that an entire lineage—thousands of years of culture, pain, and a complex familial history—could be erased with my generation, all because I was so stubborn as a child.
Shut the fuck up, I internally scold myself, there's always Chinese school. You're overreacting.
With one last lingering look at me, my mom smiles, shutting the door when she exits.
Out of nowhere, my phone rings from my nightstand, and I put on my wiry glasses before I pick it up. Hunter's name flashes across the screen.
Great way to start off this beautiful weekend.
YOU ARE READING
your best american girl ✓
Teen FictionLeighanna Chua has always struggled to fit in. Left feeling disconnected between her suburban community and her own identity, she's determined to prove that she belongs. But when Hunter D'Medici, a boy who embodies the very essence of privilege, off...
