believe that there is anything in this world or the next that could interest you more than the contrasting economic theories of Keynes and Hayek.”
A few of the other students laughed. “Sorry, Mr. Chu,” Lian said sheepishly. “It won’t happen again.”
He smiled back. “I hope not, Ms. Hung. Because you know the old quote, yes? If you don’t learn this history, I’m destined to repeat it.”
Another few laughs. The daydreamers and the flirters had even returned to the fold, no doubt grateful that Chu hadn’t made an example of them instead.
“Now, where was I? Ah, yes.
The Road to Serfdom
. . . which was not, as one of you guessed in your summer work, a lost Bing Crosby/Bob Hope film.”
Chu had a good sense of humor and peppered the dry statistics and social science models with little pop culture references and groan-worthy puns. Lian was buoyed by the thought that this might be a fairly entertaining course, after all. Any other day—once all this Harrison business was sorted out—she’d be an active participant, and bring home solid marks.
But today wasn’t “any other day.”
As if to drive that point home, Chu found his lecture interrupted again—this time, by a knock at the door. He opened it and greeted Island South’s principal, Mr. Sòng, who stood at the threshold and exchanged a few polite words with the teacher. Then Sòng stepped into the classroom and smiled at the students.
“Class, I beg your pardon for this interruption. I had hoped to be here at the top of the hour, but the paperwork took a bit longer to process than I’d anticipated.”
Lian had spent two years under Principal Sòng’s roof; she thought of him as benevolent but terminally boring, the sort of man who used fifty words when five would have sufficed. As he rambled on about intake procedures and teacher-to-student ratios, never once in danger of coming to his point, she felt her attention drifting again.
“So,” he said at last, taking a big breath for his finale, “I hope you will all join me in welcoming our new student to your class.”
The principal announced the newcomer’s name, but Lian didn’t need him to. She looked up from her desk and straight at the marquee smile of Matt Harrison.
“Lei ho, everybody,” he said, bowing his head briefly to the class. When he looked up and saw Lian, his grin somehow got wider.
Sòng had a few more paragraphs to say to Chu, so the students were free to kick up a quiet murmur—in Cantonese, mostly—about the new American import. Mingmei leaned over again and whispered, “Wow. They grow ’em big, blond, and handsome over in the States, huh?”
Lian just shook her head, dazed. Matt strode down the aisle, and Lian realized his destination moments before he slid into the empty desk to her right.
“I just got here, and I’ve already got a study buddy!” he said genially. “It’s nice to see a familiar face.”
Matt somehow managed to seem arrogant and sincere at the same time, just like he had when he’d said good-bye in the Fàn Xī foyer the night before. From the muttering around her in Chinese, Lian knew that several of her female classmates were already charmed by that smile and his glinting green eyes.
She shook it off and whispered, “I thought you said you were homeschooled.”
He shrugged. “I was, up until my dad decided he wanted me to have a more ‘normal’ life, whatever that means. I guess he thinks I should have a few friends who aren’t ten thousand miles away.”
“Seventy-five hundred,” she corrected him. “And you must have known last night that you were coming to Island South. Why didn’t you say anything when I mentioned it?”
“Life’s not full of surprises these days,” he said, smiling. “I thought you might have liked one.”
Chu finally managed to politely steer Sòng out of his classroom, and the lesson resumed. Lian wasn’t finding it any easier to concentrate, though; she kept stealing glances over at Matt,
A few of the other students laughed. “Sorry, Mr. Chu,” Lian said sheepishly. “It won’t happen again.”
He smiled back. “I hope not, Ms. Hung. Because you know the old quote, yes? If you don’t learn this history, I’m destined to repeat it.”
Another few laughs. The daydreamers and the flirters had even returned to the fold, no doubt grateful that Chu hadn’t made an example of them instead.
“Now, where was I? Ah, yes.
The Road to Serfdom
. . . which was not, as one of you guessed in your summer work, a lost Bing Crosby/Bob Hope film.”
Chu had a good sense of humor and peppered the dry statistics and social science models with little pop culture references and groan-worthy puns. Lian was buoyed by the thought that this might be a fairly entertaining course, after all. Any other day—once all this Harrison business was sorted out—she’d be an active participant, and bring home solid marks.
But today wasn’t “any other day.”
As if to drive that point home, Chu found his lecture interrupted again—this time, by a knock at the door. He opened it and greeted Island South’s principal, Mr. Sòng, who stood at the threshold and exchanged a few polite words with the teacher. Then Sòng stepped into the classroom and smiled at the students.
“Class, I beg your pardon for this interruption. I had hoped to be here at the top of the hour, but the paperwork took a bit longer to process than I’d anticipated.”
Lian had spent two years under Principal Sòng’s roof; she thought of him as benevolent but terminally boring, the sort of man who used fifty words when five would have sufficed. As he rambled on about intake procedures and teacher-to-student ratios, never once in danger of coming to his point, she felt her attention drifting again.
“So,” he said at last, taking a big breath for his finale, “I hope you will all join me in welcoming our new student to your class.”
The principal announced the newcomer’s name, but Lian didn’t need him to. She looked up from her desk and straight at the marquee smile of Matt Harrison.
“Lei ho, everybody,” he said, bowing his head briefly to the class. When he looked up and saw Lian, his grin somehow got wider.
Sòng had a few more paragraphs to say to Chu, so the students were free to kick up a quiet murmur—in Cantonese, mostly—about the new American import. Mingmei leaned over again and whispered, “Wow. They grow ’em big, blond, and handsome over in the States, huh?”
Lian just shook her head, dazed. Matt strode down the aisle, and Lian realized his destination moments before he slid into the empty desk to her right.
“I just got here, and I’ve already got a study buddy!” he said genially. “It’s nice to see a familiar face.”
Matt somehow managed to seem arrogant and sincere at the same time, just like he had when he’d said good-bye in the Fàn Xī foyer the night before. From the muttering around her in Chinese, Lian knew that several of her female classmates were already charmed by that smile and his glinting green eyes.
She shook it off and whispered, “I thought you said you were homeschooled.”
He shrugged. “I was, up until my dad decided he wanted me to have a more ‘normal’ life, whatever that means. I guess he thinks I should have a few friends who aren’t ten thousand miles away.”
“Seventy-five hundred,” she corrected him. “And you must have known last night that you were coming to Island South. Why didn’t you say anything when I mentioned it?”
“Life’s not full of surprises these days,” he said, smiling. “I thought you might have liked one.”
Chu finally managed to politely steer Sòng out of his classroom, and the lesson resumed. Lian wasn’t finding it any easier to concentrate, though; she kept stealing glances over at Matt,
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