better than to offer her advice. I learned that lesson the hard way, years ago.
When I was eleven, my best friend was a girl named Shannon Lee. My mother actually picked her out, one late summer afternoon, the day before I started sixth grade. “Oh, look,” she said, her finger running down the list of names that composed the class roster. “Shannon Lee! Another Chinese girl for you to be friends with.”
I rolled my eyes—even then I was conscious of not selecting my friends by race—and ignored her. But thanks to alphabeticalseating, Shannon Lee and I were placed next to each other the next day in homeroom. Imagine my surprise when a red-haired girl showed up, her nose dusted with copper freckles. Shannon didn’t have a drop of Asian blood in her. Sure, her name was Lee—as in Robert E. She was a direct descendent of the Confederate general.
Shannon and I soon became BFFs. She lent me Sweet Valley High books—banned by my parents—and taught me all the words to “Like a Prayer.” I introduced her to the Hello Kitty aisle at our local Japanese grocery store. We pretended we were sisters.
Shannon had an older brother, David, the tall, blue-eyed captain of the high school volleyball team. He wore checkered Vans and a letterman’s jacket, but his distinguishing feature was his niceness. There’s no other word for it. He always smiled, said hello, opened doors, and was pleasant and helpful—not only to grown-ups but to us, two preteen girls. Needless to say, I wished he was my brother.
David and my sister were in the same class in high school, both graduating that year. I didn’t expect him to know Claire, but when I mentioned her one early evening at White Castle, he seemed impressed. Shannon was in the bathroom and I was alone at the table with David, searching for something to say.
“Claire Lee is your sister?” he said. “She’s in my AP Chem class.” He raised his eyebrows. “She’s crazy smart. She has the whole periodic table, like, memorized .” This did not surprise me. “Hey!” His face brightened. “You don’t think she’d be willing to help me sometime, do you?” He unwrapped a slider and took a bite. “I didn’t do so hot on the midterm…Coach says if I don’t raise my grade I’ll be suspended from the team.” He grimaced. “Can you ask her?”
“Sure.” I was delighted to help him.
I waited until that night, when Claire was alone in her room making Latin flash cards.
“David Lee wants me to help him? He doesn’t even know who I am,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t think so.” She snappily turned the tissue thin page of her Latin dictionary.
I should have left well enough alone, but I couldn’t disappoint David. “He totally knows who you are.” I cajoled. “Plus, he’s super nice and…and I think he likes you.”
She looked up. “Really.” It was a challenge, not a question.
“He said you were really smart…” Claire picked up her scissors and started snipping index cards in half. “And that you seemed…funny.”
“He said that?” I could feel her weakening.
I nodded vigorously. At least the smart part was true.
She took a deep breath. “Okaaayyy…tell David…I’ll meet him after school on Tuesday. In the library.” She pushed her glasses up her nose and smiled.
And so I became Claire and David’s intermediary. They had a standing study date twice a week, but if anything changed—if David had extra volleyball practice and had to cancel, or Claire knew she’d be late because of her cello lesson—they would rely on me to relay the information. For a while everything went swimmingly. David raised his AP Chem grade from a C–to a B+ and Claire started singing in the shower and wearing lip gloss. And then May rolled around. Prom season.
I knew something was up when Claire baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies and brought a plate of them to my room. “So…I’ll be graduating from high school this month.” Her eyes darted
When I was eleven, my best friend was a girl named Shannon Lee. My mother actually picked her out, one late summer afternoon, the day before I started sixth grade. “Oh, look,” she said, her finger running down the list of names that composed the class roster. “Shannon Lee! Another Chinese girl for you to be friends with.”
I rolled my eyes—even then I was conscious of not selecting my friends by race—and ignored her. But thanks to alphabeticalseating, Shannon Lee and I were placed next to each other the next day in homeroom. Imagine my surprise when a red-haired girl showed up, her nose dusted with copper freckles. Shannon didn’t have a drop of Asian blood in her. Sure, her name was Lee—as in Robert E. She was a direct descendent of the Confederate general.
Shannon and I soon became BFFs. She lent me Sweet Valley High books—banned by my parents—and taught me all the words to “Like a Prayer.” I introduced her to the Hello Kitty aisle at our local Japanese grocery store. We pretended we were sisters.
Shannon had an older brother, David, the tall, blue-eyed captain of the high school volleyball team. He wore checkered Vans and a letterman’s jacket, but his distinguishing feature was his niceness. There’s no other word for it. He always smiled, said hello, opened doors, and was pleasant and helpful—not only to grown-ups but to us, two preteen girls. Needless to say, I wished he was my brother.
David and my sister were in the same class in high school, both graduating that year. I didn’t expect him to know Claire, but when I mentioned her one early evening at White Castle, he seemed impressed. Shannon was in the bathroom and I was alone at the table with David, searching for something to say.
“Claire Lee is your sister?” he said. “She’s in my AP Chem class.” He raised his eyebrows. “She’s crazy smart. She has the whole periodic table, like, memorized .” This did not surprise me. “Hey!” His face brightened. “You don’t think she’d be willing to help me sometime, do you?” He unwrapped a slider and took a bite. “I didn’t do so hot on the midterm…Coach says if I don’t raise my grade I’ll be suspended from the team.” He grimaced. “Can you ask her?”
“Sure.” I was delighted to help him.
I waited until that night, when Claire was alone in her room making Latin flash cards.
“David Lee wants me to help him? He doesn’t even know who I am,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t think so.” She snappily turned the tissue thin page of her Latin dictionary.
I should have left well enough alone, but I couldn’t disappoint David. “He totally knows who you are.” I cajoled. “Plus, he’s super nice and…and I think he likes you.”
She looked up. “Really.” It was a challenge, not a question.
“He said you were really smart…” Claire picked up her scissors and started snipping index cards in half. “And that you seemed…funny.”
“He said that?” I could feel her weakening.
I nodded vigorously. At least the smart part was true.
She took a deep breath. “Okaaayyy…tell David…I’ll meet him after school on Tuesday. In the library.” She pushed her glasses up her nose and smiled.
And so I became Claire and David’s intermediary. They had a standing study date twice a week, but if anything changed—if David had extra volleyball practice and had to cancel, or Claire knew she’d be late because of her cello lesson—they would rely on me to relay the information. For a while everything went swimmingly. David raised his AP Chem grade from a C–to a B+ and Claire started singing in the shower and wearing lip gloss. And then May rolled around. Prom season.
I knew something was up when Claire baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies and brought a plate of them to my room. “So…I’ll be graduating from high school this month.” Her eyes darted
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