Read Online Money Boy by Paul Yee - Free Book Online

about ordinary people? You were born into wealth.
    My face reddens and my heart starts pounding loudly, even though this chat takes place through cyberspace with total strangers.
    People are siding with Rebel Command. I don’t see any of my team members jumping in to support me. The generals will discharge me for challenging their orders.
    Fart, I’m going to lose a big chunk of my Honor. Why am I being called a coward? I spoke out for the ordinary people! I should have won Honor instead!
    â€œGood morning!” calls out the social worker as she arrives. A line-up of people has formed behind me. I log off, drag my backpack into the office and remind her of my problem.
    â€œDo you have any ID?” she asks. “Driver’s license, passport, Permanent Resident Card, social insurance number, bus pass?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDid anyone in your family write down those numbers?”
    I shrug. Niang has my passport and PR card. My SIN card is in my desk somewhere.
    â€œHave you any relatives who will sign a declaration attesting to your identity?”
    I don’t really understand her so I shake my head.
    â€œI just need my bank card,” I say. “Can you talk to my bank? I know my PIN number.”
    She shakes her head and writes down an address for me. “This is the Chinese immigrant agency, in Chinatown. Go tell them your problem. Maybe they can help you.”
    Yesterday she made getting new ID sound so simple.
    And I don’t want to go to Chinatown. That place is for losers.

SIX
    I was eager to see Church Street and the gay district, but they’re as boring as any other street. People line up at bank machines. They take time to choose flowers from buckets. A panhandler holds out her baseball cap in front of the wine store. Trucks double park at stores and restaurants. Cars behind them honk impatiently.
    I see coffee bars, pizza places and restaurants. No Chinese food, but there’s sushi. A big drugstore fills one corner. The gift shop carries sexy birthday cards. Next door is a movie rental shop, but isn’t everything on the Internet? Above the street are signs in windows for AIDS groups and the gay newspaper.
    Finally I find something. The dimly lit store has the same new-clothes smell and loud music as in suburban malls. But the mannequins wear a lot of black leather clothing and flimsy underwear. The racks of uniforms for cops, soldiers, superheroes and Japanese schoolgirls are serious. It’s no cheap Halloween display. The sign with a line across its red circle declares Customers must be age eighteen and over. It makes me feel like I belong here. Under it are rows of rubber models of body parts. They look very real. The super-size ones are amazing.
    Where’s my cell? I should send pictures to Ba. Show him more of his new homeland.
    A hardware store and a little park are farther up on Church, so it feels different from Yonge Street’s trendy shops. The Gay Community Centre is the biggest building. Inside, it looks like a travel agency, filled with brochures and waiting-room chairs. Our school has the same ads for safe sex, but now I learn where to get tested for STDs without anyone finding out. Workers rush from one cubicle to another. A copy machine thumps steadily and churns out paper.
    On the bulletin board, the club for gay Chinese (Mandarin-speakers) announces a potluck dinner. Another notice warns people about police raids on Boy Street. That must be the place for money boys, but it is several blocks away from Church Street. The group for parents of gays and lesbians meets throughout the Toronto region.
    I should tell Ba to attend. Hah!
    I head off to a nearby coffee bar. The cashier grins in that friendly Canadian way and asks how things are going. I don’t answer. My English isn’t good enough.
    I head to the back and look over the place. The man near me looks like my vice-principal Mr. McKay: broad shoulders, too-tight short-sleeved