Read Online The Year of the Crocodile by Courtney Milan - Free Book Online Page A

rise.
    â€œI’m just saying.” He chooses a cashew. “Twenty years ago, this was what economy looked like. Once you’ve flown Singapore Airlines first class, then we can talk.”
    I reach over and flick the palm of his hand. “Stop ruining the experience. I was trying to enjoy it.”
    â€œOh.” He blinks. “Sorry. Didn’t think of that.” He frowns again. “But this totally doesn’t count for the month, and you know it.”
    Doesn’t count. I know exactly what he means by that. Over the course of the last year, I’ve come to realize that, well…
    That I play things really safe. I don’t take risks. Hell, I don’t even like taking mild chances.
    Last May, I decided I needed to stretch myself. I promised that I would do one somewhat risky thing every month.
    Some months, I’ve even managed two.
    â€œEven I would not classify flying first class as a risk,” I tell him. “Especially since I didn’t pay for the tickets.”
    Two days ago, I’d mentioned that I was sorry I wouldn’t be able to spend Chinese New Year with my family. We had Traditions, capital T. Some were quintessentially Chinese. Some were not. They were all fun.
    Blake had looked at me quizzically. “You can,” he had said.
    â€œBut…” My protest had been both half-hearted and ineffectual.
    He’d called Patty—his assistant, because of course he has an assistant—and she’d booked us tickets before I could squeak out, “coach is fine!”
    Here we are.
    â€œEven you,” he says with a smile.
    â€œNo,” I tell him, “my risky thing this month is that I’m skipping classes on Monday.”
    He freezes, then his lip twitches. He turns to me with the grin of a man who doesn’t care about schoolwork. “Tina.”
    â€œWhat?” I demand. “I haven’t skipped class since…”
    His lips twitch again, and I sniff.
    â€œDon’t leave me hanging. You haven’t skipped classes since when?”
    Since senior skip day in high school, and even then, Bethany had to threaten me.
    I fold my arms. “I have decided not to finish that sentence on the grounds that it might incriminate me.”
    â€œHave you ever skipped class in college?”
    â€œI had pneumonia as a sophomore.” I look across the aisle. “They wouldn’t let me attend until I stopped being contagious.”
    â€œI thought so.” He looks far too amused. “I’m going to make a tiny suggestion. You want to do something risky? Invite my dad to join your family this weekend.”
    Oh. Shit. All my good feelings evaporate.
    I look at him. He’s still smiling, but there’s an edge to his smile. We haven’t exactly argued about our parents. It would be stupid to argue about our parents, because our parents are not capable of change.
    My dad, for instance, survived a brainwashing and reeducation camp in China that left literal scars. My mom organized his escape and our flight from the country. The Chinese government was unable to change my parents. I don’t stand a chance.
    Blake and I have been together almost a year. Through sheer luck and, okay, dogged determination on my part, our parents have yet to meet face to face. This has generated…tension.
    Here’s the thing. Some people might find Blake Reynolds intimidating. I did, when we first met. Until he made me mad enough that I stopped being intimidated. He’s officially the vice president of interfaces at Cyclone Technologies, a position that he admits he obtained through a healthy dose of luck and a ridiculous amount of nepotism—namely, his father was the CEO of Cyclone as well as its largest shareholder. Blake is semi-attending UC Berkeley, but at this point, he’s made it clear he doesn’t care if he graduates.
    It’s not like he needs a degree. He already has more money than God, stock