The Wangs vs. the World(33)

His collection of vintage comedy albums—Richard Pryor, George Carlin, Lenny Bruce—and extra clothes were neatly packed into a cardboard box taped and labeled with Saina’s address in upstate New York. Grace said that she’d just given away all of her other clothes, but that seemed like the worst decision if they were going to be poor now. It would only cost something like forty dollars to mail everything, otherwise he’d have to buy new clothes; he couldn’t just wear the few things that fit in his duffel forever. Andrew wondered what had happened to his snowboard and gear, to everything in his room at home. Probably nothing. Probably it was just sitting there, locked up, and if he could just climb through a window and break it out, it could all be his again.

He was sitting on his naked mattress, holding Emma’s spiky heels in his hands, looking at his bare walls, when his alarm went off.

9:15.

Fifteen minutes before Econ 201. Most Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings he hit snooze at least once, which made it 9:22 by the time he rolled out of bed. Another five minutes to brush his teeth and take a piss, one to choose a pair of sneakers, eight minutes to walk to class, four for an egg-sandwich stop, another five to say hi to people along the way. By the time he got to class, it was usually 9:45.

But not this morning. He pressed snooze, put down the heels, picked up his backpack, and walked straight to class, not even pausing to talk to that cute Pi Phi girl who’d smiled and said, “Good morning.”

It was weird being there so much earlier. Who knew that so many people got anywhere on time? A solid five minutes before class started, the hall was already three-quarters full of fed, caffeinated students with laptops at the ready. From his unaccustomed vantage point in the back—usually he had to slip into one of the last open seats right in front of the lectern—Andrew could see that almost everyone was on Facebook, clicking through photos from last night.

The professor finally walked in at 9:40, carrying a cardboard box. Andrew knew it. You really didn’t need to get to things on time. Not only had he not missed anything with all those added seven minutes of sleep, he’d probably tacked an extra year onto his life because he was more well rested than everyone else. Mental note: Stop wasting time worrying about being late.

“Make no mistake, we are in a recession,” said Professor Kalchefsky slowly, holding up a copy of the Wall Street Journal. He read the headline: “‘U.S. to Take Over AIG in $85 Billion Bailout.’ You heard it here first. No one is willing to admit it, but we are smack-dab in the midst of a giant, ball-breaking recession, and every one of you ought to be furious because you are the unfortunate generation who will be graduating and trying to obtain jobs in a busted economy that we might as well pack up and sell to the Chinese.”

Andrew opened up his laptop. He wasn’t sure why he was even there, but if he was in class, he might as well take some notes. People liked jokes about the economy, right?



Kalchefsky 201, he typed.

Recession.

W. T. F.



Oh shit. He was going to have to work! Actually work. At some uninspired, uninspiring job. Maybe with an apron on. For money. Money that he would need to pay for things like rent and phone bills and air-conditioning—or maybe air-conditioning was free? It seemed like one of those things that should be a basic human right for people living in the Southwest.

Forget it. He wasn’t going to leave. After class, he’d call Saina and ask her to pay his tuition, then he’d call and tell his dad not to come, tell him that they could stop by for a visit if they wanted, but maybe suggest that they just drive past Arizona altogether. Andrew wanted to skip out on Econ and call everyone immediately, but if he was going to finish school and then get a job, it was probably time he started doing better in his classes.

And Emma. He’d bring her shoes back tonight and tell her that actually he loved her. He did. He must. Definitely. Why was he always trying to be such a good guy all the time, anyway? Nothing stayed perfect forever. Being a good person hadn’t kept his mom from dying. Being some kind of business star hadn’t kept his dad from messing it all up after all. He’d make himself love Emma, and then he’d finally get to have sex.

Kalchefsky was writing on the board now.



Our first big mistake—we believed that money was rational.



Andrew sat up. Kalchefsky was a mess. Stubble and dark circles. Some sort of yolky residue on the corner of his mouth. Cuffs undone. He looked like an older person, a tired adult. Like he’d gone from being somewhere around Saina’s age to Andrew’s dad’s age overnight. More than that, though, he looked wired—pissed off and strangely awake, his slight Eastern European accent suddenly strong.

“The market doesn’t lie. How many times have you heard people say that? The market doesn’t lie. People who have no business knowing what the market is capable of are nonetheless convinced that it is somehow bound to the truth. That things will always cost exactly what they should because of some sort of free-market fairy dust. Why did shares in the East India Company trade for ￡284 in 1769? Why did a single streaky tulip bulb fetch the equivalent of more than ￡25,000 at auction in 1637? I’ll tell you what—it’s not because people used to be dumber.”

With that, he picked up the cardboard box by his feet, held it over his head, and gave it a desperate shake, releasing a shower of purple stuffed animals. The class burst out laughing. Beanie Babies! Andrew had one when he was a kid—a tie-dyed bear from some client of his father’s. Kalchefsky picked up one of them and held it out to the class, squeezing its soft plush body.