If You Could See the Sun (56)
“Oh my god, Alice,” she says, in that fond, exasperated tone people tend to use around close relatives. “Girl. I know what my class is. I’m asking about yours.”
I blink at her. “Um... I have a spare period. Why?”
“Because. I’m trying to be your friend.” She makes this sound like it’s the most natural and obvious thing in the world, when I could easily name at least two thousand other reasons for someone of her social standing to seek out someone like me. But as she continues smiling, not budging from her seat, I realize that more people have been approaching me lately, sometimes waving in the corridors or striking up conversations out of the blue.
I guess hanging around Henry and Chanel so much in public is the real-life equivalent of getting the verified check mark on social media: it sends a clear signal to the world that you’re someone worth paying attention to.
Or maybe it’s also because of Beijing Ghost. Even if no one here knows I’m the one behind the app, I’ve still spent these past months learning about all their secrets, their greatest fears and desires and insecurities, from Rainie’s photos to Evie’s test scores. Maybe that’s the kind of thing you feel, instinctively, that draws people together like an invisible string, even if they’re not aware of the full truth.
In theory, this should make me proud. This is what I’ve always wanted, after all: to be noticed, to be approached. But just like Mr. Chen’s remark, it somehow feels wrong.
If Rainie notices my mini existential crisis, the way I’m gripping my chopsticks too tight, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she leans back and starts scrolling through what has to be at least a hundred new notifications on her phone, pausing and rolling her thick-lashed eyes when she gets to the latest one.
“Still can’t believe they’re raising the prices again,” she says with a snort. “The sheer nerve.”
My heart seizes. “Wait. What?”
“The school fees,” she says casually. “Didn’t you know? They sent out an email about it a few months back.”
“I—I don’t...” All the school’s emails go straight to Mama and Baba, but between their long work hours and old phones and the crappy connection in their little flat, sometimes things slip through the cracks. Important things. My heart starts pounding faster.
“Here. This is just a reminder for the upcoming deadline. The original email’s down below.” She scoots closer, holding her screen up for me to see. I can’t read anything at first—can only stare at the tiny black numbers, the harsh white light, my stomach writhing. Then the figure comes into painful focus. 360,000 RMB.
No.
That’s a 30,000 RMB jump from what it used to be, and that’s only for one school year. It’s too much. It’s more than what I have, what I could possibly earn before the fee deadline in seven days, even if I were to complete another Beijing Ghost task—
I’m only dimly aware of what Rainie is saying. “...first heard about it. Apparently a bunch of the other international schools have raised their prices too, beginning from next semester—such a rip-off. My dad’s company had like, a mini fit when he sent them the receipt.”
“Right,” I manage. The cafeteria suddenly feels too small, or maybe it’s just my lungs that have shrunk. 360,000 RMB. It’s the kind of number that should be overwhelming, apocalyptic, illegal, that should send everyone at this school into mass panic, but Rainie looks mildly annoyed, at best.
Then again, of course she is. Most of my classmates have their parents’ companies covering their school fees, their private drivers, their giant condos. Everything. That would explain why I never heard about the raised prices until now, too; this is nothing more than a minor inconvenience to them, hardly worth dwelling on for longer than a few seconds.
Case in point: Rainie’s already launched into another conversation topic—this time about the midterm exams, and how they should be graded on a curve, and wasn’t that English essay question so vague, and—
“Oh yeah, did you hear about Evie?” she asks.
If I wasn’t already on edge, I most certainly am now. My spine goes rigid, half my thoughts still stuck on the school fees, trying desperately to calculate how much more money I need to make in the next week. “What—what about Evie?”
“Apparently, she smashed her history midterms—for her standards anyway. Got like, eighty percent or something. Pretty impressive, huh?”
I search Rainie’s body language for any hidden, darker meaning behind her words, but she just tightens her ponytail, flips it over her shoulder, and sighs.
“I’m happy for her, honestly,” she continues. “She’s gone through at least ten different tutors in the past year, and none of them helped. Guess she finally found the right one.”
“Mm,” is all I reply, terrified that my voice will break and give me away if I try to speak. What could I possibly say? Yes, I, too, am so glad she found the right tutor. Her final score was definitely because of that, and not because she received the literal answers to memorize days in advance. For sure.
Then my phone buzzes, the vibration almost violent against the thin fabric of my skirt, and all thoughts of Mr. Chen and Evie and the raised school fees are driven away as I read the new message on Beijing Ghost.
* * *