American Panda(33)

“Sure, but I have a higher tolerance than most. You have to find what you’re okay with, you know? The nice part about medicine is that there are a lot of options. And most important, I feel secure in my future. I know Mom and Dad have their faults, but this was something they were right about—picking the right major and career is so important. I have friends who are barely scraping by with no end in sight. At least I know that in a few years I’ll be pulling a decent salary. Which is more important now than ever . . .” He trailed off, and his words hung in the air for a moment.

I felt like I was missing something but wasn’t comfortable enough to ask. “So you never wish you did something else?”

“That’s an entirely different question. I’m just saying that, practically, it’s important to find a career that can put a roof over your head and offer enough stability that you can sleep at night.”

I wasn’t sure if I was talking to my brother or my parents. How could this person be the same one who had done the ultimate rebellion and walked down the disownment path, eyes open? “Medicine’s not the only stable career,” I countered.

“True, but there will always be a need for doctors, and there aren’t many of us making a measly pay. There’s just less variance than other fields. And it’s respectable, right? You’re helping people, making a difference.”

My stomach flip-flopped, and for once, the smell of shrimp balls was making it buck even more. He was supposed to relate to me, make me feel better, but now I felt like the only person left on my own strange Mei-planet. Instead of telling him about my fears, my struggles, my secrets, I shoved them deeper, making the goddamn dumpling even fatter and more unmanageable.

“Don’t worry, Mei-ball. You’ll love it when you get there. I promise.”

I stuffed my face with shumai and mumbled, “Chubby bunny.”

Xing laughed, but I couldn’t smile, and it wasn’t because my mouth was full.





Voicemail from my mother

Mei! I read today that using a tea bag more than twice will give you cancer. You’re not doing that, are you? But you shouldn’t use it just once either—waste of money. Use it exactly twice, okay? Call me back immediately! This is urgent! Oh, and it’s your mǔqīn.





CHAPTER 14


(Since I’m Chinese—American, we also do not have a chapter thirteen. Equal superstitions.)





MITHENGE


HEARING XING TALK ABOUT MEDICINE in the same tone as my parents had made me wonder . . . was I also brainwashed? Immediately after Darren’s accusation two days ago, I had resented him for what he had said, but now I was scared it was true.

So I hunted Darren down, orchestrating our bumping into each other because, I don’t know . . . I wanted to see if he would take it back?

Except it didn’t go quite as smoothly as I had pictured in my head.

Since I knew he was taking 7.012 (like me), I decided to go to my first biology lecture in weeks. As the professor droned on and on about G proteins, my head lolled back and forth in half sleep—fishing, my mother called it. What a far cry from multivariable calc, which kept me awake and attentive, grand jeté–ing across the floor in my head while taking copious notes. Math was a language I spoke, one that was the same in every culture.

But clearly I did not speak biology. By the end of class, my head was on my little foldout desk, and I didn’t wake until the after-lecture rustles started. And by then I had lost the spiky-haired outline previously sitting four rows in front of me.

The paper from my notebook stuck to my cheek, ripping when I sat up. Because, of course. I scooped my things up, then charged into the herd of students in the hallway. Thank God for his height. I chased after him, squeezing through chattering groups and almost tripping over a few legs. When I finally got close to him, I suddenly didn’t know what to do. In my head I pictured tapping him on the shoulder with a coy, Fancy seeing you here. In reality, I shoved his shoulder with a little too much force, then opened my mouth like a fish, nothing coming out.

When he saw me, the corner of his right eye crinkled the way it did before he teased me. “How’d you catch up to me so fast?” Oh God. Of course he had seen. “Not a fan of G proteins, I take it?”

“Didn’t get enough sleep last night,” I lied, not wanting to fight about the titillatingness of G proteins. There was definitely a joke in there somewhere, which would’ve come to me if I weren’t so overwhelmed at the moment.

At the east end of the Infinite Corridor, Darren sidestepped to lean against the wall, out of the stream of traffic.

I joined him, keeping a space between us—I wasn’t sure what the social norms were post-fighting-about-Filial-Exemplars. I opened my mouth again, an apology loaded on my tongue, but nothing came out. Maybe because I still stood by my reasoning for saying what I did. Maybe because Mǎmá Lu was holding the words back.

Darren cleared his throat. “I’m glad you caught up,” he said, and I relaxed a little. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk to me.” I held my breath, willing him to say it. “I’m sorry about what I said—I didn’t mean it. I was just overwhelmed with the mosquitoes and the feces and . . . You can understand that, right?” And finally I exhaled.

But even though I was breathing again, I still felt tense. And that was when I realized, it didn’t matter what he thought. It was exactly as he had said—it was what I thought that mattered. And right now I had no idea where I ended and my parents began.