American Dream

Anyhow, a week before I started at my new high school, my dad left to go back to China, and of course his latest girlfriend, and my mom was panicking. Panicking? She was stressed to the eyeballs.

"Jia-ying, what's your English name going to be? We have to pick an English name for you."

"Mom!" I said. "I've got a perfectly good Chinese name. I've been Jia-ying all my life."

"No, no, no," my mom said. "You need an American name, something pretty."

Aiiiyaaaah, I was fighting my mom's vision of the American Dream.

"April," my mom said. "April is really a very pretty name."

"It reminds me of spring and flowers," she smiled.

My mom always got everything she wanted.

She did this time. Of course she did.

I had my American name.

April Foo-Lee.

Paul? My Director? How did we meet?

Yeah, don't worry, we'll get to that, but first I'm going to tell you about starting high school, because I'd been at high school a couple of months before I met Paul, and yeah, well, it might have been my mom's American Dream but it wasn't mine. I didn't exactly hate it, of course, and I'd wanted to come here, because it seemed like an adventure, and I did like America, right from that first day, and that totally hunky immigration officer that flirted with me, but I missed home. Even the Chinese here were so foreign.

Bananas. That's what they were.

Banana?

You know, yellow on the outside, white in the middle, and most of them were. They really were. A lot of them didn't even speak Chinese. How bad's that? I mean, I felt sorry for them, because they looked Chinese, and the girls wore cheong-sams for their wedding banquets, but there actually wasn't anything Chinese about them at all. They were Americans with little slanty eyes who sometimes ate Chinese food and used chopsticks, and a lot of them were so big and chubby. Chubby like I used to be, I guess. I sort of felt sorry for them, because my eyes were way nicer looking now and I wasn't chubby at all either.

Fashions, too. Let me tell you, American fashions just aren't designed for Asian girls, and they're so far behind Shanghai designers, and as for Korean fashions, well, let me tell you I was starting to feel really good about that time I'd spent shopping in Seoul. Well, that was the good. Then there was the not so good as well, and let me tell you right up front, it's hard to change high schools in your final year. Add in changing your country as well, and learning a new language, because I'd studied English back in China but I hadn't really learnt it that well as it turned out. Anyhow, it's really hard for a girl. And when I moved to America, yeah, I was a girl. A rather innocent and naïve eighteen year old high school student. I know that I was innocent and naive, even though I didn't think so at the time.

I went straight into my last year of high school, and I wasn't nearly the only Asian girl in my high school, because while my mom wanted me to really live the American Dream, she didn't want me being the only Asian girl in town, and my dad was always planning to be back in China because of his business stuff, and his girlfriends of course, so mom and I, we'd ended up in San Francisco, and we lived in one of those areas that wasn't Chinatown, but there were a lot of Chinese, as well as a lot of other Asians.

A quarter of my class were Wang's and Wong's, and another quarter were either Kim's or Fujimoto's or Sushi's or Nguyen's or Tran's or Tomyam Soups or whatever. And almost every single one of those girls was jealous because, well, that Korean plastic surgeon had really known his stuff. I realized that right away, because I found out real quick that I really was the Asian vision in an American's wet dream. My first day at high school more or less confirmed that one for me, if all the car crashes and pedestrian collisions weren't enough, and it was a totally odd day.

I mean, I'd been a high school student in China, at a private girls high school of course, and I'd met, you know, Americans and Europeans, because it was a high school for expat kids and wealthy Chinese, and a lot of our teachers were American or European as well, so I knew a lot about them. Of course I wasn't the only Asian student at my new high school either. No way. But the other students, the non-Asian ones, they were every shade of white, brown and black, which was a bit of a surprise, because while you expect this stuff in theory because you've read about it, it's still a surprise when you see that there are lots of people that aren't Chinese, or at least Asian, especially when there's so many of them all together.

I mean, I'd seen white people before, back home, but black, and brown? It was a surprise to see, I mean, really see, the reality, and when the principal walked me into the senior class I was supposed to be in, and every guy in the class looked at me, and their eyes widened, and their jaws dropped, and one of them actually drooled, which was even more of a surprise.

I mean, how gross is that? To have some guy look at you and like, really, actually, drool.

"Holy Fuck," one of them said at last. At least, I think that's what he said. My English still wasn't that great. I'd learnt a little back in China but really, I'd only been learning it seriously for, like, a few weeks, with my personal ESL tutor and he was Chinese too.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the admin assistant, or whatever she was, said, over the heavy breathing that was already steaming up the classroom windows, which meant the air-con was working. That was good. "I'd like to ask you to welcome April Foo-Lee. Miss Foo-Lee is new to the United States of America, but I'm confident you'll all welcome her with open arms, embrace her into your midst, and make her feel right at home."

She left the room the moment that last word left her mouth, and there was this long silence as everyone looked at me. Including the teacher. He was sweating really badly, and I did wonder if he was sick. I hoped not, because I'd hated all those lockdowns back home. Just horrible, and I didn't want my school year in America to start with another one.

"Fuck yeah," one of the guys said. "I'll embrace her...fuck, I'll never let her go...."

"Sweet Jesus," another guy said. "Sweet fucking Jesus, have I died and gone to heaven? I'm seeing an angel."

"Say, April, you're not related to Maria Ozawa are you?" another one asked.

"No, I don't think so," I said, confused and a little embarrassed. Wasn't Ozawa a Japanese name? I hoped I didn't look Japanese. I'd have to check again when I got home, and if I did, I was gonna ask dad's lawyers to sue that surgeon for every cent mom had paid. And mom had paid a lot, believe me.

"Get outta the fucking seat, loser," one of them said, pushing another off onto the floor. He gestured. "You can sit here, April. I'll be happy to guide you around."

"Like fuck, asshole," the dude on the floor said, and next second the two of them were swinging at each other.

"Oh my god, you assholes, cool it. You're frightening the poor girl," another one said, standing and sweeping me into his arms. "You're safe with me, April...."

Except one of his hands was on one of my new boobs, and he had something hard pressed against my butt, and he was shuddering and groaning and breathing hard, and I didn't actually feel safe at all. I would have squealed, except that his hand on my new boob had me panicking instead, because, you know, I'd only had those silicone inserts for a few weeks and I wasn't used to them at all.

Paranoia about punctures.

That, and they were so sensitive.

What if he squeezed hard? Would they burst?

"This is going to be a little difficult, I can see that," the teacher observed, and I was a little frightened.

"Quiet!" he roared, slapping his desk, and it sounded as loud as a gun.

I was so scared I squeaked and started to cry, and the next second three or four of the girls were around me, and one of the Chinese girls, the one with long pink hair and this ring through her nose, was holding me real tight....

"Back off, bitches," she said, and thank goodness, they did. She didn't let me go though. Not until I stopped crying, and then she had the girl sitting next to her move, so I could take her seat.

So yeah. It was kind of an odd start to high school, and it got weirder.

I think every guy in that senior class asked me out on a date over the next two weeks. Didn't matter if they were Asian, Hispanic, White, Black, Brown, or Green. They all asked, and I was, like, "No."

It got so I said "no" to any guy who opened his mouth, and I said it without thinking.

One of the male teachers asked me a question, and I looked at him, and "No!" came out, real firm, and the entire class laughed. Even the teacher. After a month it turned into a joke.

They kept asking me out, and I kept saying "no," and they'd grin and say "next time."

After a couple weeks, I'd just smile and say "go fuck yourself."

I would never have said that to a guy back home. I was assimilating. Americanizing. It didn't stop them asking. Of course, by then I knew why.

I was that vision of an Asian Angel in an American's wet dream.

"You've got to become a cheerleader, April," my mom said, a month later.

"It's Jia-ying at home, mom," I said.

"I know just who to talk to, April," my mom said.

I was just starting to get used to my classes, and to school. My English was much better already, and I'd even made a couple of friends. Betty, the Chinese girl with the pink hair and the nose ring, and her friend, Conchita. Betty was American-Chinese. Conchita was Hispanic. Bolivia, she said, and hey, I knew my geography. That's one of those little countries in South America that sends bananas to China. Or maybe that's Ecuador, but whatever. You know what I mean. Down there somewhere.

Some third world country that China would own soon, unless the Americans got their act together, but I didn't think they would. Not really. Conchita wasn't third world, though. She was very very first world. Money. Lots of money. Her dad was like mine.

Loaded.

"Granddad was based in Bolivia way back," she said. "Running coke. Got out before he was taken out, if you know what I mean, and then he immigrated here. Actually, I think he took over someone else's ID and business after he offed them, but dad was born here, and the business is mostly legit now. Pharmaceuticals mostly, but the family still does coke on the side, back in the old country. Sort of a family tradition, and there's a lotta people back home rely on us, we can't just abandon them. They're ours, we have to take care of them."

"Coke?" I said, totally confused. Must be like China in the old days my granddad talked about, when they smuggled Coca-Cola in from Hong Kong.

"My granddad ran coke too, from Hong Kong into China. All sorts of other stuff too, he had these really fast boats..."

He still had a couple that he ran for fun. He'd told me once, when I was younger, that it reminded him of the old days, before he bought his way into the Party, and now, well, let's just say money and guanxi talk, and my dad ran the businesses, but granddad was in the Party, high up in the Party, and he made sure that dad kept the businesses, and didn't disappear because someone higher up wanted them.

Granddad, he'd taken me on one of those boats once, down the river to Hong Kong, with a load of electronic stuff from one of his factories that he kind of kept running for old times sake, as well as for some of the old guys that worked for him, and one of the policemen that worked for him too, to make sure there were no hiccups like coast guard and border police boats stopping us, and it'd been really exciting, except mom had been really upset when she found out about it...

"Uh, I think we're maybe talking a different type of coke, April," Conchita said. "But maybe your granddad and mine should have a chat." She giggled. "Compare notes."

I'd shrugged. "My granddad's back in China," I said. "He's in the government, in the Party..."

"Oh," Conchita said, losing interest, and what were mom and I talking about? Cheerleaders, that's right?

"No way, Mom," I said. "Have you seen what they wear? It's disgusting! Those tops, and those short skirts. They're way too short. No way. Just. No. Way."

My skirts were short, like all the other girls. But they weren't that short.

Mom kind of looked at me, and she didn't say anything, but I knew she was disappointed, because being a cheerleader was part of her American Dream, and I was sure I hadn't heard the last of it.

I was right.

"Uh, April," Betty Boop said, about a week later, and Betty was head of the Cheerleading Squad. Her real surname was Wong, but I always thought of her as Betty Boop, because she was wearing a Betty Boop t-shirt that first day, at high school, when we met, and she was the one with the pink hair and the nose ring. "Your mom talked to my mom, and, uh, seems like everyone wants you on the Cheerleading Squad. My mom told me. Conchita's mom told her."

She looked at me and shook her head. "Your mom sure knows how to pull strings," she said. "Have you ever done any cheerleading? At all?"

"No," I said, sort of blankly.

Betty and Conchita looked at each other."You're going to be with us in the gym a lot, April," Conchita said, after a slight pause. "Because I dunno what your dad does, but after your mom kind of talked to my mom, and Betty's mom, they all agreed, and when my mom tells me to do something, it's not a request, and she doesn't do that for just anyone, believe me."

"Huh?" I said.

"You ever seen a photo of a Bolivian Necktie?" Conchita asked, a bit obliquely.

"Uh, no," I said, totally puzzled. What did neckties have to do with cheerleading?

"If you saw one, you'd know that when my mom says do something, she means it," Conchita says. "Mom runs the family business, back in Bolivia. She's taking me down there for the summer, meet the family, show me around, introduce me to the...you know, the people that really run things, teach me more about the family business, learn how to handle things, settle disputes, negotiate deals. That kind of stuff."

"Ohhhhh," I said, totally understanding now. Like a Korean-American princess, or a Japanese-American princess, something like that, and I knew my dad was sort of thinking about where I might fit in and help with the family businesses, because he did export a lot of electronic stuff to America. Except, Coca-Cola? That part of it I didn't quite get, but whatever. Maybe coke was expensive in Bolivia or something, but I didn't see why, or what that had to do with neckties.

America was so weird like that sometimes.

"Yeah, my mom's the same," Betty said, and by then I'd met her mom, and I knew her mom could've been my mom's twin sister. Betty's dad and granddad were back in China and connected too. Guanxi. It was all guanxi back in China, and I decided I was going to be a lot happier here.

"Well, you're going to be with us in the gym a lot, April," Conchita said, and Betty Boop nodded.

"Crap," I said, and yeah, my English was really improving fast.

"Mom!" I said, when I got home...

"April," mom smiled. "I talked to Mrs. Boop, and to that lovely Mrs. Roca, although why she calls herself Chunty, I have no idea. Such a strange name, but it turns out her husband, Jorge, he's acquainted with your grandad and your dad, some sort of guanxi there. Apparently they do business now and then, something to do with exporting chemical bases from back home to Mexico or something, and they both said of course you can be on the Cheerleading Squad, and Mrs. Roca went and called the principal right away, called her out of a Board of Governors meeting to let her know. She was so obliging, and it's decided.... You're going to start practice tomorrow, and Mrs. Boop's driver's already dropped off a uniform for you, I gave her your size and she had her dressmaker make a uniform for you right away."

"I don't want to be on the Cheerleading Squad, mom," I said. "Those short little skirts, and the tops they wear... and please call me Jia-ying at home, not April..."

"April!" my mom said, very firmly. "Your American name is April, and we're in America now. And being a cheerleader is a big part of the American Dream for any girl, and your dad and I, we want you to have the best America can offer, that's why we moved here.... Well, that's why you and I moved here..."

Because except for that first flight over, and buying that apartment, my dad had only come back once, but mom didn't seem to mind, and it wasn't like dad was short for money. He did seem to like mom's makeover as well, because he stayed for a lot longer that second trip, and he hadn't been in any hurry to go back home and the only way I could get to sleep was if I was wearing ear plugs.

I'd never heard my mom screaming like that before but she did seem to be enjoying herself a lot, and she was all smiles every morning. So was my dad, which was a bit...unexpected.

"Mom..." I said, but my mom always got her own away whenever it was anything to do with the American Dream, and she handed me my very own cheerleader outfit, with the very short skirt and the very tight top.

"Go and try it on, April," she said, and she was my mom. It was her American Dream that had brought us both here, so I went and tried it on.

"No way," I said, looking at myself in the mirror and blushing. That top! That skirt! At least there were shorts to wear under the skirt, but they were short shorts. Oh well, at least my legs looked real good. I was starting to get used to them, now, and I did sort of look at myself in the mirror to check. Those workouts had me looking real toned, and I kind of liked that I didn't have any puppy fat at all now. That Dr. Kim had been right about the self-discipline, and now I was really enjoying those workouts every morning.

"Ohhhhh," my mom said, when I went downstairs, and she had that rapturous look on her face that she had whenever I ticked off one of those American Dream boxes on her checklist. "You look beautiful, April! Just like a real cheerleader should."

Okay, I knew she was right, I did look beautiful, but it was still really embarrassing.

The first time I went to cheer squad practice in the gym, just about every senior guy in high school was there to watch and cheer us on, along with half the younger boys. Betty and the other girls were totally enthusiastic about my participation. Almost as enthusiastic as those boys, and they stayed on afterwards and kept me practicing for another hour.

"We're going to do this every day after classes, because my mom'll kick my ass if you don't come up to speed fast, April," Conchita said, and she looked serious. "And believe me, I don't want my mom kicking my ass."

"Me neither," Betty said, flicking her bright pink hair back, and she looked a bit stressed.

"Aiyaahhh, I'm sorry," I said, worried that I was going to land them in it.

"Not your fault," Conchita said. "Our moms' are all a bit anal."

"Yeah," Betty said. "Let's go through this again...."

So we did, three more times, and I really needed that shower afterwards, and there were only the three of us in the showers by then. Well, us three, and Serina Leung, and we waited until Serina was finished, because, well, Serina was a guy, a guy who thought he was a girl, or maybe, wanted to be a girl, and, okay, you know, trans and all that stuff is good and everything, that's what they told us here at high school, except I didn't really understand that one.

Accept that we're all different, and that there are two hundred and fifty seven genders or something, and call somebody by their gender of choice, if you could remember what it was, but when I looked up my Chinese textbooks, they were pretty specific about their being only two sexes, and they also said Americans were crazy, which seemed to fit, and anyhow, I knew his mom.