“Yeah, it's great,” Chelsea's dad says with his mouth full. “What's it called again?”

  “Mapo,” Ana's mom says. “Mapo dofu. It essentially means . . . stir-fried tofu.”

  Chelsea's dad and Mrs. Conrad both pause in mid-chew. “Really?” Mrs. Conrad says slowly. Chelsea leans against Ana and breaks into giggles. Ana joins her. But neither of the adults stops eating.

  “Leave room for dessert,” Grandma White says. “We've got cake and ice cream.”

  Choruses of enthusiasm rise around the table. “Yay!” Sammy shouts. “Cake and ice cream!”

  Mr. Tabata chuckles. Ana can feel her hair stand on end. She tries to ignore it.

  “Such a wonderful fusion of cuisines tonight,” he says. Not “Wow, this is good,” but “fusion of cuisines.”

  “Who talks like that?” Chelsea whispers. Ana and Jamie exchange a look across the table.

  “This is soooo good,” Amanda purrs. “Try it, Jamie.” Ana can practically feel the steam coming out of her ears as Amanda offers him a bite of tofu, suddenly skillful with her chopsticks.

  Mr. Tabata leans across Jamie and taps Amanda's arm.

  “If I didn't know better, Amanda, I'd say you have your sights set on my son.” Amanda blushes and tosses her hair in a honey-colored cloud that Ana's sure will send strands flying into everyone's food.

  “Oh, Mr. Tabata, don't tease me,” Amanda says. It's so practiced, such a perfect sidestep from what should have been a total embarrassment meltdown, that it makes Ana sick. Her mouth fills with a sourness no amount of gumbo or lemonade can erase.

  Jamie looks at Ana again, but she looks away before they can make eye contact. She wants to die.

  “God, are they gonna get engaged right here?” Chelsea whispers.

  “Mrs. Conrad, your daughter is a delight,” Mr. Tabata calls down the table.

  Mrs. Conrad smiles. “Mandy was voted most popular in her class.”

  “Most popular hag,” Chelsea whispers. Ana snorts.

  Mr. Tabata beams at Amanda and her mom. “I bet you've never eaten like this before, Amanda. Such a wonderfully multicultural meal.” He chuckles and Ana's stomach tightens into a knot. There's that phrase again, the one her social sciences teacher used to use. Mr. Tabata spreads his hands delightedly. “It's like . . .” He searches for the words. “. . . like a food court at the mall.”

  Ana's face grows hot. She puts down her napkin. Pushes away from the table. Stands up.

  And throws a dumpling at Mr. Tabata.

  “Honey!” her mom says.

  “Young lady!” Mr. Tabata roars.

  Chelsea laughs. “That was awesome.”

  Jamie's eyes go huge and he stifles a snort. Sammy starts chanting, “Food fight, food fight,” but Ana's dad grabs his arms before he can throw anything.

  “Don't waste good food,” Nai Nai cries, chopsticks in midair, as if she could somehow catch the thrown dumpling.

  “Ana, what are you doing?” her dad asks through gritted teeth.

  “Sorry, Dad. I'm just trying to get Mr. Tabata's attention. And now that I have it . . .” She takes a deep breath. “You have got to be the rudest person I've ever met. I mean, we invite you to dinner, and you call it a food court? This isn't a food court. This is my house! And it's clear you're horrified that your son might actually like me. I mean, I may not be a hundred percent Chinese or black or a hundred percent anything, and God knows I'm not a blonde, but this is still my family, and my dinner and my house. And you can respect us or you can leave.”

  “Ana!” her dad exclaims.

  “This is lunacy,” Mr. Tabata roars.

  “Ana, apologize,” her mother says in a tired voice.

  “What? For real?” Ana stares at her parents in shock.

  Ana's mother hesitates. “This is not the way to make friends,” she explains steadily. And, in that sentence, Ana can see it: all the years her mother has held her tongue against the judgments of family and strangers, too. All the times her father has kept quiet or joked and pretended it didn't matter what people thought of his black wife and half-breed kids.

  All the times Grandma White has had to listen to jokes about marrying a black man named White. Every barb and insult Grandpa White endured in a newly desegregated army while serving his country at war. And all the doors shut in Nai Nai's face when they first came to the United States, trying to rent an apartment or buy groceries with the wrong accent and the wrong skin.

  It makes Ana shake.

  It makes her want to scream.

  Instead, she picks up another lumpy dumpling, looks at Mr. Tabata, and says, “Leave.”

  18

  “She's right,” Ana's mother says. Ana's dad stands up from the table. Even Sammy is quiet, eyes wide. The Shens and the Whites all look deathly serious. Mr. Tabata's mouth shrinks into a thin line.

  “Come on, Jamie. I will not be insulted in front of my family.” Mr. Tabata gets up from the table, wiping his mouth as if to wipe away a bad taste. Jamie's mother hesitates, then slowly rises.

  “The meal was delicious,” she says apologetically. Mr. Tabata glares at her.

  “Jamie.”

  Jamie doesn't move. He stares straight ahead at Ana and there are tears in his eyes, building slowly from a shine to a clouded veil, trembling at each word as he begins to speak. Ana knows Jamie's not looking at her. He's just not looking at his dad really hard.

  “No, Dad. I'm staying.”

  “Jamie! These people aren't worth your time.”

  Jamie turns on his father, a tear spilling over.

  “ ‘These people’ are my friends, Dad. I've known Ana for nine years, ever since kindergarten. She's been in every play and assembly with me since we were five years old. Have you ever even noticed her? Or anybody else? Of course not.”

  Jamie looks across the table at Ana. “I'm sorry, Ana. I'm sorry I let him put you guys through this.” Ana blushes but can't think of a response.

  Jamie turns to his mother and puts a hand on her shoulder. “And you, Mom . . . I'm sorry I didn't say something sooner.”

  Jamie's mom turns red. Jamie clears his throat and looks up at his father.

  “Dad, you bully her, and it's not right. Let her eat what she wants, let her have the car. I don't want it.

  “You boss us around and I keep quiet. When you push me, I tell myself it's because you care. I work hard in school so you'll be proud of me. But it's not enough. I've tried to be a good son. Why can't you be a better father?”

  Jamie's mom buries her face in her hands. After a moment, she wipes her eyes and walks away. Ana's mother follows her into the house.

  Mr. Tabata just stands there, suit coat clutched in one hand like a life buoy. His mouth moves but no words come out. Ana wishes she could read his mind. Instead, she gets up and goes to stand behind Jamie. He reaches back and takes her hand.

  The movement wakes Mr. Tabata out of his daze. He drapes his jacket across his arm, clears his throat and removes his glasses to polish them casually on his sleeve.

  “This is a family matter,” he says in a strained voice. “We will discuss it at home.”

  Ana squeezes Jamie's hand. Jamie is trembling, but he stands his ground. Everyone watches as Jamie's father replaces his glasses, pulls on his jacket and leaves the table in search of his wife.

  19

  There is a long moment of silence. Ana doesn't know what to say. Slowly, Jamie lets go of her hand and sits down. He clears his throat.

  “So,” he says in a strained voice, “who wants dessert?”

  Amanda Conrad giggles, and her mother shushes her.

  “Son, are you all right?” Grandpa White asks.

  Jamie clears his throat again. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  Ana looks at her grandparents desperately. She wants to give Jamie a hug, or run and hide in her bedroom. Instead she just stands there. Grandma White and Nai Nai rise at the same time.

  “I believe Ana's mother had a cake she was decorating,” Grandma White announces.

  “And I am going to make my mango pudding,” Nai Nai says. They both leave the table.

  “Sounds great,” Grandpa White says. “I'll get some tinfoil for all this food.”

  “We're in for a treat,” Ana's dad tells everyone. “Ma's mango pudding is legendary.” He sounds so fake-cheerful it puts Ana's teeth on edge. Why did she say anything to Mr. Tabata? Her mother was right. What could be worse than this?

  Ana's dad starts to clear the table for dessert and everyone drifts off to admire the herb garden, read the graduation sign and just get away from the scene of the crime. Jamie stays seated at the table, still sprinkled with rice, napkins and empty plates, like the last person at a parade. Ana shifts uncomfortably. She crouches down to face him.

  “Jamie, I'm sorry.”

  Jamie looks at her. His eyes are a little red, but that's all. “It's fine, Ana. It had to happen someday. Sorry it happened at your party.”

  Ana shrugs. “That's okay. But it was my fault. I should've kept my mouth shut.”

  “Right,” Jamie says. “You should've stopped being Ana Shen.”

  Ana shrugs. “That's not such a bad idea.”

  “You're kidding, right? I mean, you're Ana Shen. You stood up for your family, and you're smart, and you're pretty, and you're a nice person. Why would you want to be anything other than that?”

  Ana takes a deep breath and pulls herself into the seat next to Jamie.

  “You know, before you came over, I would have given anything to not be in this family. Sometimes we just really hate each other. My grandmother was actually mad at me when she found out I wasn't valedictorian. She called me lazy. And my other grandmother thought I ‘let you win’ ”—she makes air quotes—“because I like you.”

  Jamie smirks. “Yeah, I was gonna let you be valedictorian, but my dad would've killed me.”

  Ana laughs. “They could start a club together.”

  “The pushy-pushy club,” Jamie says. They both laugh.

  Ana looks around the yard and sighs. “Then again, here we are, top of our class.”

  Jamie looks at his hands. “High school's gonna suck.”

  “Yeah.” Ana pats his knee and folds her hands into her lap. “Families kind of stink.”

  Jamie laughs. “Yours is pretty cool.”

  Ana frowns. “I didn't think so, until now.”

  Jamie sighs. “Well, I wish I had a better one.”

  He looks at Ana and she passes him a paper napkin to wipe his eyes. “Who knows?” she says. “Now that it's all out in the open, maybe you will.”

  Jamie shrugs and sighs. “Maybe.”

  The evening settles around them softly, the day's heat rising in waves from the ground into the air.

  “So,” Jamie says after a moment. “You like me.”

  Ana reddens. She clears her throat. “According to my grandmother.”

  That garners a small smile.

  Ana bites her lip. “And you think I'm pretty.”

  Jamie blushes. “Very.”

  Ana smiles wryly and nods. “Cool.”

  20

  In the kitchen, Nai Nai shakes her head. What a scene tonight, she thinks. What a scene. No matter the differences in their family, she would never have made it so public, so obvious and embarrassing. She hears the front door slam as Mr. Tabata goes home alone. Good riddance to him. She relaxes her shoulders.

  Lighten up, Mei, she tells herself. Today should be a day for celebration. Nai Nai smiles. Here she is, cooking mango pudding in her son's kitchen, his troublesome wife right behind her, icing Ana's graduation cake. That Japanese boy's mother is sitting at the table, watching. She stopped crying a few minutes ago, after telling her husband to go home. That's good. Take time to calm down, Nai Nai thinks. Besides, no one is worth your tears.

  She steals a glance over her shoulder. Whatever she might think of Ana's mother, the woman has a talented eye. A jungle of brightly colored icings has sprung up in bowls alongside the giant sheet cake. Nai Nai had worried it would be served plain as a coffee cake, inappropriate for her granddaughter's big day.

  She shrugs and turns back to her pudding. Her daughter-in-law is an artist. Let her do her art. The pot is almost at a boil now. Too hot, too fast, Nai Nai chides herself, and lowers the flame. The air is heavy with ripe mango. Nai Nai's mouth waters. Too hot and too fast. She was like that once too.

  “Mei, he's too old for you!”

  “He is not,” Mei said for the umpteenth time. Teacher Shen was handsome, refined, even mature, but not old. “Besides, he said he liked the flowers I brought him yesterday.”

  “It's just creepy, Mei,” her best friend, Ton Li, said with a shiver. “And he's not even a real teacher. He's a substitute! You're seventeen. You can do better than a substitute teacher.”

  The two girls were smoking filterless cigarettes smuggled in from the Ukraine, blowing the smoke out the window of the third-floor girls' bathroom in the Taipei School for Charming Young Women, or the Harm School, as the girls called it. It was a reform school, no matter what the shingle said on the outside. Even the principal knew that his students smoked in the bathroom. The ashtrays with the school logo on them were evidence of that. Mei and Ton Li puffed streams of smoke out the window as the only act of defiance left them—showing their bad behavior to the whole world.

  “Besides, also,” Mei declared, “Lee Yuan is better than some greasy-faced punk from Gordon's.” Gordon's was the British-run brother school of the Harm.

  “True, true,” Ton Li conceded. The girls finished their cigarettes just as the lunch bell rang. They squirted their mouths with violet perfume, checked each other's hair and headed to the cafeteria. Skipping out on English lessons was one thing, but lunch was the social event of the school. Gossip, fashion and school politics held sway at the girls' table. Besides which, Teacher Shen would be there.

  “Ah, Mei,” Shen Yuan said when Mei made sure to brush up against him in the food line. “Eating like a bird again, I see.”

  “I have no appetite,” Mei said as melodramatically as she could.

  Teacher Shen frowned. He was a handsome man, Mei thought, and she tilted her head down to appear shy.

  “Is something amiss?” he asked. “Perhaps you should see the school nurse.” He put down his tray and patted his pockets for a permission slip.

  “Oh, no, no, not that,” Mei said. Normally, she would jump at a free hall pass, but that wasn't her goal today. “What I have, no nurse can cure.”

  “Really? Bitten by a tsetse fly?” the teacher asked, chuckling.

  “Some other sort of bug,” Mei said coyly. “A love bug.” She batted her eyelashes at him and sauntered away in her best imitation of the American movie star Marilyn Monroe. Ton Li watched all this from their usual table, monitoring her friend's success.

  “Well?” Mei asked breathlessly as she sat down.

  “Well, first of all, you forgot your lunch tray. And secondly, I don't think he noticed the walk. Or you didn't do it right.”

  “Aie. No. Should I do it again?”

  “What, and look desperate?”

  “Well, you're no help.” Mei pouted. “And I'm hungry, too.”

  Her lunch tray appeared in front of her, with an extra helping of rice and sweet mango pudding.

  “Good, your appetite is returning, Miss Choi. A quick recovery is a sign of good blood.” Teacher Shen stood over them. He handed Mei a napkin and turned to Ton Li.

  “See you in mathematics, Miss Ho.”

  “Bon appétit, Teacher Shen,” Ton Li sang as he walked away.

  “Ugh. So embarrassing,” Mei said. She ate all her pudding anyway.

  Two weeks later, Teacher Shen left for a job at an American university in California. Mei had been cutting class when the announcement was made, so she missed out on her opportunity for a melodramatic farewell.

  A year after that, when Mei was on the verge of her nineteenth birthday, Shen Yuan came home for a holiday. She found him in her parents' sitting room, an American-made hat on his knee. Apparently, she had done the walk just right. Better than any of the American girls he'd met since then.

  With her parents' permission (not an easy thing, as her father was a staunch military man, seven kills in the air force against the Japanese), they courted for the week, during which he convinced Mei to take night classes. Her grades were much higher without the distraction of Teacher Shen around, and she was accepted into the business program at the University of California, Los Angeles, for the following September. The wedding was in July. Before the first semester was over, a baby was on the way. Of course, continuing with classes was out of the question.

  Nai Nai sings to herself, watching the sugar dissolve into the evaporated milk and softened agar-agar. Bitter and sweet. Like leaving Taiwan. Nai Nai smiles. She cannot wait to introduce Ana to her best friend, Ton Li. Second in her class. Imagine it.

  She adds the cubes of ripened mango, popping one in her mouth. Her first kiss had been with Yuan the night before their wedding. He had tasted of mangoes. That night, she had asked her mother to show her how to make this pudding—so simple, but it made her new husband so happy. A taste of home, he would say whenever she found time to make it.

  • • •

  “Nai Nai. Nai Nai!” Ana waves her hand in front of Nai Nai's face.

  “Aie! What are you doing, assaulting me like that?” Nai Nai exclaims with a start.

  “I've been calling your name forever. Do you want a cup of tea?” Ana raises her eyebrows. The day's been weird enough without Nai Nai going senile on her.

  “Well, I did not hear you. No, I do not want tea. Not now. Can't you see I'm thinking?”

  “About what?”

  Nai Nai taps the spoon on the edge of the pot and points it warningly at Ana. “None of your business, Miss Nosy-pants. Go help your mother.”

  Ana sighs. “Okay, fine.” She turns and looks at her mother, who is decorating the sheet cake. Ana's mom shrugs.

  “I'm making tea for Jamie and his mom,” Ana announces, filling a kettle. “They're in the living room. Talking.”