Chapter 2: The Goddess in My Dreams Wears Lace?

“Hey Wood, what did the Guinea Pig want to talk to you about just now?”

A chubby, sharp-eyed, round-faced Chinese boy asked Su Mu in Mandarin as he walked into the classroom.

All the classes for today had ended—it was after school. More than half the semester had passed, and the midterm exams were over. Life was relatively easy for the students now; teachers had relaxed their expectations, focusing only on a select few, letting go of the rest. Su Mu’s class was the best in the entire grade. Back when they first started junior high, a single test had separated students by potential; it was the classic “tallest among the short,” and that was exactly what it meant.

The two of them went to and from school together almost every day—today was no exception. As soon as class ended, his friend would run to Su Mu’s classroom door. Their classes weren’t exactly close to each other; there were seventeen classes in the whole grade, each with plenty of students, inevitably lowering the quality of teaching. No teacher could possibly manage them all.

Ms. Susie knew well that this school was pretty terrible, so she tried to persuade Fang Mu to transfer, hoping he’d have broader prospects. At those excellent schools, students could earn direct admission to top universities. Castral wasn’t on the list of elite schools; the academic atmosphere was barely passable. After Fang Mu refused, Susie could only express regret. If circumstances allowed, who wouldn’t want to attend a better school? She understood Fang Mu’s family wasn’t well-off.

“Not well-off” was a polite way of putting it—the truth was, things were pretty bad. Most Chinese couldn’t find good jobs. In recent years, unemployment had soared; Chinese, along with Blacks and Mexicans, were always the first to be laid off, helping companies cut costs. Whites waiting for jobs were everywhere; there was no place for the Chinese. Their unemployment rate was far higher than that of Whites.

Many factories had gone bankrupt during the crisis. With labor costs rising, plenty of labor-intensive and resource-intensive industries had moved to Asian countries, giving rise to the new term—the Four Asian Tigers.

Lack of job opportunities meant that even jobs previously despised by Whites now attracted fierce competition. When Chinese showed up to interviews, their resumes were casually set aside, most ending up in the trash. The US had established diplomatic relations with that Pacific nation years ago, but many locals still treated Chinese as enemies—“flood beasts” invading their homeland...

“It’s nothing. Just about the SSAT.

She wants to write me a recommendation letter and help me sign up. If I get a high score, I could finish high school at a private school. But it’s too far from home—I don’t plan to go.

Ping’an, stop calling her Guinea Pig. Ms. Susie’s actually pretty nice; remember when a classmate got sick, and she helped organize donations?

Let’s go. Our group project is finished, time to prep for finals at home. Want to come over for dinner tonight? Your parents are out driving long hauls again, right?”

Su Mu replied.

The boy in front of him was his childhood friend Li Ping’an—they’d known each other since birth. Their grandfathers had been close friends, so the two boys naturally became friends as well. Every day after school, they took the same bus home, looking out for each other, just in case older students dragged them into an alley to extort lunch money. Bullying was common in American schools.

Actually, Chinese students rarely got extorted. Security wasn’t great in those days, but Castral Public Middle School had a large Chinese student population. High schoolers from other ethnic groups usually avoided the Chinese, thanks to the legendary “kung fu,” still popular even after Bruce Lee’s death, and countless Chinatown gang connections—enough to intimidate students who’d never set foot outside the school.

The Chinese who’d crossed oceans to gather in Los Angeles, from all over the world, had been largely united for nearly a century. Internal squabbles were inevitable, but when outsiders bullied them, they stood together.

If a Chinese acquaintance was bullied by outsiders, older Chinese students would help with revenge. But if bullied by their own, most could only grit their teeth and swallow it.

Families who’d lived in Chinatown for years usually had some shady connections. People had to make a living, so many got involved in illegal trades. Neighbors knew each other, and the Su family was no exception.

Not that they were criminals, but it was enough to keep their kids from getting bullied. Su Mu had never encountered trouble at school, mostly because his grandfather, Old Su, was well-liked. Neighbors helped each other, and the kids all knew one another—there was always someone to lend a hand.

As for Li Ping’an, his father, Li Dahai, was notorious in Chinatown for being tough as nails. In those days, taxi drivers and truckers were not to be trifled with. If you looked into it, they all had gang ties—otherwise, business would be impossible.

When Li Ping’an was in fifth grade and got beaten up, his father went straight to the other boy’s home, beat up the kid’s dad, and made it clear—he wouldn’t hit kids, but anyone who laid a hand on his son would get their father beaten!

Their school lives had been peaceful over the past few years. Aside from Ping’an, Su Mu had another close friend, the one who transferred to a private school—Du Zhong. The three still hung out together during holidays.

“SSAT? You’re transferring too?”

Li Ping’an’s face was shocked as he blurted out, “Don’t! I ranked dead last in this test—I’ll never make it into another school!

If you leave, what am I supposed to do? We’ve got three years till graduation, and my dad’s already given up on me, just wants me to finish high school. Without you, my days will be so boring!”

Su Mu packed his books into his bag and walked out, turning his head with a smile, “Relax.

Based on your last test scores, you’ll probably have to repeat the grade—who knows if you’ll even make it to high school next semester? I’ve told you a hundred times, read more books, but you always regret it the day before the test—never enough time.

Besides, you know private schools are expensive—my family can’t afford it. Among our friends, only Du Zhong can go; his school is way bigger than ours, and just the uniforms cost hundreds of dollars.

His dad just bought a computer—the latest model from Apple. Du Zhong invited us to play games; want to go this weekend?”

“No way! I’m not repeating—that’d be so embarrassing!

Those guys all make money off the school. Our principal just bought a Jaguar, and yesterday someone slashed its tires—bet it was the Mexicans. Someone overheard them plotting against the principal, probably blew his top this time.

It’s good your family has no money—then you won’t leave me behind. Du Zhong’s got no loyalty, you better not be like him.

Computer games? Sure! Saturday morning I’ll come find you. People talk about computers all the time, but I’ve never touched one—is it hard to learn?

Du Zhong’s house is nice, with a garden out front. My dad’s been driving trucks for ten years and still can’t afford it.

Wait up! The bus won’t leave for a while. Did you hear? Kate got picked by an advertiser for a commercial. Now you can see her face on ice cream wrappers. My mom said someone’s already asked her to be an actress.

I’ve been in Los Angeles so long, it’s the first time someone I know is heading to Hollywood to be an actress. You like her, right? This is trouble!

If some rich, handsome actor takes a fancy to her, what then? Your family’s poorer than mine, and her mother loves money—she’d never pick you…”

Su Mu, stung by this jab, gave his friend a look reserved for idiots and retorted, “I’ve never even talked to her—what’s this about picking me or not?

Lots of people at our school and in Chinatown like Kate. Even if she doesn’t become an actress, I’d have no chance. Stop bringing it up—I just think she’s pretty.

I’ve never played on a computer either—it shouldn’t be too hard, right? We’re just going to play games, nothing complicated…”

Back then, computers were luxury items—ordinary families had no access. Schools hadn’t begun offering computer courses, mainly because buying so many machines was too expensive. Each cost over seven thousand dollars, about a poor man’s annual income; the dollar hadn’t yet suffered future inflation, so it was worth a lot.

With so many students and so few computers, they’d be no use—better not to buy any. After Stanford University’s advocacy, some elite California high schools had just started these courses. It was no surprise that the two boys didn’t know how to use a computer.

Few realized that the first large-scale information exchange between people via “the Internet” happened around February 1984, when civilian networks were just starting—almost nothing existed online.

This year, a BBS platform called FidoNet appeared in America, letting users connect by phone lines and relay messages point-to-point. There were no search engines yet.

“Oh, come on—keep pretending!

Who stares at her until they daze out? You’re something else. If you’ve never spoken, how do you know she doesn’t like you?

Bro, you should confess—stand on the school clock tower, shout into a megaphone across the field ‘I like you!’ I heard girls love that kind of thing. Maybe you’ll succeed—then you can buy a Porsche like Du Zhong’s dad. What girl wouldn’t like you then? You could even stroll around Hollywood—the streets are full of beauties.”

Li Ping’an swung his bag, walking shoulder to shoulder with Su Mu downstairs, weaving through the crowd toward the school gates, where a long line of bright yellow school buses waited. You could only ride if you paid each semester. He continued, “I really admire Kate’s dad. My dad said he used to know him. Then he hooked up with Kate’s mom, moved to Manchester, England for a few years before coming back to LA.

Maybe they went broke, or why else would she transfer to our school? But Hollywood stars make big money—if she gets famous, she’ll get rich fast. You’d better act now; soon you’ll have no chance.”

Su Mu thought Ping’an made some sense and deliberately ignored the comments about Kate’s family, countering, “I just know.

A girl like her probably likes quarterbacks or the baseball guys—what do I have to offer?”

He felt hollow inside. At this age, Su Mu was keenly aware the world wasn’t so beautiful. He’d hoped his friend would comfort him, but Ping’an just nodded in agreement, “True enough.

Forget what I said—if you really confessed on the clock tower, you’d only become the school joke.”

“…You’re annoying. Hurry up and scram.”

When he said this, Su Mu felt a bit lost—he wished he had Ping’an’s boldness. Maybe then he’d dare confess, and at least there’d be a sliver of hope.

Every man, in growing up, has liked a girl—or a boy, but didn’t dare say so, tormented by uncertainty. Su Mu was no exception.

Ever since he first saw Kate passing his doorstep years ago, he’d found this girl, with her British accent and mixed Chinese-English heritage, beautiful. But he wasn’t bold about such things. He often ran into her, but after his nerves settled, he’d pretend not to care and walk away, only to regret it while lying in bed later.

Still, Su Mu took comfort in the fact that many boys, just like him, liked Kate and had bravely confessed—only to fail, without exception. This made him believe rumors that “his dream girl was a lesbian,” and he was deeply discouraged…

Their Chinatown had been bustling for half a century. Kids always had close friends—Su Mu’s grandfather was friends with Du Zhong and Li Ping’an’s grandfathers, and they were still neighbors.

In fact, Su Mu’s name was chosen by Du Zhong’s grandfather, a renowned old herbalist in Chinatown, famed for his acupuncture skills. His business thrived daily, with even White clients seeking him out. Both “Su Mu” and “Du Zhong” were names of medicinal herbs.

The Du family had made a bit of money, barely squeezing into the lower middle class, while the Su and Du families still hustled in the cramped space of Chinatown. They were poor, sure, but life was still passable…