CHAPTER 13 ORIGIN STORY

I was finally ready to delete Chase’s files. And to make sure I had privacy, I was locked in a stall. I’d been in here so long my nose had grown accustomed to the underlying stink of pee and used pads.

Since I was pressed for time, I told myself not to read anything until later. But once I opened the first photo, I couldn’t help myself. I skimmed each page before deleting it, learning about how young Chase and not-so-long-ago Chase loved to argue with his teachers about any grade below an A. What an adorable uber-nerd.

As the dates grew closer to the present, I began reading every word.

Chase still won’t talk about his brother. When I ask questions, he stares out the window.

After several entries along these lines, I came across this one:

Chase finally opened up about Yang today. It’s been one month and three days since Yang fled and the lawsuit was filed. Chase finally managed to name one of his emotions: sad.

His parents are still refusing to meet, either just with me or with Chase in the room, even after I stressed how much he needs it.

One week later:

Admitted he was angry today. Progress.

Two weeks later:

All he talks about now is his family’s shame and .

And the last entry from his Flushing school:

Chase informed me of the move. He seemed very reluctant but couldn’t voice it out loud. Perhaps he’s still in shock? Gave him my contact information.

What did Yang do? Also, why did his brother have a Chinese name while Chase was Chase? And he hadn’t been kidding when he said he grew up in a mostly Chinese community—even his school counselor knew Mandarin.

I swiped right, hoping Mr. Laurelson’s notes would illuminate things even more.

Shit. The last few photos were blurry—I must’ve been moving too fast because of the cacaw. I zoomed in and tried to at least pick a few words out, but it was like reading a few errant characters from my mom’s article: useless.

Shit… this time, literally. Someone had taken up residence in the neighboring stall and was having a much worse day than me. Even though I had been in her exact position many times before (especially in this very same bathroom—like I said, my mom’s specialty was oil pancakes), the smell was so bad I was having a hard time finding my empathy.

My fingers fumbled as I rushed to delete the rest of the photos, my digits flying faster than Yo-Yo Ma’s in concert.

Jeez, what did she have for lunch? I assumed it was all white bread and deli meats for these people, but maybe this was the universe sending me a lesson through this girl’s bowels: Do not judge others by stereotypes, you hypocrite, or you will be forced to smell poo.

I bolted out of there…

… and ran right into Chase.

He scratched the back of his head. “Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

His face scrunched the second the smell wafting from the still-closing door hit him, and I instinctively yelled, “That wasn’t me!” before reminding myself I shouldn’t care. “I mean, it would be fine if it had been—everybody poops—but I lied. I was trying to get some privacy to, uh…” It was my turn to scratch the back of my head.

I ran through possible excuses but in the end (surprise, surprise), I said nothing else.

He gave me a kind smile. “I know all this is overwhelming. I’m here for you.”

All I could think was What did your brother do? And Is this what my mother is so concerned about?

Since I couldn’t ask about any of that, I instead blurted, “Why do you have such a white name?” The remaining words died on my lips: especially when your brother has a Chinese name.

His face turned down—quite the rare sight. “My parents didn’t, uh, give me much thought,” he said, looking straight ahead. “I came along five years after my prized older brother, and they gave him the honor of naming me. He thought it was pretty funny for me to be Chase Yu.”

I waited a beat, hoping he’d say more (not just about his name), but nothing came.

“Um, it could’ve been worse?” I offered.

He laughed. “I guess I could’ve been Chuck or Dick if he’d been older when I was born?”

“Exactly.” I thought for a moment. “If I had the opportunity to name a younger sibling, I would’ve gone with Pika. Pika Chu.”

He burst out laughing. “Okay, maybe my name isn’t so bad after all. And… maybe Chase Yu doesn’t bother me so much anymore, in light of recent events.” He winked at me, and I made a mental note to keep up the puns.

“I get it,” I said. “I may also know a thing or two about changing how you feel about your name.”

His smile was brighter than I’d ever seen, stretching from one side of his face to the other—no tilt.

I wish I could have just enjoyed the moment and basked in his warmth, but all I could think was, What are you hiding?