Front Desk (Front Desk #1) (Scholastic Gold)

by Kelly Yang

My parents told me that America would be this amazing place where we could live in a house with a dog, do whatever we want, and eat hamburgers till we were red in the face. So far, the only part of that we’ve achieved is the hamburger part, but I was still holding out hope. And the hamburgers here are pretty good.

I thought of my three cousins back home. None of them had ever gotten fired before. Like me, they were only children as well. In China, every child is an only child, ever since the government decided all families are allowed only one. Since none of us had siblings, we were our siblings. Leaving them was the hardest part about leaving China.

“Mom,” I asked her, “why did we come here? Why did we come to America?” I repeated.

“Because it’s freer here,” she finally said, which didn’t make any sense. Nothing was free in America. Everything was so expensive.

“One day, you’ll understand,”

our rent then cost almost all my dad’s salary. (And who said things in America were free?)

I wondered if I worked really hard, would I also be able to speak native English one day? Or was that something completely off-limits for me?

I smiled, savoring the moment. Our lives were about to change. We were going to become Disneyland-going people.

“Based on how they look, of course,” he said, which made me wonder, because it’s not like bad people walked around with a sticker on their heads saying I’m bad.

“Under no circumstances are you ever to leave the motel unattended. Ever. One of you must always stay behind.” Again my parents nodded eagerly, even though I was thinking, Wait—what? I can’t go out with both my parents at the same time? But what about Disneyland?

My mom says it’s important to take pictures of the nice moments in life, even if it’s just in your head.

“Eggplant!” she said in Chinese, and I giggled, because even though that’s what people in China said whenever someone took pictures, it was funny hearing it in America.

“Hey, Hank, what’d you mean by what you said earlier about Mr. Yao?” I asked. “That he was anything but all right?” Hank’s jaw locked. “You’ll soon find out, kid,” Hank said. “The man has coal for a heart.”

When you’ve moved as much as I have, checking out schools is like checking out shoe polish. So

“She just moved here from China.” Ugh. Why does she always have to tell people that? It wasn’t even true. We’d been here for two years!

I’ve got this, I told myself on my way over to the front office. This was not going to be like the restaurant. This time, I was not going to fail. All I had to do was hand out keys and take the cash. How hard could it be?

In science class at my last school, I learned that if you want a mammal to do something, you should stare at it. That’s because mammals are social creatures and we’re really into hierarchy. At the top, you have your alpha (the leader) and then your betas and omegas. The difference between an alpha and a beta is the alpha wins every staring contest.

The whole time, I couldn’t believe it was really happening. I was just a kid, but I had asked an adult to hand me money and he actually did it!

I wondered which was better—to have had something for just a second and then have it taken away, or to have never had it at all.

How could they just change the terms on us like that? Now whenever a customer returned the key, instead of getting five dollars, we were getting hardly anything.

At the sound of my name, I thought about turning around and leaving. I hated hearing my parents argue. They hadn’t really done it in China, but ever since we came to America, it was getting harder and harder to avoid.

I wanted to say to them, It’s okay. You argue sometimes. I get it.

Any adult who says the words don’t touch to a kid should know it’s an open invitation to touch it.

But I had this thing where if I started something, I had to finish it. It didn’t matter what it was—books, Chinese chess, or the last strawberry on the candied skewers I used to eat back home. When I started something, I finished it.

Why was it that everything in America had to do with money? People wouldn’t give you back your key unless you charged them a deposit. They’d hold a simple mistake over your head unless you gave them a free soda.

I missed Popsicle Grandpa. There was no one like that here. Here, everything had a price, even kindness.

From the urgency in his voice, I thought it was a real emergency. Had the smoke alarm gone off? Did the television explode?

“Why are you doing this?” he asked me. “Shouldn’t you be out playing?”

Why were Americans always asking kids to go out and play? In China, kids almost never played. They had to sit for exams starting at an early age. Except for family get-togethers, every minute after school was packed with homework, drilling, revision, and dictation. When I went to first grade in China, I got only two minutes a day to play. That’s literally what it said on a schedule I made for myself: 5:00–5:02: Play.

Who knew that something so basic (pillows) could make someone so happy?

Helpful staff. There was no greater feeling in the world than reading those words. A smile stretched across my face as I got ready for school.

As I walked, I gave the butterflies in my stomach their usual pep talk—It’s going to be okay. I’ll make friends, and if I don’t, I’ll borrow books from the library.

Jason shot me a look. A don’t you dare look. Heat rushed to my cheeks and to Jason’s. Why didn’t he want the others to know?

I wanted to ask him if he was okay, but then I thought about all the horrible things he and his dad said the day before, and I didn’t.

That afternoon, my parents and I hopped and hopped and hopped, laughing so hard, we soon forgot we were washing towels.

Uncle Ming wasn’t really my uncle—that was just what we called family friends in China.

As we played, I turned to Hank and asked him if he knew anything about loan sharks. “Oh, that’s nothing you want to get involved with,” he said. “No, sirree. You want to stay as far away as you can from that rabbit hole!”

“Fifty dollars?” I asked. “What kind of people would agree to that?” “Desperate people,” Hank said. “People who can’t get loans anywhere else.” “And what happens if they don’t pay them back?” Hank sucked in air. “You don’t want to know,” he said. I turned to Fred. “They’ll come and find you,” Fred said. “Beat you up … or worse.”

“Someday what?” Billy Bob asked, chuckling. “You’ll really own Pennsylvania Avenue and Park Place?” “Hey, it can happen! If it can happen in Monopoly, why not in real life?”

“Remember, show, not tell! Write what you feel, kids,” Mrs. Douglas announced to the class. “If you’re mad, write mad. If you’re sad or you’re worried, write sad and worried.”

But it wasn’t okay. I thought I could make the front desk better with all my spare keys and comments cards. But no card in the world could protect me from what I’d been avoiding since day one: One wrong buzz and it was all over. This was not just fun and games. This was dangerous.

“You know what’s the difference between a good employee and a bad employee?” he asked, jabbing his finger into my chest at the exact spot the drunk guy grabbed me. I shook my head. “It’s not whether they’re hardworking or even whether they’re smart,” he said, staring into my eyes. “It’s whether they know their place.”

But how? How would I say to her a drunk guy grabbed me, clutched a fistful of my shirt, and screamed into my face? That the man I was working for didn’t think my life was worth twenty-five dollars per square foot? How could I tell Lupe all that?

“Why put a scary part in the middle of a beautiful piece?” I remember asking my piano teacher. “Because life is scary sometimes, little one,” he had said.

“How’d you learn to play piano if you had no money?” Jason asked. For some reason, this infuriated me. “Why can’t I learn piano?” I asked him. “What, you think only rich people get to do stuff?” Jason’s face turned bright red. “I just meant—” “Poor people can do stuff too!” I shouted at him as I slammed the piano cover and walked away.

The front desk was my chocolate notebook and I was not letting it go. No way.

“We’re immigrants,” she said. “Our lives are never fair.” My dad nodded. “We have to try,” he said. “We have to try and accept our fate.” My parents were always going on about fate. Sometimes I wondered if this fate thing was just something adults made up to make themselves feel better, like the tooth fairy.

My parents let me keep my job, but only after I told them I would make a sign saying Security Camera Installed and put it up in the front office. Even though we didn’t have a security camera, people could think we had a camera.

White on white on white? That’s not a sandwich—that’s an envelope!

I marveled at the guy, at his bravery. He didn’t even care if anyone saw him—that was the amazing part. I think I definitely would have cared.