I Am Not Jessica Chen(84)

“We have other cousins,” I point out. “We have at least a dozen, I’m pretty sure. Another one was born just last year. And they’re all very nice—except maybe Liuwen. He still won’t admit to stealing my money from the spring festival.”

Her eyes widen. “Hey, he stole my red pocket money too.”

“Oh my god. So he has this whole criminal business going on.”

“Evidently,” she says, with such indignation that we both pause, and dissolve into laughter. “You see,” she adds. “I might have other cousins, but you’re my favorite cousin. Just don’t tell the others at the next big reunion.”

“Don’t tell them that you’re my favorite cousin too,” I say, and I find that I really do mean it. “And not just because you’re super smart or most likely to buy a mansion and invite me to visit your home theater or whatever. But because you make the most incredible lemon cookies, and you always give the best fashion advice, and I can trust you to come with me to take back our red pocket money.”

“I’m very honored.”

“You should be.”

When our laughter subsides again, she offers me a tentative sort of smile. “So . . . no hard feelings?”

“That depends on you. Have you forgiven me for taking control over your body and ruining your perfect streak across every subject?”

“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe this is real life, that we’re even having this conversation. But yeah. Yes.” She hesitates, tracing a line in the gap between the planks. “You know, I spoke with Cathy yesterday about her essay thesis, and . . . I’m going to confess.”

“What?” My head jerks up. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve already made up my mind,” Jessica says. Sighs. “Even if nobody had found out, it’s been gnawing at me ever since I did it. I—I don’t know what I was thinking, honestly.”

“You were under a lot of pressure.”

“Yeah, but it was still wrong,” she says quietly. “I just don’t want to start at Harvard in the fall carrying this awful secret with me. I don’t want to pretend. I’m too exhausted to go on the way I have these past years. I’ve burned through all I have to offer, and I’ve run out of fuel. And if they revoke my acceptance because of it . . .” She swallows. “Then I’ll learn to live with that, somehow. I thought I needed to be the kind of person who’d sacrifice anything for success. I thought sacrifice was a good thing, that it proved you were determined, dedicated. But there are some things I have to keep for myself. Like, my integrity. Like my dignity. My sanity.”

“That’s . . . really brave,” I tell her.

Surprise dances across her face. “I don’t think anyone’s called me that before.”

“You are,” I say firmly. “And no matter how it goes, I’ll be here.”

She smiles. “I know.”

I smile too, and set my eyes on her garden. The lavender has started to bloom, the magnificent purple petals rising above a sea of silvery-green leaves, all of it as beautiful as a painting. “I’m going to miss this yard. And this porch,” I muse aloud. “I miss my own bedroom a lot more, though.”

“If you ever miss it, you’re always welcome here,” Jessica says. “We’re family.”

And I’ve never felt so grateful for it, so happy that we’re related, that when we all moved here from Tianjin we took a piece of home with us. That thousands of miles away, we can still have gatherings, and homemade food, and fussing parents and petty arguments and inside jokes.

“Jenna!” My mother calls from inside the house, and my grin widens. “Jessica! Wash your hands—it’s time to eat.”

“Okay, coming,” I yell back.

“Hurry up, the noodles are sticking.”

I push onto my feet and hold out a hand to Jessica. She takes it, straightening her plaid skirt in one quick, elegant motion, and as we walk back into the house together, the living room warm and hazy with steam, our mothers adding last-minute pinches of cut coriander and chives to the dishes, our fathers setting the floral-patterned bowls down around the table one by one, it’s like we’re kids again, back when we’d play outside before dinner and fold tiny stars out of paper. Make a wish, Jessica would always tell me, and I always did.

But right now, there’s nothing else I’d wish for except this.