Graduates in Wonderland Read Online Free Page B

fun, more fun than I’ve had in a long time. We stay out late most nights, either dancing or exploring, and when we return to our neighborhood around 3  A.M. , we congregate outside of our apartment building in the balmy night air.
    We wander through a jungle gym to reach a handful of stone tables, which are usually covered with trash, cigarette butts, and sunflower seeds—­it’s all very dilapidated. Maxwell calls the table closest to the street “the best table in town,” and that’s where we always sit. We drink bottles of beer and peel the lychees we’ve just bought off the street vendors and talk loudly and inevitably the Chinese neighbors get mad at us for waking them up. Sometimes Astrid is there, and sometimes she’s not. I love both versions of these nights—­because I love being silly with Astrid, making her laugh and being around someone who knows me so well. But I also love the nights alone with Maxwell, because he’s the one who makes me laugh too.
    Shouldn’t it be illegal for a guy to look at you like you’re the only girl in the world when he’s clearly in love with someone else? I think the real betrayal is this: When you make a guy laugh and they maintain eye contact with you while they’re laughing. Please stop staring deep into my soul, Maxwell. There’s an unspoken code that if you aren’t romantically interested in someone, you look away from them when you’re laughing—­otherwise it just feels too intimate. I’ve spent entire first dates looking at the floor.
    So there’s always that weird subtext with Maxwell when we’re alone: “I know you want Astrid, but we’re the ones who laugh together.” I don’t dare say anything about it. Eventually the air grows chilly, and we go our separate ways.
    I am meeting a lot of other expats, but all we have in common is the fact that we are expats in China. So far, the best conversations I have are with taxi drivers. I love these guys! I love practicing my Mandarin with them. After they establish that I am an American, here is how every single conversation goes:
    Cabdriver: ( gives me a good, long look ) You know, you look a little Chinese to me.
    Me: My dad’s Chinese.
    Cabdriver: YOUR DAD IS CHINESE?!
    Me: Yes.
    Cabdriver: And your mother is...?
    Me: American.
    Cabdriver: So you’re a “mixed-­blood.” (In Mandarin, this is an acceptable thing to say.)
    Me: Yes!
    Cabdriver: tue fjklsio akdj woeur adsla wieur aldj ckxlz
    (In this e-mail, this looks like Czech or something, but it’s actually supposed to be Mandarin that is too advanced for me to understand.)
    Me: Yes...?
    Pause
    And then I get out, and I’m like, “It was so good to meet you!” and they’re like “DON’T OPEN THE DOOR ON THAT CYCLIST!” and also, “Go slowly”—­their way of saying, “Take care.” I love speaking this exotic language. I feel like a completely different person when I step back and listen to myself.
    Speaking of half-­bloods, have I told you that I’ve been reading the final Harry Potter book? During my first week here, I was desperate and it was the only English book I could find. However, I made the mistake of first buying a fake one off the street. It was called Harry Potter and Leopard Walk-­Up to Dragon . It was essentially bad translations of the Lord of the Rings, with Harry Potter characters inserted. I’ll try to send one to you. Here’s how it begins: “Harry doesn’t know how long it will take to wash the sticky cream cake off his face. For a civilised young man it is disgusting to have dirt on any part of his body.” He sounds a little OCD to me in this version.
    Fucking gold. Read it and weep, J. K. Rowling.
    Love,
    Jess
    P.S. What do you think happened when Harry Potter had sex for the first time? Like, what magical thing happened? I’m thinking when