New From Here: Chapters 24–56

I close my eyes and imagine wielding my ADHD like a lightsaber.

“Even if you get in, the commute is out of the question for me. I’m only one person. I can’t be driving you three for hours all over the place every morning. I’m trying to find a job.”

It’s a time for people to burn fake money and other offerings to their ancestors. If I close my eyes, I can still smell the burning incense on the street.

I furrow my eyebrows as I get out of the car.

According to KidsHealth, people with ADHD are inattentive, hyperactive, and impulsive. It says kids with ADHD might “interrupt, push, grab, and find it hard to wait. They may have emotional reactions that seem too intense for the situation.”

"Your dad is fine. He’s hanging in there. It could be a lot worse—a lot of his coworkers got furloughed.”
“Fur what?” I ask. I picture a furry loaf of bread. That's a weird thing to give people.
“Furloughed. It’s when your employer temporarily lets you go home because they don’t need you to work, and you’re not paid,” Mom says, starting the car.

“We even got an award for Best Small Business for the Community,” he tells me, pointing to a plaque on the wall as a man comes in for his takeout order.

“Mom will get me, Dad will get Bowen. And Knox will be split right down the middle, one arm each.”
“Hey!” I exclaim, feeling my arms to make sure they’re intact.

“What? Google apparently asked this question!” he says, pointing to his computer.

“No, Mom’s the one who graduated with honors. She’s the academic superstar. That’s why the chancellor gave her that special glass in the kitchen!”
“What’s a chancellor?” Lea asks, confused.
“I think it’s someone who takes a lot of chances,” Bowen responds.

I run instinctively over to the fence and start climbing it. I refuse to lose my soccer ball.

Our lack of health insurance didn’t exactly register into my decision to climb that fence.

The disappointment on Mom’s face as she compares me to Bowen is so overwhelming, I’m almost tempted to run across the field and climb over the fence again.

Today, I put my arms and head inside my shirt, hunkering down for Mom’s mad-storm.

My sister’s too preoccupied telling Mom about the new rainbow trout they got in her class to notice I’m already in the car.

“When you hyper-focus, you can accomplish anything. You can stay fixated on something way longer than everyone else can.”

Reluctantly, I tell Dad about the whole permanent-record thing. No college. No job. And possible jail time. I don’t realize how much it’s been bothering me until I get it off my chest. Then stare, petrified, into the screen.

Lea is deliriously happy when she sees her name and starts taking all the stuff out.

There are tie-dyed dresses, fuzzy hats, strappy heels, baggy jeans, and fringe leather jackets.

I think your thesis is entirely inaccurate. There is no way China will ever emerge as a major economic player—it is simply inconceivable that a nation that had 90 percent of its people in poverty in 1980 can truly ever fully transform itself.

I think about my Trader Joe’s bag full of Valentines under our bunk—at least half of them were from girls. And they’re nice—they’re not part of Tyler’s posse.

I try to imagine Mom now in her old fuzzy newspaper cap and plaid skirt and platform shoes. I scrunch my face—she would look like a meme.

Bowen looks down at the many colorful shirts and scarves we got from Mom’s closet, along with a few other knickknacks, like this red velvet box I found stuck way in the back of her clothes.

“No brooches or earrings that were in the special velvet box in my closet?”

And I’m happy you guys took the initiative to start a garage sale.

As Bowen disappears into the den to check it out, Lea and I wait in the living room, marveling at all the pictures and memorabilia on Mr. Brady’s walls.

We squeeze in front of Bowen’s computer, clamoring to look at the footage.

“No! That’ll never happen to us,” Bowen insists.
I absorb his definitive answer. So unwavering and strong, just like Bowen.

I gaze up at the enormous ranch-style home as we walk across the huge, lush lawn.

“We can’t wait till the virus actually comes here. We’ll make a fortune!” Max adds. The brothers high-five each other while we gawk at them.

“There’s like twenty-five dollars there!” Max balks.
“More like two hundred dollars!” I tell them.
“But you said these were anniversary earrings,” Max says, opening his hand and holding the rubies up to the sunlight.

“Our dad is...er...real cheap.”
“That’s why our mom left him!” Lea adds. We all nod solemnly, trying our best to look like the spawn of a miserable cheapskate.

But Mom nixes the idea with a regretful shake of her head.

I look at his smug face. It makes my insides bubble the way he says it, like we’re not as good as his family.

“I always want to say something about our restaurant, but I’m afraid people will tell me I’m biased because I’m the owner’s son.”