If you had told me twelve years ago that one day, I’d write a book about my high school friends, I would have laughed you out of the room before immediately going back to studying for my math quiz.
Back then, I was 15 in a suburban town filled with kids who looked nothing like me. At the time, 2% of my high school was Asian American, and most were first- and second-generation immigrants — teenagers who were born in Asia or whose parents came to the United States for college or work opportunities. I was none of those things. My parents were born in New York, which meant that I was third-generation Chinese American. I didn’t speak Mandarin or Cantonese, and I didn’t go to a Chinese church or Kumon. Stuck between my white classmates and my Asian ones, I drifted in the middle. That’s when I met Emily and Eileen.
Emily and Eileen already knew each other from Chinese circles I was not a part of, but that didn’t matter. We became fast friends despite having completely different interests and extracurriculars. In history, Eileen and I would turn to each other and nervously laugh when we both realized we’d failed our weekly quizzes again. Emily would tell us about how she strategically placed her long hair over her face so she could fall asleep during class without anyone noticing. Over the summer, Eileen would break out her digital camera and take photos of us in my backyard, decked out in flared dresses and Payless sandals. In the rough seas of rotating friend groups and classic high school drama, Emily and Eileen were my steady lighthouses.
Twelve years later, we’re still best friends. During the COVID lockdown, we watched Eileen cut her bangs over video chat and cheered on Emily as she applied to medical school. We’ve seen each other fall in and out of love, and back in again. We live in different cities and states and have busy careers, but we text and see each other regularly. In fact, it’s the tenacity of our friendship in spite of our…
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