"Ginny," came Stephanie's voice, very low. "I have another secret." Stephanie scooted close to Ginny. Ginny could smell the minty toothpaste smell of her breath. "Okay. Here goes. Sometimes I wish my parents were Chinese." Ginny's eye flew open.
"You do?" "Then everyone wouldn't stare at us. You think it's hard to be different from kids at school. Just imagine being different from your own mother and father." Ginny nodded, her head making a rustling sound against the crisp pillowcase. "Now your turn," Stephanie said suddenly and brightly. Ginny had nothing to match Stephanie's secret. She pulled the comforter higher over her shoulders. What could she offer? She felt Stephanie waiting.
She searched for what Stephanie wanted to hear. Finally, she found it. She whispered, "Sometimes I wish I wasn't Chinese. I wish I was just American." The minute she'd said it, she wished she hadn't. She wished she could pull the words right out of the air. They seemed to hang there for anyone to hear. How would MaMÃ and Daddy feel to hear those words? .
Stephanie leaned up on one elbow. "But what about your whole Chinese life? The food and all?" she asked. "I thought you liked all that." "I do. Just sometimes." ". you wish ." Stephanie said.
Ginny nodded. She couldn't say the words again. "That's my secret, too," Stephanie said, lying back down. "Even more than my parents being Chinese, I wish we were all white." _________.