Trade Me (Cyclone #1)

He shrugs. “I always want the Rams to win.”


I glance sideways, but he doesn’t seem to be joking about this. Maybe he’s just naturally stoic.

“And you?” he asks politely.

“I’m a 49ers fan.”

“Of course.” He smiles at this. “You spent your whole life in Palo Alto. That’s natural.”

“Yeah. Although that’s not the only reason…” I stop suddenly. We talked about my major. We talked about my fake version of Dad’s job last night. We didn’t talk about where I lived, and most of what Tina has said about me to her parents is that I’m not her boyfriend.

The news starts again, and he leans forward, focusing on the screen. For the next few moments, he doesn’t say anything. It shouldn’t feel this awkward to sit and watch television in silence. I shift in my seat, trying to get comfortable, but there’s nothing physical about my unease. For some reason, Mr. Chen makes me nervous. I look across the room, making eye contact with Felix the Cat. The plastic sculpture rolls its eyes at me and waves its tail. Maybe it’s a cultural thing.

“So,” Mr. Chen says at the next commercial break, “does Tina know your father is one of the richest men in the world, or are you only lying to us?” His tone is utterly calm.

My throat grows dry. I glance over at him and lick my lips.

He doesn’t look angry or mean; he’s watching me with his head cocked, as if my answer is about as interesting as our small talk about the news.

“Tina knows,” I croak.

“That’s okay, then.” He leans back.

I still can’t tell if he’s serious or sarcastic. He’s smiling just a little bit, but there’s a sharpness to his eyes. “How did you know?”

He smiles. “I told you already. I watch a lot of TV.” He doesn’t say anything more, and after the silence stretches on and on, into the next commercial break, I realize that he’s finished with the subject.

Tina told me once that people underestimate her father. I suspect I just did, too. He’s quiet and soft-spoken. He watches MTV, for God’s sake. I had kind of thought that Tina got her backbone from her mother.

Somehow, I’d missed the fact that her father withstood three months of torture by the Chinese government.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you,” I try again. “This whole thing is complicated and my dad and I are…even more complicated at the moment. Tina and I decided it would be easier to not go into too many details.”

“Lying to me is easy because you don’t think you’ll see me again,” he says with a nod. “Don’t worry. I don’t mind.”

I’m fumbling for an answer that doesn’t sound completely awful, when he shakes his head.

“I can tell it was Tina’s idea anyway.”

I pull back. “Don’t blame her. If I tell a lie, I’ll take responsibility for it.”

“I’m not blaming anyone. Things are complicated for her.”

“It isn’t Tina’s fault,” I tell him. “And it’s complicated for me, too. If I had my way, Blake Reynolds would completely disappear.”

I hadn’t expected to say that. He looks at me. His eyes are wide, one eyebrow cocked. I know how stupid it sounds. I know that if I tried to explain why I wanted out of my life, he would think I was spoiled.

And—with more than a month of living Tina’s life behind me—at this point, I realize that I probably am.

But he only says one thing. “Hmm.”

The tinny sound of the chipper news anchor is no longer a welcome distraction. It makes me feel almost sick to my stomach. I am spoiled for not wanting that burden on my shoulders.

I’ve been trying not to think about it, but now it sinks in. I’m taking over for my dad in a matter of weeks, and I’m not strong enough. I know it, deep in my bones. When I fail, the whole world will be watching. My failure will be documented in books, academic articles, and derivative shareholder suits.

God, this is such a fucking mess.

“Things are complicated,” Mr. Chen says. “People always jump to conclusions. People think I don’t understand English because I don’t speak loudly. They see my lucky leg and think I have a bad life.” He smiles faintly. “I try not to conclude too much too early.”

I turn back to Mr. Chen. “Are you being ironic when you call it your lucky leg?”

“No.” But instead of smiling, his face goes blank. His eyes shift inward. “Of course not.”

“Then why…?”

“When I came to America, there was another man who came with me. Chun Donghai. He also practiced Falun Gong, and was also in the same reeducation camp as me. We both left China at the same time.”

I fold my hands and wait for him to continue.

“We both filed paperwork for asylum. We even had the same lawyer. When it was my turn, the man who heard my story believed me when I said I was tortured in China. After all, I had proof it happened.” He points to his leg. “So my family stayed. Donghai went back to China.”