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I’d been there for three hours. I kept waiting for Ma to say it was time to go home. Instead, she pulled out a container of rice cooked with carrots and a bit of ham: we would have dinner at the finisher’s table. I couldn’t complain. She’d been there much longer than I had. We ate standing up and as fast as we could so we could get enough work done to stay on schedule. That first night, we left at nine o’clock. Later, I discovered that this was considered early.
     
    The next morning, I stayed in the tiny bathroom a long time.
    “Kim,” Ma said. “We’ll be late for school.”
    I reluctantly opened the door, clutching my thin towel. “I don’t feel well.”
    She looked concerned and placed her hand on my forehead. “What is it?”
    “I have a stomachache,” I said. “I think I should stay home today.”
    Ma studied me, then smiled. “Silly girl, why are you talking the big words?” She was asking why I was lying. “You have to go to school.” Ma believed in the absolute sanctity of education.
    “I can’t,” I said. My eyes started tearing up again, even though I tried to hide it by rubbing my face with the towel.
    “Are the other children mean to you?” she asked kindly.
    “It’s not the kids,” I said. I stared at the splintered threshold of the bathroom. “It’s the teacher.”
    Now she looked skeptical. Teachers are highly respected in Hong Kong. “What are you talking about?”
    I told her the whole story, the way Mr. Bogart had corrected my accent yesterday, the way he’d been angry at the things I hadn’t understood, that he’d thought I’d been cheating and given me a zero. I couldn’t stop them now, I let the tears brim over but kept myself from breaking into full sobs.
    When I was finished, Ma was silent. She had to work her mouth a moment before she was able to speak. Then she said haltingly, “Maybe I could talk to him and tell him what a good student you are.”
    For a moment, my heart caught flight but then I pictured Ma talking to Mr. Bogart with the few English words she knew. It would only make him despise me more. “No, Ma, I will try harder.”
    “I am sure that if you work the way you always do, he will give you another chance.” She reached out and pulled me to her. She laid her cheek against the top of my head.
    I was surprised and grateful Ma hadn’t automatically taken the teacher’s side against me. Leaning against her, I closed my eyes and pretended for just a moment that everything would be all right.
     
    After my talk with Ma about Mr. Bogart, I did what any sensible kid would: I started playing hooky. Ma had no choice but to leave me to walk to school alone because she had to get to the factory as early as possible in order to have any hope of finishing our work on time. She couldn’t afford the luxury of escorting me again.
    “Are you sure you know the way?” Ma asked. “Do you have your token for the subway after school?”
    Ma was afraid to leave me alone but now that I’d done it before, the route to school was actually simple. The distance was long but it required few turns. We arrived at her subway station first. Ma hesitated at the entrance, but I nodded as confidently as I could, then headed off in the direction of the school. As soon as she was out of sight, I ducked around the corner and circled home.
    Despite the cold, I was sweating. What if I ran into Mr. Bogart or one of the kids from my class recognized me? I’d never done anything similar before. Like any good Chinese girl, I’d always followed the rules and been glad to be praised by the teachers. But the only alternative was going into Mr. Bogart’s classroom again. I was learning about desperation.
    It was with a sick feeling that I pulled open the heavy door to our building and entered into that dark mouth. I huddled in the dirty living room, still in my jacket, with the weak sun’s rays clogged in the murky windows. I hadn’t ever really been alone before. I felt a bit