YEAH, YEAH, THAT’S FINE, THE MONEY’S ALL YOURS
KELLY THOUGHT BACK TO THAT DAY MANY WEEKS BEFORE WHEN SHE’D proposed her grand plan, when she’d marched into enemy territory and asked her father for the money. He hadn’t, as she’d anticipated, questioned or doubted her. He’d just (eventually) pushed aside his doomed Sudoku puzzle and listened. Listened intently as she described the proposed facilities, the expert counselors with higher degrees from top universities, the vision she had to make China a healthier, fitter place one child at a time. Listened, cocked his head, and listened some more.
But the Papa Hui she knew was abrasive, crude, my-way-or-the-highway, dismissive of her, always irritated with her, burdened by her.
She thought he’d peered back at her that day with a sort of recognition, of pride. She foolishly thought he’d seen something in her eyes, some glimmer of hope that he recognized from his own days of aspiration, of youth.
Because without any fight at all, he’d agreed to hand over the money.
But Papa Hui was no idiot and was, despite the company’s lore that profitably stated otherwise, hardly an idealist. He was the country’s richest man and he knew, better than anyone, how China and the world worked. When he’d looked at his only daughter looking starry-eyed, he wasn’t looking on with pride, but with pity. Please, he saw the future: government officials running riot through Macau’s casinos, forking out for bottles of Johnnie Walker and elaborate fruit platters in ornate nightclubs, recklessly spending on iPhones and iPads and electronic wine bottle openers and exotic animal parts believed to increase sexual potency. And he saw her future too, which was obviously synonymous to him with her present and with her past: as a powerless little troublemaker who would never, ever be as good as a goose.
AND TAKE ME ON THE GRAND TOUR AND SHOW ME ALL THE THINGS I LONG TO SEE
KELLY, SILENTLY RAGING AT HER FATHER AND FLOATING IN A STATE OF disbelief, ordered Zhao to lead her on a tour around campus. She stepped heavily, angrily, in her new Nikes. Everyone knew officials were corrupt, so why did she believe their pitch? How had she fallen for this? And why hadn’t she realized that her old fuck of a father would go to any lengths, including spending three million yuan, to humiliate her?
There was supposed to be an Olympic-sized swimming pool, state-of-the-art fitness facilities, and world-class chefs. Instead, there was a sewage-like stench hanging in the dense air.
Kelly crinkled her nose. “Is there something wrong with the pipes?”
Zhao shook his head. “No, I think you’re smelling lunch.”
They lingered for a moment longer in the dining hall, a dimly lit room with low ceilings that may or may not have been pocked with black mold. “Onward,” Zhao said, and led her to the kitchen, which Kelly noted was definitely the source of the stench and where the cook, not stopping to look up at them, diligently chopped vegetables. Kelly watched, mesmerized by the rhythmic chop, chop, chop of the cleaver.
Zhao’s voice cut into the beat. “Gym next?” She followed him across the courtyard to a small building, which housed the indoor fitness facilities—a sorry scene. On one side of the room stood a dusty treadmill, a torn vinyl bench, and a single barbell. On the other, an instructor bounced before a cracked floor-to-ceiling mirror, crying chipper instructions and encouragements. Tinny pop music blasted from a cell phone speaker, and a dozen or so fat kids, all with identification numbers worn around their necks, lazily swung light dumbbells about and stepped out of sync. The instructor waved at Zhao, dropping her own small dumbbell on her toe. She winced slightly, but then picked it up, forced a grin, and carried on.
This is war, Kelly decided, watching that pained smile relax into a more natural one. If she could rehabilitate these lazy-ass children, make them thin despite the stolen money, the corruption, the derelict surroundings and inadequate equipment, Papa Hui would be made a fool. He’d be sorry he ever doubted her, sorry he tried to humiliate her, sorry for everything. Not that his opinion would matter then anyway. Not when she proved herself a national hero, and one who didn’t need fancy flourishes to make a difference. All she needed, and all she had, was little more than savvy, prowess, and a big heart.
As the kids continued to exercise and as Zhao muttered rude half-formed thoughts about cellulite under his breath, Kelly whipped out her iPhone and texted her driver not to worry about picking her up, that she’d definitely be staying the night. She slid it into her pocket and then ran her fingers through her silky extensions.
“Hey.” Zhao nudged her arm. She instinctively recoiled. “There’s a pool down there,” he said, pointing to a stairwell in the corner. “But we can’t use it because the construction workers who were building the school were using it as a toilet. Still sort of stinks.”
Vomit crept up her gullet. She swallowed the acidic liquid down, took a few deep and burning breaths, and followed Zhao through the nutrition classroom (where a group of children sat uncomfortably at rickety desks chorally reciting lines from a Chinese translation of a Weight Watchers pamphlet), the activity room (where students crafted what Kelly first mistook for bracelets, but what upon further inspection turned out to be colorful ball gags), and the camper dormitories (where a few students lounged on cot-like bunk beds, snoring, biting their fingernails, and flipping through high-fashion magazines, among other approved leisure-time activities).
Finally, they stepped back outside, where a pack of children sat in a poorly formed circle on the basketball court, singing, Oh, how bad to be thick, oh, how good to be thin! / Oh, eat a lot of food is for pigs, eat a little bit is for kids! Their harmonious voices drifted high above the trees, and Kelly couldn’t help but picture the people in the surrounding apartment blocks, the old aunties washing dishes and the teenagers studying for university entrance exams, pausing and craning their necks for a better listen.
Pride overtook heartburn and welled up inside her. What she was going to do could really make the busy nation stop and pay notice. Could make her father drop dead of a shock-induced heart attack. Could make everyone say, “Hey, this girl could really be someone! She’s changing lives here! She can move mountains!” Oh, there would be articles in the airline magazines, interviews on all the top websites, TV specials profiling formerly fat children whose lives the one and only Ms. Kelly Hui helped rebuild from flabby rubble, best of the best…
A deep voice spitting, “Hey, fatty!” ripped Kelly from her daydreams. At once, the children stopped singing. Zhao glared down at a chipmunk-cheeked, blank-faced girl. He lightly kicked her in the back, and she spun around to look up at him with wounded eyes. Zhao knelt down beside her, his hideous face centimeters away from hers. She crinkled her nose and shrunk from Zhao’s rotting breath. “Why weren’t you singing with the rest of them?” he spat.
The girl didn’t speak. She blinked. Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Sing!” he shouted in her face. A solitary tear rolled down her crab apple cheek, but she didn’t open her mouth, just stared back at him. He calmly stood up, clapped his hands against his thighs. “Now get back to it!” he called to the lot of them, and then blew the whistle he wore around his neck.
On cue, the children resumed their song, but it sounded different now, its joyful spirit sapped. Anger welled up inside Kelly again, temporarily replacing her pride and ambition, and she fiercely shook her head—not only was this blockhead inexperienced and unrefined, but he was also a bully, and in her mind, there was little worse. Her nostrils flared and she took an aggressive step toward that ugly Zhao, who had begun slogging back toward the office. She advanced quickly up from behind him, jabbed him hard in the kidney with her pointer finger, and lowered her voice so that the children wouldn’t hear. “That’s a human being you were talking to back there.”
Zhao spun around, all bulging eyes and outrage, all puffed-up chest. “Yes? And?”
Carbohydrates are for energy! Protein is for muscle! / If you eat too many of any, you better start to hustle! To burn! TO BURN! TO BU-BU-BU-BU-BURN!
“It’s pretty