Mambo in Chinatown by Jean Kwok Page B

the germs in the caterpillars must have been sterilized, right?” Lisa said.
    “Sure,” I said. “Can we talk about something else now?”
    Pa said, “I think I feel stronger already.”
    —
    The next morning, I woke up and my cold seemed to have been cured overnight. Lisa, though, remained unchanged.
    —
    For the first time in my life, I now rode the subway every morning, rocketing north out of Chinatown. I descended into the station in one world, and I emerged, half an hour later, in an entirely different one. Riding the subway was fascinating to me, watching all of the people get on and off. As the train went uptown, the number of Chinese people in the car decreased. They were replaced by men and women in long black coats, reading their cell phones. When I spotted a subway car ad for lupus treatment, I bit my lip, wonderingif Lisa had some disease like that. What if she was really sick? No, she was a young healthy girl. She was just stressed.
    More people got on and off. I particularly studied the other young women who seemed to be, like me, on their way to work, yet in some ways looked so different. Many of them wore simple clothing that somehow still managed to be attractive by the way it fell over their bodies. They all seemed to have the same types of flat shoes or black boots and oversized bags. It felt as if the rest of the world knew something I didn’t, like they were dancing the tango together while I was doing freestyle, flailing away by myself.
    At the studio, I’d grown more comfortable since Estella left. Simone still intimidated me but she kept more to herself. The class of potential new dance teachers had recently petered out: Adrienne and Dominic had narrowed it down to three people, but then all of them had dropped out for one reason or another. One had gotten a job at another dance studio, another decided to move out of New York, and they couldn’t reach the last one at all. Now they had decided the upcoming period was too busy with ballroom shows and preholiday preparations to start another audition process, so they would wait until after the New Year to hire someone.
    Adrienne was in the office every day at seven months pregnant. And I was still making mistakes. When I was under stress, I would sometimes forget how all of the buttons on the phone worked.
    I had so much trouble with writing things down that Adrienne had said one day casually, “I think you may be dyslexic. Have you ever considered that?” I remembered a teacher in high school had mentioned that possibility to me as well, had wanted to talk to Pa about testing he’d need to approve. But Pa had been too nervous to come to school and I didn’t want Uncle Henry or Aunt Monica to think I was somehow damaged goods, so I’d told Pa that the problem had been solved. I couldn’t even really explain what dyslexiawas to him either, since I wasn’t sure myself. But in any case, it was not a positive sign if your boss thought you might have a learning disability.
    I overheard Dominic talking to Adrienne about me in the office next to the reception area. “She cut off Giovanni on the phone.” Giovanni was the Avery head of our entire region.
    “No. Was he angry?” Adrienne sounded horrified.
    “He seemed to think it was funny. Said she had a sexy voice but maybe we should hire someone who could actually do the work.”
    “Sexy?”
    “I know, but on the phone you can’t see how she’s hiding in her baggy clothing.”
    I was mortified. I’d hoped the glamour of the studio had rubbed off on me and that I was becoming a bit stylish since starting work there. Aunt Monica had told me I was too boyish and muscular, so I tended toward clothes that helped compensate. Pa taught me to cover my legs at least below the knee, midcalf if possible, and now that it was cold out, I was wearing a few layers underneath my clothing to add to my thin coat. I spent as little as possible on my own clothing, knowing how important it was for Lisa to