"This is what you call a high school in the United States of America?" Li Wei pointed at the scene outside the car window, then turned to look at Don Quixote, who was smoking. "If you hadn't told me, I would've thought it was some kind of military base."
In Li Wei's limited memory of American high schools, they were supposed to be like something out of *High School Musical* or *Gossip Girl*—open campuses with lush green lawns, red brick, and white tiles.
But now, what lay before him was a concrete fortress completely encircled by a ten-foot-high chain-link fence. The top of the fence was curled inward, seemingly to prevent people from climbing in—or out.
Besides the rickety "Franklin K. Lane High School" sign at the school gate, the most conspicuous things were the two New York Police Department cruisers parked on the side of the road.
"But given your situation, this is your only option," Don Quixote said, blowing out a smoke ring. He flicked the cigarette butt out the window and patted Li Wei's shoulder. "Let's go. This place is a shithole, and I don't want to stick around."
The two of them got out of the car and walked toward the main entrance.
If the exterior looked like a prison, then the entry process was even more so.
It was just about time for school to start, and a long line had formed at the entrance. When Li Wei got closer, he realized that everyone was going through a security check.
"BEEP—!"
A Black girl with dreadlocks at the front of the line was stopped.
"Open your bag!" a burly security guard roared. "You know the rules, Tanisha!"
"Fack! It's just a damn curling iron!" the girl, Tanisha, grumbled, reluctantly emptying the contents of her bag onto the table. Among the items was a crudely made folding comb.
"What's this?" The guard picked up the comb, glanced at it, and tossed it directly into the trash can. "Tip's too sharp. Confiscated."
"That's my comb, you fucking bitch—"
"Next!"
After a simple registration process, the two were allowed into the school building.
The moment he stepped into the hallway, a smell assaulted his senses—a mixture of weed, the sour stench of an old mop, and cheap cologne.
Most of the lockers lining the hallway were dented in, covered with layer upon layer of graffiti. Half the fluorescent lights on the ceiling were broken; the other half flickered listlessly, emitting an irritating BUZZ.
"So, do they just grow weed on American campuses?" Li Wei asked, taking in the curious stares directed at him. "Do I really have to go to this high school?"
The gazes were a mix of curiosity and awe, mostly coming from Latina and Black girls—the two ethnic groups that made up the majority of the student body. A smaller portion of the stares came from boys with ill intent.
They spoke in accented Spanish or street slang, pointing at Li Wei and Don Quixote and occasionally bursting into loud laughter.
"Nothing to be done," Don Quixote muttered. "It's the law here in New York."
After navigating a labyrinth of hallways, the two finally found the administrative office tucked away in a corner on the first floor.
Pushing the door open, Li Wei came to an even deeper understanding. 'The United States of America's education system is completely finished.'
The desk was piled high with boxes of unprocessed files and even a half-eaten pizza box. The receptionist was a middle-aged white woman who looked like she had just woken up. Her quadruple chin was squeezed out by an extremely thin necklace, and her ass looked to be the size of a planet.
"What do you want?"
She didn't even lift her eyelids, her eyes still glued to the Candy Crush-style game on her computer screen.
"I'm Don Quixote Cervantes..." Don Quixote began, then squinted at her nametag. "...Ms. Palmer. This is my nephew, Li Wei. He just recently arrived in New York." He handed over the prepared documents. "I'm here to get him registered for a school transfer."
Ms. Palmer slowly took the papers. Tapping at her keyboard like a sloth, she muttered, "Brooklyn... foreigner... no prior academic records. Here," she said. "This is your schedule. School starts in one month."
The printer let out a bloodcurdling screech, as if it were about to fall apart.
Without even asking what classes Li Wei wanted to take, she had gone ahead and printed out his schedule.
Li Wei took the sheet of paper, and a single glance was enough to make his blood pressure spike.
"Beginner's ESL? English is my native tongue! And the basic algebra I learned in middle school back in the Celestial Dynasty was more advanced than this," Li Wei said, slamming the schedule down on the desk. "And why do I have Basic Woodworking? I'm not here to become a carpenter!"
"What do you want, then?" Ms. Palmer asked without looking up, still playing her mind-numbingly stupid candy-matching game. "To study equestrianism? Sailing?"
"I want to take AP classes," Li Wei stressed. "I want AP Calculus BC, AP Physics C, and AP Macroeconomics."
In the United States of America's high school system, top universities—especially an Ivy League University—required students to take at least four to six AP courses, if not more, to demonstrate their aptitude in the sciences or their overall academic capabilities.
If Li Wei just scraped by with a high school diploma and no AP course transcript, he'd basically be limited to the worst community colleges—which was hardly better than not going to college at all. After that, he'd only be qualified for the most basic manual labor.
Furthermore, AP Calculus was split into two levels, AB and BC. If Li Wei wanted to get into Yale, he had to take the more difficult, higher-credit BC course to have a competitive application.
The office fell silent for a second before a few nearby teachers, who had been enjoying the spectacle, burst into unabashed laughter.
"AP Calculus BC?"
Ms. Palmer looked as if she had just heard the funniest joke in the world.
She took off her glasses and sized Li Wei up. "Kid, do you have any idea where you are? This is Brooklyn. We can't even scrape together enough students to run a Calc BC class. We only offer AB."
"Besides, we don't have the budget for it," another male teacher with a balding crown chimed in. He was holding a mug with 'Best Teacher' printed on it. "The physics textbooks are a decade old, and all the lab equipment's been stolen and sold off by those little punks. You want AP Physics C? What are we supposed to do, conduct the experiments on the blackboard?"
Li Wei took a deep breath.
"Then you can at least register me for the exams, right?" he said. "I'll self-study for both of them."
In the United States of America's education system, taking an AP course and taking the AP exam were two completely separate things. A student could perfectly well self-study and then register to take the final AP exams the following May.
But this would require Ms. Palmer to create a new exam code just for Li Wei, not to mention ordering his test booklets and arranging for a proctor. It was a whole lot of trouble.
She frowned, just about to refuse.
"Do it!"
Don Quixote suddenly barked, slamming his palm down on the counter with enough force to make the half-eaten pizza box jump.
For a split second, his six-foot-plus frame, combined with his fierce, sleep-deprived eyes, actually struck fear into Ms. Palmer's heart.
"Fine, fine, just shut up," she said, clattering away on her keyboard. "AP Calculus BC... but we can only put you in the AB class. AP Physics 1... The textbooks are in the basement storeroom. Go find them yourself."
...
Ten minutes later, the two of them emerged from the dim, musty basement storeroom carrying a stack of textbooks. They left the school and got back in the car.
"Thanks, Uncle," Li Wei said, looking at the dust-covered books in his hands. "For speaking up for me back there."
"Well, since you refused to take my word for it," Don Quixote said, lighting another cigarette to force himself awake, "I had to let you see for yourself just how brutal the United States of America's education system is."
As he spoke, he pulled something from his waistband and handed it to Li Wei.
"What's this?" Li Wei took it and saw that it was a switchblade made of hard plastic. "You're giving this to me?"
"In your dreams," Don Quixote said as he started the car. "It's a little trinket I used for self-defense. Selling it to you for 100 USD is more than fair. I just brought it through security with me; their metal detectors can't pick up plastic."
"Don't give me that look, kid," he said, suddenly swerving into traffic and nearly hitting a honking taxi. "Once you're in there, stay out of trouble and don't make friends. Don't go getting a soft heart, not even if you meet other Asians or Chinese. Just focus on your studies and keep a low profile."
After leaving the school, Li Wei had Don Quixote take him back to the Upper East Side, to the place the System called [Noble Courtyard].
It was still early, so Li Wei decided to go check out the Dolores boutique that the middle-aged socialite had mentioned.