Series: My aunt handed me a rough, mustard-yellow dress made of coarse stiff polyester and told me I was wearing it to the Senior Heritage Gala.

Part 1 She said it was a modest traditional dress that suited a girl whose family owed her thousands of dollars. Meanwhile, she spent $1,400 [more…]

Aunt Coi sat across from Mrs. Dao, the head of the Houston Vietnamese Community Center’s youth committee, her smile a little too wide, her voice [more…]

The next afternoon, Ms. Harrison, our drama teacher, called me forward during rehearsal. The auditorium was mostly empty, just a few crew members adjusting lights. [more…]

Back at Aunt Coi’s house, the air in the backyard shed was thick with the scent of old wood, damp earth, and something vaguely metallic. [more…]

Kevin sat in his beat-up sedan, parked three blocks away from Aunt Coi’s house. The engine was off, the air conditioning long since faded. He [more…]

Kevin’s hands still shook as he continued to read through the letters. His mother’s voice, a ghost from the past, filled the silent car. He [more…]

I sat on my bed, the mustard dress draped over a chair, while Kevin paced my small room. The letters lay spread out on my [more…]

My father arrived home later that evening, his face ashen. He walked straight past the living room, where Kevin and I sat surrounded by our [more…]

The night of the Senior Heritage Gala arrived in a blur of last-minute preparations and nervous energy. The Houston Vietnamese Community Center glittered, draped in [more…]

The dressing room backstage was a controlled chaos of nervous energy, last-minute hair adjustments, and hushed conversations. Girls preened in front of mirrors, their silk [more…]