“Nope.”

“It is not as fun to be poor as you think.”

“I’m trying to cast off the trappings of a wasted life.”

“Was it wasted? That your parents gave you a secure home?”

“They were both born with money. Trust-fund kid one marries trust-fund kid two.”

“I always thought editors were smart and thoughtful.”

“Nah. Well, maybe a little. What about your folks?”

“They married for love.”

I was wandering around and I noticed he’d thrown his jacket carelessly onto an easel. A sleeve lay on the floor. I picked up the jacket and felt the fine weaving with my finger, then turned it over and stroked the paisley silk lining. I hung it so that it wasn’t dragging on the floor.

Curt hadn’t even noticed. He was washing his hands at a small sink in the corner, then wiped them on his shirt. “So, thanks to my smart and thoughtful parents, I’m giving a party. Can you come?”

“I don’t think so,” I said automatically. This was what I always said to these kinds of invitations, or whenever the boys I kissed tried to see me outside of school. “I’m very busy.”

“Well, the party’s a bit because of you. My parents are so happy I haven’t flunked out yet. The party is meant to be positive psychological reinforcement before all the big tests hit.”

“I don’t know.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you. It’s almost your party. You can think of it as an extra-long tutoring session.”

I laughed. I was tempted. I’d never been to a party or a dance and this gave me an excuse for going. “Let me think about it.”

I found Annette at the theater. In addition to her small role, she was also pitching in as the stage manager for the current production. She was on the stage, walking toward a sofa set with a cane in her hand.

“I need a longer one,” she called to someone offstage. She had tied her puffy hair back with a blue ribbon.

“Annette.” I stood by the edge of the stage, feeling self-conscious under the bright lights.

“Hey!” She came forward and knelt by me so we could talk.

“Curt’s invited me to a party. What should I do?”

Her eyebrows seemed to shoot up to her hairline. “Are you thinking about going? Why? You never do!”

I started twisting the button on my blazer around. “I know. But I could. Not all the time. Just once.”

“Oh, you like him!” Her voice was loud in the theater.

“Shh! No! He’s just a friend. I guess it’s a bad idea.”

“No, I think it’s great for you to go to a party! You need to get out more.” Then she frowned. “But you never come to my plays or parties.”

“I know.” I sighed. I knew I was a difficult friend for Annette sometimes. This was why I always said no, because if I said yes once, I didn’t know how I would handle any of the invitations afterward. I could possibly convince Ma to let me go out at night once but not much more than that. It was just on impulse that I’d wanted to accept this invitation, and because he’d said that the party had something to do with me.

“Will you come to something of mine too?”

“I promise.”

Annette and I made our plans. Ma would never let me go to a party given by a boy. I would tell Ma I was sleeping over at Annette’s and then Annette and I would go together. I was sure it would be okay if she tagged along. I just needed to convince Ma.

Ma frowned. “Why do you suddenly want to sleep over at Annette’s house?”

“Ma, I’ve always wanted to. The other kids-you don’t know all the things they do, the freedom they have. I don’t ask, because you always say no.”

Ma studied me. “I know, it’s not easy for you.”

“We’ve known Annette for so long now. And you even met her family.”

“That’s true.” It had been a long time since my graduation from elementary school, but for Ma, it was important that she’d actually seen them once. Since then, Annette had been a constant presence only on the phone. “All right, but just this one time. Otherwise, she’ll want to…”

“She’ll want to come over here too,” I finished for her, but I was overjoyed. I would finally have a night of freedom.

“The inspectors are coming! The inspectors are coming!” Aunt Paula looked as flustered as I’d ever seen her.

She and Uncle Bob hurried through the factory as if they’d been caught in a hurricane. They swept clothing off counters, wielded brooms and dusting rags, but most important, they herded the children in front of them and swept them into small, secret places.

“Everyone under eighteen, out of sight!”

Aunt Paula grabbed me by the back of my shirt and practically threw me into one of the men’s rooms. She slammed the door behind me as I landed against someone’s shoulder. We both recoiled from the shock and then I realized it was Matt.

“Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

Before I could answer, the door opened again and three other kids were crammed in with us before the door banged shut again. They were much younger than we were.

The little boy had his head wedged into my underarm. The men’s room was filthy, with only a toilet and a washbasin. We knew we had to keep the lights out. Matt was jammed in between the washbasin and the wall. The rest of us all did our best to avoid the open toilet in the middle of the bathroom, which didn’t even have a seat or cover. To combat my usual painful sensitivity to Matt, I allowed a small girl to squeeze in between us.

Even with the girl there, Matt was still too close. If he moved his arm a bit, it would almost be as if he could touch me, but the other kids were also there, and now the little boy stuck next to the toilet was staring at it, riveted by its proximity.

“Don’t even think about it.” I heard Matt hiss above my head. “Hold it.”

The little boy pressed his legs together, his eyes wide. His clothes were matted with fabric dust. I reached out and brushed his hair with my hand. “It’ll be all right,” I murmured. “This will be over before you know it.”

A taller girl suddenly hissed: “There’s a roach moving in the sink!”

Matt and I both jumped a mile. He leaped away from the washbasin so fast that in a second he had switched places with the little boy on the other side of me, probably in an instinctive reaction to get to the door. I giggled to myself, realizing that he was as scared of insects as I was. The boy was now wedged next to the little girl, both of them jammed against the washbasin. He gave both Matt and me a disdainful look, then took a bit of paper out of his pocket and crushed the roach in the sink.

I sagged with relief now that it was dead. I kept my eyes closed. Matt smelled of sweat and aftershave and his chest was hard. I thought I could feel the thud of his heart underneath his thin T-shirt. They must have yanked him away from the steamers. Yet now that I had no choice but to stand there pressed against him, I could feel myself beginning to relax.

Suddenly, he gave a strangled cry, and I looked up. In the shadows, that child was dangling the piece of paper in front of us. I thought I could see the roach antennae waving above the tissue and the boy was grinning like a maniac. Caught by surprise, I screamed. Despite my daily exposure to roaches in our apartment, I was still as terrified of them as I had been at the beginning, probably even more so.

There was immediate thumping on the door. It was Uncle Bob’s voice. “Shut up in there! They’re almost in this area!”

At this, we all froze. Outside, we heard obsequious voices and even the hum of the machines seemed more subdued than usual. I could tell they were speaking English, though I couldn’t make out the words. We didn’t dare breathe for fear that we would be found out. Everyone knew the way Chinatown worked. Money had probably already changed hands to ensure a casual inspection, but we were still as afraid of being found out as the owners. If the factory was closed down, who would fill our rice bowls then?