CHAPTER 1
How to Win Competitions and Influence People
THERE ARE MANY ways to crash and burn at a networking event for a competition you need to win. Getting people’s names wrong. Being overly aggressive. Making inappropriate jokes. Then there’s having everyone find out that you once barfed on the judge’s father. That’s just a category all by itself.
Oh, I wish I were kidding.
The day had started out so well, too: perfect outfit (suit in a responsible dark blue, sensible low-heeled shoes, hair pulled back in a stylish ponytail); practice questions written on notecards in my pocket; and extra copies of my résumé in my purse. All the reasons I was the best candidate to win the Asian Americans in Business Competition—aka the AABC—memorized and practiced under mock stressful conditions (i.e., my younger sister, Hattie, giving her best impression of our mom’s Duck Cleaver Death Glare while I practiced). Text messages to my partner, Eric Lin, reminding him of the location and time of the event. Texts that he, of course, didn’t answer.
Partnering with Eric had been my mom’s idea. He perfectly fulfilled my mom’s criteria: he, like me, was also Taiwanese and a senior in high school, was on the straight path to the Ivies and then to business school, and was Taiwanese.
Did I mention he’s Taiwanese?
Plus, Eric’s siblings had already gone to Yale and Wharton, respectively, and his family was firmly and benignly on top of the social tree. Unlike ours, which had suffered a spectacular fall due to my older sister, Bella.
Thus came Gèi Wéi, aka the Master Strategy. You know how the rising tide lifts all boats and all that? To my mom, latching myself to Eric’s incandescent star was the first step toward our triumphant return back into society. My mom had been isolating herself from everyone—and their judgment—since Bella had gotten pregnant in medical school and had dropped out. I had seen how she had to sit on the couch by herself at parties, in the early days, her carefully pressed dress pooling around her. How the other parents would chat about their kids, and my mother would have to focus on her meal, her chopsticks slowly picking up small pieces of rice. It was bad enough that she was alone since my father’s death. But there was a different kind of awkward after Bella. Silence may be a virtue in America, but it meant shame for my mom and her friends.
But my mom’s self-imposed solitude didn’t mean that she had stopped plotting. Like Napoleon in exile, she was constantly searching for a way back in.
The only problem with Gèi Wéi was that I, you know, had to work with Eric Lin. I had to go up to him at school, even though we were not friends, and ask him to partner with me. He had not responded at first, and I could almost see his calculations: on the one hand, he knew from our shared membership in the Student Business Association that I was smart and hardworking. A win in this competition—which was super prestigious—could help both of us with our college applications. On the other hand, his mom might give him grief about partnering with me since I was part of a family that already had one rebellious daughter. Mrs. Lin thought I could also be a loose cannon, firing into the sky of Failure. The silence between Eric and me stretched to downright awkwardness, but he had finally agreed before scuttling off with his friends.
But since then, even though I had been diligently researching all the past challenges and winners, he had not done a thing. I had seen his mom picking him up after school, and I had tried to wave at them both. She refused to make eye contact with me, then pulled Eric away.
I’m sure it would be fine. He would get his act together, then we could go and crush this thing. I looked for him as I walked into the chilly lobby of the Esher Convention Center. Today was the kickoff party for the AABC, before registration opened in two days and everything officially began. I remember when these networking events used to be held in the gym of our local high school or in a small room at the cultural center in Old Taipei. I was really young then, sneaking free snacks from the potluck
tables and trying not to get in trouble along with Bella and Hattie. I never could have imagined the competition would have grown to be so big and fancy by the time I was old enough to compete; winners now got a prize package that included a prestigious line on their college applications and—thanks to corporate sponsors—a full scholarship to the college of their choice. But as the AABC grew, so did the number of competitors.
I checked in my coat and then went over to a table with a silver-colored tablecloth, which had name tags neatly lined up on top. There were a lot of name tags. More than I had expected. I recognized some of the people, like Rhonda Naidu, who had started a nonprofit to provide medical services to countries devastated by natural disasters. She had given one of the student keynote speeches at the state Student Business Association conference last year. Crap. Was she also applying? I recognized some of the other names, people who had recently won the Mayfield and the Gillford competitions. Were they all here?
I scanned the letter L name tags, and Eric’s was missing. At least he had showed up. Which was . . . something.
The ballroom was beautifully decorated with my dad’s favorite colors, silver and green. Oh, the other thing about this competition? It had been started, years ago, by my father. He had the idea for it the year he died, when I was eleven. He had wanted to give back to the community and to encourage Asian Americans to enter the world of business. In his will, my father had left the administration of the AABC and some of his other business assets to his friend, Mr. Lee. Five years ago, it had been taken over by Mr. Lee’s son, James.
I had seen the AABC since its conception, scribbled on a small napkin on a table over my father’s hospital bed. He had written a broad outline with a leaky rollerball and had later detailed it more thoroughly in his will. As I grew up, I had gone to every award ceremony, stood on the side with my mom and my sisters, and watched teen after teen take the trophy emblazoned with my father’s name. I had seen person after person intern at the Lee Corporation and go on to Harvard or Yale, where my father went. Where I needed to go.
By the door was the large plaque that they had made the first year of the competition. Every winner had their name engraved on it, along with the year of their victory. There was a blank new silver plate for this year. And a space. For my name.
If winning this thing meant I had to partner with Eric Lin, so be it.
I finally found Eric in a corner talking to Albert Goda, who was in the Student Business Association with us. Albert was a computing genius and also loved street art and graffiti. He had started an app where people could upload pictures of their favorite murals and add their own drawings. I wondered who his partner was. I didn’t see anyone else from our school. Maybe he was pairing with someone from another city?
As I marched up to them, they abruptly stopped talking. Eric had the nerve to give
me a small wave, like he hadn’t been ghosting me for the past week.
“Did you get my texts?” I asked, then remembered my manners. “Hi, Albert.”
He glanced at Eric but didn’t say anything. Eric was the personification of uncomfortable.
“Juliana,” he said. “You made it.”
I wasn’t the one who was ghosting here, Eric. Of course I had showed up.
I was about to ask Eric what his deal was when he suddenly straightened. I turned, and there was James Lee, our judge. A few feet behind him, talking to some of the other contestants, was his father.
Oh God. I had my résumé in my purse, right? Networking questions memorized?
I inhaled for exactly five seconds and pictured a large balloon filling, then deflating. This was going to be fine. Totally fine.
James (Harvard Class of 2001, Harvard Business School ’04, CEO of the Lee Corporation, a tech company now worth millions) was in his forties and was legendary in the Taiwanese American community. He was basically who I wanted to be when I grew up. I didn’t know him super well since he was much older than me, and my family hadn’t seen many people since our social plummet, aka The Fall. There had been rumors of some kind of rift between our fathers a long time ago, but it must have all worked out since Dad had left Mr. Lee all of those things in his will.
James walked toward us, and I tried to figure out if he seemed more friendly to us than the others.
Aaaand . . . no.
“Juliana Zhao.” His tone was formal. “Nice to see you again.”
I tried to appear confident yet humble, a combination that, unfortunately, made my face spasm. We made small talk for a bit, then he said, “I’m not surprised to see you here. You, of course, want to go into business? Like your dad?”
Focus. I had practiced this. “Yes, I believe business is the ideal major for people who are self-starters and provides a perfect foundation for financial success.”
James tilted his head. “But which part are you interested in? There are many aspects of business and many reasons why people want to pursue it. Why do you want to go to business school? Specifically?”
Specifically? I had already given him my whole answer. It was the sentence I had perfected over weeks of drafting. I specifically wanted to win this competition and go to Yale.
He waited. But when I didn’t say anything further, he said, “I suggest you figure that out before you register, Ms. Zhao.”
Eric stepped forward. “I am interested in venture capitalism, much like you are.” He started a private conversation with James, but I didn’t care. I was still thinking about what he had said. Why wasn’t my answer good enough?
Next to us, James’s father, Mr. Lee, was walking slowly, shaking everyone’s
hands. When he got to me, he smiled warmly.
“Juliana Zhao!” He was always so nice every time I saw him, even after The Fall.
Oh, wait.
Oh no.
Mr. Lee was always so nice, but he always told the same story whenever he saw me. The exact same story, which was innocuous enough when I was with my mother but not when I was in front of Eric Lin, Albert Goda, and our competitors.
“Juliana, I remember when you were a baby—”
Oh God.
“—you must have been only a few months old!”
Could I stop this somehow? Pull a fire alarm? Pretend to faint?
“You remember? And your dad let me pick you up, and you—”
Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
“—spit up right all over me! So much throw up! Do you remember?”
I smiled, weakly. Eric seemed like he wanted to step into a giant sinkhole and vanish.
Mr. Lee patted my arm. “So good to see you. Are you really old enough to compete now?”
“Yes, sir.” I tried to project confidence instead of, you know, looking like a person who couldn’t keep down baby solids.
“And are you doing well in school?”
I said yes with what was hopefully the proper amount of modesty.
“Good! Good.” He leaned on his cane. “Your father would have been proud.”
I knew he meant to be kind. He had no way of knowing I had spent the morning in my dad’s office, going through his old books and photos. Didn’t know that I had pictured this moment for so many years, but in my dream, my father was alive. Good luck, he would say. Speak slowly but confidently. And remember . . .
And remember? I would say.
He would hug me. You’ll do fine.
The legacy of him in my imagined other life was as large as my memory of him in our real one. What could he have been, if he had lived? What else could he have created? What could our family have been? I had read the half-finished notes in his desk, full of mysterious ideas and charts, but they were indecipherable to me. That’s why I needed to go to Yale, to follow in his footsteps. I could complete his legacy.
But the first step, the necessary stamp of my legitimacy, was winning his competition. He had left these white pebbles in the forest for me, and it was my job to pick them up and follow them.
The prickling came then, an unexpected grip of grief. I was used to it, these sudden waves of emotion, and knew what to do. I’d had a lot of practice
crating my feelings—boxing them, weighing them down, and letting them sink into the dark water. But I didn’t do it quickly enough.
Eric, horrified, stepped forward as I gathered myself together and focused on the competition. “It must be so nice to see your son take over things so successfully, Mr. Lee.”
When Mr. Lee had been in charge of the AABC, it had been more in line with what my father had envisioned: a networking event and a competition that were more about teaching the contestants to navigate and succeed in the corporate world. He had challenges that helped contestants become more comfortable with promoting their own work and encouraged them to think creatively.
Since James had taken over, though, the AABC had become more results oriented. The hypotheticals began to focus more on how to make and launch products. James had started a savvy marketing campaign and had made the AABC into an influential component of college applications for undergrad business majors.
Mr. Lee was also Taiwanese, so he, like my own mother, seemed to be allergic to complimenting his own child. It was seen as boasting and, thus, a huge no-no.
“Jimmy tries so hard. But he could still make the challenges more educational,” he said.
James was almost twice my age, but I could recognize all too well the suppressed eye roll. “Generating revenue is the most important thing in business. They should learn early, Dad. As I had to.”
A silence fell between them, and it was downright awkward.
Mr. Lee said, in Taiwanese, “Enough. It’s all in the past.”
It didn’t look like it was in the past. What was James talking about? Eric glanced at me, but I had no clue. I was going to ask, but Mr. Lee had already left to talk to the next bunch of contestants, and James left with him.
Two girls came up to us—Kelly Nguyen and her cousin Linda Tham. I had met them both at the state SBA conference. Kelly had helped me when I had gotten lost and we had all bonded over the difficulties women in leadership positions faced. They were a formidable duo. Kelly had a strong programming background and was into innovative tech solutions. Linda’s father was an entrepreneur and had helped her to launch several micro start-ups in the fashion arena. I had bought one of her sweaters, and it was easily one of my favorites.
They said hi, and Eric acted uncomfortable, like I was fraternizing with the enemy. But Albert was staring at Linda like he had just seen the sun emerge from a cloud. Hmm. Linda’s fashions had more of a free-form edge, and she might like Albert’s art. Also, she was, as far as I knew, single.
I introduced them
to each other with a proper hook and I saw them both brighten. I subtly pulled Kelly aside and took Eric with us.
Kelly stifled a laugh. “It’s not only at the SBA,” she said. “You do this all the time?”
At state conference, I had noticed Chad Brickowski and Wayne Porter eyeing each other and trying to arrive at the cafeteria at the same time for every meal. I finally arranged a big group lunch and made sure they sat next to each other. The rest I left up to Cupid.
(Or me. I also made sure they sat next to each other during the closing ceremony and had each other’s contact information before the conference ended. I mean, Cupid is nice and all, but sometimes a girl’s got to take matters into her own hands.)
“What?” I was the epitome of innocence. “I merely wanted to let them know what they had in common.”
Kelly laughed, then carefully glanced around the room. She pulled me into an empty corner. Eric seemed nervous, but I motioned him over to join us.
“I heard something,” she said.
“Oh?”
“I think the challenge is going to have something to do with a website.”
I said, “What?” at the same time Eric blurted out, “How did you find out?”
Kelly looked at him curiously.
Wait. Eric didn’t say, “How do you know?” He said, “How did you find out?” He also wasn’t surprised at all. Had he somehow heard about this before and didn’t tell me?
“Did you know about this?” I asked. Is this why he was ghosting me?
“What? No. No, why would I know?” Here’s another thing Eric Lin could not do, in addition to returning texts: lie. His glance was guilty, sliding to the side of me.
Kelly glanced at me. This guy is your partner?
I know, Kelly. Really, I know.
I said to her, “Are you sure?”
Kelly leaned forward. “I overheard James and Mr. Lee talking to one of the organizers. They were making sure the servers had enough capacity to host a bunch of websites.”
If Kelly was right, this was a serious problem. I knew less than nothing about programming or web pages, and I was pretty sure Eric didn’t, either. Here was the extent of my computer knowledge: you turn on your laptop. It’s supposed to work. End of story.
“Do you know anything about tech or design?” I hissed to Eric.
He glanced at Kelly, like he didn’t want to talk in front of her. Which was totally rude, considering she had just given us a major hint. I smiled at Kelly, apologetically. I thanked her for her help and wished her luck on the competition. But by the time I had finished chatting with her, Eric had disappeared. And so had Albert.
CHAPTER 2
Everything Is All Good! All Good!
ERIC LIN WASN’T going to hose me, was he? He wouldn’t dare. He knew this competition required partners, so if he dropped me this late in the game—two days before registration opened—I would be totally and utterly screwed. Even Eric Lin wouldn’t be that ruthless, would he?
But I thought about him in our SBA meetings, how he was always driven and particularly fixated on college admissions. I had once asked him which school he wanted to go to, and to my surprise, he said Dartmouth. When I asked why, he said, “It’s an Ivy and it’s the farthest away.” I heard through the grapevine that if he didn’t get into an Ivy, his parents were going to make him stay in the tri-state area, where they could keep an eye on him until grad school.
I thought my mother was . . . motivated. But Mrs. Lin was at a whole other level. Even when we were little kids, Eric was always in extra math or science classes or at sports competitions. He was also the first to disappear or skip out on where he was supposed to be. His grades were still stellar, since he was kind of a genius, but I recently had seen him refuse to go to tennis practice and other social events. Giving his parents an attitude in public. I knew it was agonizing for Mrs. Lin, because we children were basically report cards on how good of a job that our parents have done.
My non-Taiwanese classmates might never understand how much of a currency the Ivy League was to my mom and her friends, but it was the world she had to survive in. The rest of America was different and confusing, with fast language and slang and values that she didn’t understand. So she had no choice but to swim in the Line gossip river, aka the Linevine. Hattie called it messed up, but that’s just how things were.
And I, now that I had come of age, was finally eligible to enter the competition. But since my mom had boasted about the prestige of the AABC for years, I had no choice. I had to get on that award plaque or die trying. Because it was about more than me or my mom. It was my father’s name on the line.
During our last dinner party, ...
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