“Excuse me, excuse me,” Ling said, turning against the tide of people, desperate to get back to Forty-second Street and the bus home. A young man sneered at her as she pushed through: “There goes one of them dirty Chinese now.”
Everything in Ling’s body went tight with fear. She wished she hadn’t been so eager to get rid of Lee Fan and Gracie. Just get to the bus stop, she told herself and kept walking. The man and his friends followed, taunting.
“Hey, you—girl!” The young man’s voice had shifted from sneering to something-to-prove. “Where you going? I’m talking to you!”
Ling’s heart pounded. She didn’t dare look back. The men were close, though, and the bus still too far. Three months ago, she could’ve broken into a run to get away. Now the jangle of her leg braces was loud in her head as she struggled on, and her arms shook from trying to move her crutches so fast. She was afraid she’d put a foot wrong, lose her balance, and fall in the street. Some people watched what was happening with expressions of vague discomfort, one man even giving a meek “Hey, now! Leave her be.” Others barely noticed before moving on. No one stepped in to stop the bullying, though. Ling’s head was down but her eyes were up, searching the streets wildly for a place to duck into for help. A restaurant window’s neon sign boasted BEST ROAST BEEF IN NEW YORK! just above a new, hand-lettered sign that read, simply, NO CHINESE ALLOWED.
“You’re a long way from home, aren’t you, girl?” the man called. “Do you even speak English?”
He was right behind her. She could smell his aftershave lotion. To her right, the giant marquee of the New Amsterdam Theatre beckoned. Ling changed course, heading toward its doors. Her crutch came down hard in a pothole, jarring her entire body. She was close to tears. And then Henry stepped out of the theater’s alleyway, blowing on his hands in the cold.
“Henry!” Ling shrieked. “Henry!” she screamed again.
He saw her, went for an automatic wave, and froze.
“Help m—” Ling cried as a clod of muddy ice hit her, hard, knocking her off-balance. Her purse dropped and the clasp broke, scattering the contents as she fell.
“Dirty Chinese! Go home!” the young man shouted as he ran past with his friends, laughing. I am home, Ling wanted to say, but the words were stuck in her throat as she sat sprawled in the wet muck of Forty-second Street.