Free Outrun the Moon by Stacey Lee

favored animal of the goddess Goon Yam, who refused immortality to stay on earth and aid humanity.
    â€œSuch noisy, irksome birds.” A woman who looks to be in her fifties appears at the foot of the staircase.
    A hump between her shoulders combined with her bustle gives her the posture of a smoking pipe, all held tightly in a dress of gunmetal gray. Her pupils are like pencil dots on sky-blue paper, with pouches below them that Ma would say result from “unshed tears.” Her dark hair, shot through with silver, is pulled into a bun. Something about her severe appearance makes me conscious of my every imperfection, from my crooked teeth to the blisters on my too-long toes.
    â€œI’ve never seen one in real life, ma’am.” To sound more like a Chinese native, I sprinkle my speech with a light Chinese accent, which simply involves rounding out certain syllables. I mimic how Ba speaks English. Belatedly, I remember that if I’m a wealthy heiress, I probably would keep a whole flock of peacocks in my summer palace, or wherever it is I live.
    â€œYou are fortunate. They squawk as loud as someone being murdered. Messy, too. We used to keep a pair on the grounds, but after a month of that vexation, I had our cook roast them for dinner.” Her mouth is an even line, the kind that doesn’t need to open much to say a lot.
    â€œIf they are so irritating, why do they represent the school?” I ask meekly.
    Her face becomes cunning. “Because they are proud in bearing and the envy of all other birds.”
    I spend the next moment wondering what to say, but she breaks the silence. “I am Headmistress Crouch. I must admit, your command of the English language is impressive. Even the local Chinese don’t speak half as well.” One threadbare eyebrow lifts a fraction, sending a bolt of fear into my heart.
    â€œI was educated in an American school in China. Father hopes for me to help with the family business one day. We are tea merchants.” That seems the safest lie, as tea is China’s greatest export.
    â€œWhat is the name of the school?”
    â€œ
Gwok Jai Hok Haau
American School.” I hope that one’s hard to remember.
    â€œWhy would an American school have a Chinese name?”
    â€œIt is how they do things in China.”
    Headmistress Crouch rakes her eyes down my uniform, then up again. “Are you Catholic?”
    â€œYes, Miss.”
    â€œWhich parish?” The questions fly like darts.
    â€œThe parish of
Wong Hoh
, the eternal flowing river of accountability.”
    â€œThat hardly sounds Christian.”
    â€œI am sorry. Again, the Chinese do things a little differently.” I bow my head apologetically, wondering how long before that excuse wears thin.
    â€œClearly.” She grips the polished rail with a clawlike hand, and her steely eyes bore into my skull, as if trying to look around inside. I begin to doubt that I will even make it past the first step. Monsieur said I would have to convince the staff, but he didn’t warn me of the guard lion at this entrance.
    After a long pause, she finally says, “This is highly irregular, but it seems my hands are tied. You will be staying with the rest of the girls on the third floor. Nightgowns are hung on wall hooks. House slippers and a trunk for belongings will be found under the bed. When the clock reads half past seven, you should be on your knees in the chapel. Now, Monsieur Du Lac has already requested an outing for you to translate for him on Friday.”
    I nod. The Association hearing.
    â€œHe assures me it is only the
one time
, and so I will grudgingly allow it.”
    â€œThank you, ma’am.”
    â€œAny questions?”
    â€œWhen do we, er, the maids, do the laundry?” Heiresses do not do laundry.
    â€œYou will place your soiled clothes,
inside out
, in the provided baskets before retiring each night. Here is your schedule.” She hands me a