As a proper transmigrator, Song Ya had spent the past ten-odd days calmly taking stock of his starting circumstances. The conclusion... was pretty bleak.
First off, he was broke. The benefits he received only covered the bare essentials, and the extra money Aunt Susie earned by watching the neighborhood kids on weekdays was barely a drop in the bucket for a household this large. He could forget about any transmigrator's starting funds. Right now, he had only three quarters in his pocket, set aside in case of an emergency so he could use a pay phone.
The other siblings were in much the same boat. Their clothes made it most obvious. Tony's and his own clothes had all come from donations by churches or charities. The dark coat Tony wore now must have been a factory uniform; its cuffs and elbows were nearly worn through. His own black suede jacket had come from an Air Force veteran, and its label still read "U.S.A.F. 1969." It was in just as bad shape.
Connie and Emily, the two girls, were treated much better. Aunt Susie wouldn't let them wear clothes that were too threadbare. Unfortunately, the lingering fashion sins of the eighties, combined with African Americans' excessive fondness for bright colors, made the overall effect hard to look at. Of course, that was just the personal opinion of Song Ya, the transmigrator.
Poverty was one thing, but personal safety was the real problem. The South Side of Chicago had some of the worst public safety in the USA. Poverty, guns, gangs, and vendettas all fed into one another, and the situation had already become a chronic problem with no easy fix. Shootings that would shock the whole country back in China were no big deal here. A few happened every so often, and the news often reported someone getting killed by a stray bullet during a gang shootout.
Aside from shootings, low-level crimes like theft and robbery were even more commonplace.
"Yooo, Tony."
At least everyone knew everyone around the neighborhood. A teenager in a baseball cap greeted Tony first. "You running with Little Lowry now?"
"Hey."
Tony smiled as he helped Emily onto the school bus that had just arrived, then bumped fists with the boy in the cap. "Let's talk over there." He deliberately avoided Song Ya and Connie and headed for the other end of the bus stop.
The boy in the cap looked a little familiar. Song Ya had only heard people call him by his nickname, "ET." His large, noticeably bulging eyes bore a striking resemblance to the alien in that movie that had taken the world by storm in the eighties. But the corner of a patterned bandana peeking out from beneath his cap made it clear that ET, who was only about two years older than Song Ya, was a serious character. On the South Side, a bandana like that wasn't something you could just wear on your head.
Tony had plenty of friends, and the middle school bus soon arrived too. He and ET's group went to the back to keep talking and laughing, while Connie joined up with some girls in her grade.
"Morning, APLUS!"
The little circle of ninth-graders Song Ya belonged to sat near the front. As soon as he sat down, someone called out, and the boys and girls around him all burst out laughing in unison.
"Morning..."
Song Ya forced out a helpless smile in reply, then leaned back in his seat and pretended to sleep with his eyes closed.
For now, there was no way to solve the problems of poverty and safety. The problem right in front of him was something else: "school bullying."
Here was what had happened. The original Alexander Song's grades had probably been a little below average in class. But after Song Ya's soul replaced his ten-odd days ago, he'd easily scored a perfect mark on a math test.
It shouldn't have been a big deal. In the USA decades later, classmates couldn't even find out one another's grades. But political correctness in the USA hadn't "evolved" that far yet. The math teacher was so pleased that he announced Song Ya's "A+" in front of the whole class, praised him to the skies, and held him up as an example to spur on the "slackers."
And so the trouble began...
In his previous life, Song Ya had been a standard-issue laid-back Chinese young man. His family was comfortably well-off, and his grades had been above average. As soon as he graduated from college, his family had prepared a house for him with money saved from their six wallets. After coding for a few years, he'd saved enough for a car and was starting to look around for a wife. His life had gone smoothly from start to finish, so being abruptly thrown into a situation like this had left him at a loss.
Besides, who got isolated and bullied in China for getting a perfect score? Much less given a stupid nickname like "One Hundred Points." The most unfair part was that while his math grades had shot up, his grades in PE and art had plummeted. In the American high school credit system, it was hard to say whether that was a gain or a loss!
Is a Chinese person's natural talent the transmigrator's cheat code? If so, I might as well give up on PE and art credits and focus on math and the natural sciences. Oh, and I can't let my English or social studies slip either...
Even then, I'd finish my credits at most a year or so early. That means I still have to survive in this kind of environment for at least three years...
As he planned out his future along the way, the school bus reached its destination before he knew it.
"Ya Li, don't leave right after school. Wait for me." Tony came over to remind him as they were parting.
"What for?" Song Ya asked.
Tony leaned close to his ear and whispered, "Little Lowry."
"Basketball again?" Song Ya's spirits sank the moment he heard. "Can I skip it?"
Ever since he'd transmigrated, all the athletic ability this body originally had seemed to have vanished. Playing basketball was torture for him. This was street basketball in a Black neighborhood, completely different from the casual shots he'd taken in PE class before he transmigrated.
"FXXX you! Don't try to bargain! And don't try any tricks on me!" Tony immediately changed his tune. As he left, he added a conciliatory, "Just do me a favor!"
"Fine. You're the boss." Song Ya had no choice.
He pushed through the noisy crowd and entered the classroom, only to find that the chair behind his desk had been thrown into a corner. "Childish..." Too lazy to make a fuss, he picked it up, wiped it off, and put it back in place. And so began another day of American high school.
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