An Absurd North American High School

"You people in America called this a high school?" Li Wei looked at the scenery beyond the car window, then turned to Don Quixote, who was smoking. "If you hadn't told me, I would've thought it was some kind of military base."

From Li Wei's limited memories of American high schools, they were supposed to be like High School Musical or Gossip Girl—open campuses with lush green lawns, red brick buildings, and white walls.

But what stood before him was a concrete fortress tightly enclosed by a three-meter-high wire fence. The tops of the fence curled inward, seemingly meant to stop people from climbing in—or climbing out.

Other than the battered sign reading "Franklin K. Lane High School" at the entrance, the most conspicuous sight was the two NYPD patrol cars parked by the roadside.

"But with your situation, this is the only school you can attend," Don Quixote said, blowing out a smoke ring. He flicked the cigarette butt out the window and patted Li Wei's shoulder. "Come on. This place is like a pile of dog shit. I don't want to stay here any longer than I have to."

The two got out of the car and headed for the main entrance.

If the outside looked like a prison, then the process of getting inside looked even more like one.

It was the start of the school day, and a long line had formed at the entrance. As Li Wei approached, he realized everyone was going through security.

"Beep—!"

A Black girl with dreadlocks near the front of the line was stopped.

"Open your bag!" a massive security guard roared. "You know the rules, Tanisha!"

"Fuck! I just brought a curling iron!" Tanisha cursed as she reluctantly dumped the contents of her bag onto the table. Among them was a crudely made folding comb.

"What's this?" The guard picked up the comb, inspected it, then tossed it straight into the trash. "The pointed end is too sharp. Confiscated."

"That's my comb, you bitch—"

"Next!"

After a brief registration process, the two were allowed into the academic building.

The moment they entered the corridor, a stench of weed, sour old mop water, and cheap cologne hit them straight in the face.

More than half the lockers lining both sides of the hallway were dented inward, covered in layers upon layers of graffiti. Half the fluorescent tubes overhead were broken, while the rest flickered weakly, giving off an irritating buzz.

"Tell me, do American schools grow weed on campus?" Li Wei looked at the curious eyes fixed on him from all around. "Do I really have to attend this high school?"

Those gazes held both curiosity and admiration. Most came from Latina and Black girls—students from those two groups made up the majority of the school's population—while a smaller number came from boys with less-than-friendly intentions.

They spoke accented Spanish or street talk mixed with slang, pointing at Li Wei and Don Quixote while breaking into laughter every now and then.

"No choice," Don Quixote muttered. "New York State law says so."

After twisting and turning through the building, they finally found the administrative office tucked into a corner on the first floor.

The moment he pushed the door open, Li Wei gained an even deeper understanding of just how doomed the American education system was.

The desks were piled with unopened boxes of paperwork, along with half a leftover pizza. The receptionist was a middle-aged white woman who looked as though she had just woken up. Her thin necklace carved out four chins, and her butt looked as big as a planet.

"What do you want?"

She did not even raise her eyelids, still staring at the Candy Crush game on her computer screen.

"I'm Don Quixote Cervantes... and this is Ms. Palmer. This is my nephew, Li Wei. He just arrived in New York," Don Quixote said, handing over the prepared documents. "I'm here to arrange his transfer."

Ms. Palmer took them slowly, tapping at the keyboard like a sloth as she muttered, "Brooklyn... foreigner... no previous academic records. Here. This is your schedule. Classes start in one month."

The printer let out a shriek as if it were about to fall apart.

Without even asking Li Wei what classes he wanted, she printed out his schedule.

Li Wei took the sheet of paper, and one glance was enough to send his blood pressure soaring.

"Beginner ESL? English is my native language. And I learned more advanced algebra in middle school in China than this," Li Wei said, slapping the schedule onto the desk. "And why do I have Introductory Woodworking? I'm not here to become a construction worker!"

"What do you want, then?" Ms. Palmer said without looking up, still playing her idiotic match-three game. "Horseback riding? Sailing?"

"I want AP classes," Li Wei stressed. "AP Calculus BC, AP Physics C, and AP Macroeconomics."

In the American high school system, good universities, especially Ivy League schools, required students to take at least four to six AP courses, or even more, to prove their scientific aptitude or academic ability.

If Li Wei merely earned a high school diploma without AP grades on his transcript, he would basically only be able to attend the worst community colleges. That was hardly different from not going to college at all, and afterward he could only do the most basic manual labor.

Among AP courses, calculus was divided into two levels, AB and BC. If Li Wei wanted to attend Yale, he had to take the more difficult, higher-credit BC course to accumulate enough credits.

The office fell silent for a second. Then several teachers watching the show from nearby burst into undisguised laughter.

"AP Calculus BC?"

Ms. Palmer looked as though she had heard the funniest joke in the world.

She took off her glasses and looked Li Wei up and down. "Kid, do you know where this is? This is Brooklyn. Our school can't even gather enough students to open a BC class. We only have AB."

"And we don't have any extra funding," another male teacher with a bald crown chimed in, holding a mug printed with "Best Teacher." "The physics textbooks are ten years old, and the lab equipment was all stolen and sold by those little punks. You want AP Physics C? Should we do experiments on the blackboard?"

Li Wei took a deep breath.

"Then at least register me for the exams," he said. "I'll self-study both subjects."

In the American education system, taking AP classes and sitting for AP exams were completely separate. Students could study on their own and then register for the AP exams the following May.

But that meant Ms. Palmer would have to create a new exam code specifically for Li Wei, order his test papers, and arrange proctors. It was a whole lot of trouble.

She frowned, about to refuse.

"Agree to it!"

Don Quixote suddenly shouted, slamming his palm on the counter hard enough to make the half box of pizza jump.

His height of over six feet, combined with those fierce eyes dulled by chronic lack of sleep, made even Ms. Palmer feel a little afraid for a moment.

"Fine, fine, shut up," she said, clattering away at the keyboard. "AP Calculus BC... but we can only put you in the AB class. AP Physics 1... the textbooks are in the basement storage room. Go find them yourself."

Ten minutes later, the two emerged from the dark, moldy basement storage room carrying a stack of textbooks. They left the school and returned to the car.

"Thanks, Uncle," Li Wei said, looking at the dust-covered books in his hands. "For speaking up for me."

"If you insist on refusing to believe it," Don Quixote said, lighting another cigarette to force himself awake, "then you should at least get a taste of how brutal the American education system can be."

As he spoke, he pulled something from his waist and handed it to Li Wei.

"What's this?" Li Wei took it and saw that it was a switchblade made of hard plastic. "You're giving this to me?"

"In your dreams." Don Quixote started the car. "It was a little thing I used for self-defense. A hundred bucks isn't too much, right? I just took it through security. Their metal detectors can't detect plastic."

"Don't look at me like that, kid." He abruptly merged into traffic, nearly hitting a taxi that blared its horn. "Once you're in there, don't cause trouble, don't make friends, and don't go soft-hearted just because you run into Asians or Chinese. Focus on studying and keep your head down."

After leaving the school, Li Wei asked Don Quixote to take him back to the Upper East Side, the place the system called [Noble Courtyard].

It was still early, so Li Wei planned to try out Dolores Boutique, which the middle-aged socialite had recommended.