1. Chapter One

Chapter One

T he benefits of Asian education are many and varied, but for all the benefits of studying in Asia, there are pitfalls and drawbacks. In this paper, I'll strive to bring forth both the pros and cons of the Asian education system and how it will impact students both born in Asian countries or those who matriculate overseas for higher education. I'll touch on the differences in American vs Asian classrooms in terms of teacher reverence, home and family involvement, and higher examples of discipline, respect, and rigid structure. Afterward, I will…

"Oh please, this is bitterly disappointing. Archie, old chap, have you perused the latest shipment of historical romances?"

I looked over the top of my wire rims, my fingers resting on my laptop keyboard, at Reggie, the rather solid-looking ghost that resided in Kee's Book Store with my grandfather and me. The redcoat has been stuck here in this space since his death in 1778 from a shooting incident involving himself and an irate tavern owner. Marquis Reginald Charles Richard Birkenhead, also known as Reggie, was caught with his breeches down and cock firmly embedded in the arse of the tavern owner's son-in-law by the owner of the Yellow Finch Inne. A few hundred years ago, the Finch stood where our bookstore now sat, the brick fa?ade still in middling shape if a bit dull and dingy.

The angry owner, just returning from a fruitless rabbit hunting trip, had shot the marquis on the spot and thus he was bound to this store for who knew how long. It was hard to say what might free a spirit from this plane. Most, sadly, had to have a wrong committed against them righted in some way. There was speculation at the monthly book club meeting the local specters held here, but no one was able to ferret out why the marquis was trapped here. He was a dashing fellow, incredibly pleasing to look upon with dark curls and a scamps smile, still in his bright scarlet uniform, who liked to discuss books, especially those with naughty bits.

"No, I haven't." I returned to my paper for my Asian studies class. Many people just assume that all Asians are supercomputers and incredibly intelligent. I was not one of those. This Asian American was just a common guy with a common brain. Well, a common brain aside from the whole communicating with the dead part of my frontal lobe. Or maybe it was my rear lobe. I didn't know. Brains and how they worked weren't my thing, which brought us back to me being a mediocre dude trying to write a paper for a pretty hard class. Reggie zipped across the crowded store, his epaulets and red sash around his trim waist fluttering, a lesbian romance novel in his hand.

"Oh no, well, you should. Honestly, old man, how do you hope to sell titillating tales to the ton if you never peek at the titillating parts?"

"I don't hope to sell to the ton because there is no ton here in Liverswell, Massachusetts." I tried to keep my replies short. Honestly, I did, but engaging with Reggie was always an ongoing gabfest that I knew I should avoid if I ever wanted to get this paper started properly while it was slow. Not that the bookstore was ever hopping. Since Liverswell College had switched to digital books, our little shop a block from the campus had slowly started to slip into a comatose state with little help of resuscitation.

"More's the pity." He sighed, planting his spectral ass on the counter beside my laptop. I peeked over and caught a glimpse of the darker red stain on his fancy coat. "Those were the days. Women in gowns, men in wigs, stockings showing off muscled calves."

"Yep, nothing turns me on like a well-turned calf."

"No, you knob, that's a well-turned ankle." He tittered and crossed one leg over the other, his crisp white uniform trousers just as neatly pressed as they had been when he'd been buried in the basement of the Yellow Finch back in ye olden days. "But seriously, Arch, that last shipment of romances was simply dreadful. Nary one throbbing cock to be found in one willing arse. Nothing but heaving bosoms and wet tuppies. Surely there must be patrons in this charming little shite-pot of a town who require a stirring arse reaming read to accompany them as they toss one off."

I saved my work, shut my laptop, and removed my glasses. We'd been over this a dozen times just this year.

"Okay, for the last time, gays are not congregating in Liverswell. I truly think I am the only one. And if you had read the shipping invoice, you would have seen they were sapphic romances."

"Ah well, I suppose the ladies do need their frivolity as well." He sighed yet again, smoothing his left eyebrow with one hand while waving the book about with the other. "As for your second point, so you say, but how do you know if you never go looking for like-minded men such as us? Do pardon me for saying so as you are a winsome thing, but one cannot find a lover if one is always spuddling away amongst dusty tomes with the undead or those that wish to be one of the rancid worm's nests."

The bells on the door rang out, a soft tinkle of brass, and I looked to the front to see my grandfather returning from his bi-weekly fleecing of his fellow old coots at the Liverswell Senior Center. It was Monday, so that meant mahjong. Thursday was bingo. He never came home without winnings in his pockets.

"Now there is a man who knows how to spread his charm about. What say you, good Jaw-Long, he of roguish heart and stout of chest! Prithee, come sit with us and regale us of your lecherous times out and about this eve with the hoydens of fair Liverswell!" Reggie shouted. Pity Grandpa couldn't hear him. Only I had that long-forgotten family blessing. A rarity that skipped several generations. Lucky me, I was the chosen descendant of Kee Houng, a famed seer rumored to have the spiritual eye that allowed him to see and speak with guǐ, or ghosts as they're known in China. Grandpa knew of the gift—all in my family did—but did not possess it. He did help me as best as he could, taking me in after my parents had passed away when I was three and bringing me here to Liverswell to grow up under his care.

"I see you and Reggie are having a visit," Grandpa said, making his way to us, bright blue cane tapping on the dull hardwood floor. I nodded. My grandfather watched a sapphic romance floating in the air beside me with not one sign of surprise. "The pickings were good tonight. I won ten bucks!" He patted the coins in his saggy trouser pockets. "We won't have to go to the bank for change for weeks."

I smiled lovingly at the old man grinning at me. He had lost all his hair, most of his hearing, and his only son but never one tooth. He had a smile like a movie star at eighty-six years old. Given the hardships he had endured over his long life, the fact that he smiled as much as he did constantly awed me.

"Seeing as we've not had a customer all night, I think we'll be fine on change for a long time," I mumbled, turning my head to clock the marquis who was giving me a sour look before disapparating with a soft pop. The romance novel thumped to the counter. Reggie always got into a snit when I grew glum. His departure reminded me that Grandpa had several hundred more reasons to be down than I did, and he managed to smile. "But that big sale we're having over the weekend will bring in the sales!"

"People love sales," he nodded along, the dusty lights making his bald head glow. "I'm going to go warm up that leftover pizza. Do you want a slice?"

"Yeah, that sounds good. I'll lock up and do the register." After we ate, I could get back to the paper. "Oh, and I printed up the flyers about the sale. Tomorrow, I can hang them in the student lobby and around campus next to my offers to tutor."

"Yay!" Grandpa shouted as he made his way through the cookbook section to the stairs that led to the second floor. We had a small apartment up there. Two bedrooms, one bath, a big living room/kitchen area, and a fire escape with a hundred pots of herbs. Grandpa liked to dabble on occasion with making food from his father's homeland, so we grew lots of ginger, garlic, lemongrass, and basil. Herbs found in any Chinese American garden.

Easing down off the stool I made a perimeter check and lowered the grate over the front window, a new addition that had been installed a few years ago when a drunken asshole from a nearby bar had thrown a brick through our window while bellowing that we'd brought the pandemic to Liverswell. My grandfather and I were American citizens, both of us being born in Massachusetts, but I guess that didn't matter to the bigots. The man had made retribution financially, but the lingering fear still resided. So we went out and bought a roll-down grate, at cost to us. Every time I unrolled the grate, I felt a wave of ire and fear. And Reggie wondered why a young man in the prime of his life was so prone to be melancholy. Being the only queer Asian who could communicate with the dead in a small town was rough.

A low raspy sound flowed down the street, the sound pinging that sixth sense. A young woman appeared about ten feet from me, her head hanging at an unnatural angle. She was clad in a Pink Floyd tee and denim bellbottoms. Her long dark hair had that Farrah Fawcett flip thing that was all the rage back then. She was maybe sixteen.

I'd learned over the years that ghosts come in many various forms. I'd made up my own categories but others with the gift or who are involved in the paranormal had other terms for them. The first ones I ever encountered were friendly interactive apparitions, or FIAs for short. Reggie was a FIA and the first ghost I recalled conversing with when I'd been taken in by Grandpa. The twins next door were poltergeists. FIAs and poltergeists can both manipulate items, hence Reg tossing things about, reading books, and ringing bells. I'd not heard one peep from the Connors since they moved in a year ago. Perhaps the twins were just lying in wait or perhaps the little chat I'd had with them when the Millers left in the middle of the night wailing about their refrigerator trying to eat them scared the little shits. I highly doubted they were intimidated by my threats, but they had been intrigued, so for now, things next door were quiet. And yes, there were Unfriendly Interactive Apparitions. Some poltergeists fell into that category as did other unsettled manifestations. Most that I knew, mainly from the cemetery up the hill at the end of our street, were wandering souls, friendly for the most part, but able to leave their burial mounds within a mile or so. There were many reasons why some spirits stayed on Earth.

My grandfather, a Buddhist, believed that the soul left the body after death and was reborn into another entity be that a god, a person, an animal, or a hungry ghost. This is known as samsara and where your soul goes depends on what kind of person you were when you were alive. Good person you might become a demigod. Bad person might end up as an evil water ghost. So his explanation for why there were so many specters was the souls were waiting to find the perfect vessel for rebirth. Every religion has its own beliefs. I wasn't much into organized anything, but I'd spoken to enough confused phantoms to lean toward souls just chilling on this plane until the right form was ready for them to inhabit. It was as good a reason as any when dealing with the unexplainable.

Then were other sorts of spirits that humans encountered. Mists, funnels, and orbs seem to show up in many otherworldly investigators' pictures as bright lights hovering in space. Some ectoplasms created a cold space that humans could feel. That phenomena took place before a ghost would fully appear in most cases but some souls just preferred to stay unseen but felt. Mostly here in Liverswell, we had FIAs and a few poltergeists who were walking a thin line. The Tewberry Twins came to mind.

"Evening, Eloise," I said as I cranked. She groaned and flashed a peace sign as she floated by. "Enjoy your night." She was an unhappy spirit. Her death was at the hands of a drunk driver in the 70s, locking her here on Main Street until the person who had run her down and took off could be found, which was probably never going to happen. So Eloise haunted the road where she had been thrown from her bike, flipping over the hood of the car and landing on the street where she was then run over, a tire crushing her larynx. Unable to speak properly, she flashed a peace sign or gave me the finger depending on her mood. Both were acceptable. If I were dead and had to prowl the same street for eternity, I'd flip off people as well. I prayed that I went peacefully in my sleep.

Once the grate was secured, I went back inside, locked the door and the deadbolt, and turned off the lights. A soft glow, like that of a nightlight, appeared at my feet. I smiled and reached down to stroke the back of the grimalkin, a tuxedo cat that Reggie informed me was called Sir Thomas and once belonged to a witch who lived next door. The accused witch, a svelte woman called Aradia Flores, who professed her innocence as a mere healer to the end, was taken to Lake Killikee a few miles away, tied to a dunking stool, and drowned. Oops, guess she wasn't a witch after all. Our bad. Massachusetts has lots of supernatural history. Some bad, and some really bad. Whispered tales told that she still roamed the shores of that dark, murky lake wailing over her death at the hands of puritanical zealots.

Sir Thomas and the churchyard grim, a massive black brute of a dog named Thistle of all things, were rather good buddies. The ethereal cat could meander at will all over town but the dog was bound to the cemetery on the hill behind the library a block away. Back in the day, they would kill and bury a dog to protect the resting dead as well as the church. They were weird back in the olden days.

The cat mewled, stretched, and shook. A thin bit of twine with a small tight ball of woven vines dangling from it jiggled before he padded off to the corner where a dim yellow glow of a ghost could be seen. Well, seen by me. That was Reggie unpacking sapphic romances and muttering about the lack of hairy bollocks. Shaking my head, I used the glow of our resident book critic to climb the stairs. The smell of pizza wafted under my nose when I entered our modest living quarters.

"Archie, I added some hot peppers to the pizza," Grandpa called over his thin shoulder as he toted two plates to the small table by the fridge. "Now it will have some bite!"

The only thing my grandfather loved more than food with bite was his grandson. Guess that did give me at least one thing to smile about after all.

***

Thursdays were generally a peaceful day.

I had only two classes, one being my Asian studies class with Professor Hayashi, and the other a philosophy class with Professor Simms. I'd been able to swap out a foreign language class as I spoke Mandarin fluently thanks to Grandpa's insistence I grow up bilingual. On my way to ancient and medieval philosophies class, I dropped by the student lounge to check the massive corkboard. The public room was packed with students, most just chilling on couches with coffee in hand, talking and laughing. A line snaked around the room, all the students waiting for coffee from the shop at the back of the common room.

Being popular was something that I had little knowledge of as I was always that weird kid with the even weirder vibes. Most people knew I was off, and not just because I was queer in a heteronormative world, so obvs I was not "normal," but they could sense that I was different on a deeper plane. A plane they couldn't grasp but felt in a primal survival sort of unease. A common thing among those with the gift or so I had read online.

Pushing up my glasses, I straightened my shoulders, lifted my chin, and stalked past a couch filled with massive guys in bright green jackets. The Liverswell Lions were having court, it seemed. A pack of young women fluttered around them. I did my best not to look too long at any of the football players. That was a lesson I had learned in high school. Skinny gay Asian kids in glasses and AP classes did not gawk at the jocks. Someone rose from the sofa as I passed. Oh shit. My mouth went dry instantly. I walked faster, gripping the strap of my leather shoulder bag tighter. If he grabbed it, he'd take me with it, which would probably only add to the humor.

Eyes on the announcement board, I did my best not to clock the wall of muscle on my right. Instead of making eye contact, I skimmed my tutoring printout, frowning at the lone missing tag at the bottom of the tear-off flyer. Shit. I was sure I'd get someone to call for assistance. It would be an easy way to make money to cover the electric bill that was creeping toward being overdue.

"Hey, is this your flyer?" the mountain asked as I scowled at my homemade advertisement.

I nodded, unsure where this was going or if I would have to bolt at any given second. I was considerably smaller than he was, and so probably faster, and I had ample experience in evasive tactics.

"You're this Archimedes Kee, right?"

"Yeah, that's me. Why?"

"I'm the guy who pulled that off." I dared to look over and then up. Oh hell. The man was gorgeous. Wild and wavy blond hair, eyes as blue as a forget-me-not, and lips that Hollywood actresses spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to get. His jaw was strong and covered with new gold whiskers. "See!" He waved the tag under my nose. The motion made me wince. "Oh sorry, didn't mean to scare you. So hey, Archimedes, I have to find someone who can help me with learning Chinese this year or I'm going to be cut from the team. I kind of switched some classes around, and since I like those BL dramas, I figured that would be cool to study. I also have a killer English course. Can you help me with English too?"

"Kes, that guy can't help you with English! He's Japanese!" one of the Lions called. Hilarity ensued with the players and their feminine admirers.

"I'm Chinese American, you idiotic cockwomble," I muttered under my breath. Kes, he of the beefy shoulders and too-tight Simply Red tee showing beneath his jacket, wrinkled his brow before shooting his buddies a dark look.

"He's Chinese American, you idiotic…what was that word?" he asked in a whisper as a couple dashed past, coffee in hand, mad sprinting to class.

"Cockwomble," I answered as I fixated on the cleft on his chin. "It's British."

"Oh gotcha." Kes winked at me, then turned to face the pack of brutes reclining. "He's Chinese American, you idiotic cockwomble. And that's British, so he speaks three languages. Chinese, American, and British." Kes counted off on his thick fingers. I blinked in astonishment.

The others in green varsity jackets mumbled to themselves. The girls with them all tittered. I hurried to dig into my satchel for the store flyers I'd printed out this morning over my bowl of fruity rings cereal. The sooner I got out of here and to my class, the better. My mouth would end up getting me beat up. It always did.

"Are you still taking on students?" Kes pressed on while I tugged a new flyer free. My eyes stayed on the board, seeking a few stick pins that I could steal from other announcements for mine. Not all the pins, just one here and one there. "I can pay you double." I had just pulled a red pin from a notice about the student fall film festival when his words seeped into my brain. I shot him a wary look. "Seriously, I have the money. My dad is a congressman. I cannot flunk out of my sophomore year or he'll tear off my dick."

"I doubt he would do that."

"Okay, probably not, but I'd be an embarrassment during an election year. Plus, I really love playing football. It's the only thing that I'm good at."

"I doubt that as well," I replied to be nice. Being nice to men who could crush your skull with their thighs was always advisable.

"Ask anyone," he murmured, those rich blue eyes growing a morose dark navy. "I know you probably have like a hundred people asking for your help since you're good at languages."

I shrugged, unwilling to cop to the fact I had zero students asking for assistance. As I pinned the book sale flyer to the board, Kes stood beside me working that strip of pink paper for all it was worth. My gaze touched on him several times. He was just too pretty to look so down in the dumps. Was this how I looked to Reggie? To the rest of the world?

With a mighty sigh reserved for those who were as poor as a church mouse, I faced him. "I can take you on as a tutor for learning Mandarin."

"No, I need to learn Chinese."

Right. That happened a lot. "Okay, so Mandarin is a form of the Chinese language but it's not technically…" He blinked. I'd lost him. "Mandarin is the most commonly spoken language in China, so yes, I can help you learn so you can take Asian studies. I might be able to help you with an English course as well. What course is it?" I mean, I did read a lot. Bookstore owner slash employee slash oddball freak meant that books and I were old dear friends. "My fee is—"

He hooted loudly, hugged me until I was blue in the face, and then gently set me down when I started gasping. Righting my glasses, I yanked free of his strong arms.

"Sorry, Archimedes. I'm super excitable. Thanks, man, seriously, that is great news." He smiled down at me with such sincerity I couldn't help but smile back. Just a little. One tip of the left side of my mouth. "Right, so when do you want to come to my room to study? I live with those three losers, but I can shove them out of the room for an hour."

My eyesight flew to the trio of athletes eyeballing me as if they were big fish and I a tiny minnow. Yeah, nope. Nope to all of that.

"That won't work for me." No way was I going to a dorm room where three apes could pin me down in a corner. Only a fool would allow themselves to be put in that kind of unsafe circumstance.

"Oh okay. Well, how about we study at your store then?" He tapped the flyer I'd just pinned up. "This is you, right? Kee Books. I've seen that shop when I go with Kyle to the vape shop. I always thought you spelled the word wrong. Like it was key as in a key in a lock, but now I know it's the Chinese American spelling of key so it must be you. How many Kees can there be in Liverswell?"

"Well, technically, the store is my grandfather's, but I work there part time." I mulled for a moment or two. "Fine, we can do this at the store." I handed him a sale flyer. "The address is on the bottom. Be there tomorrow night at seven sharp. Don't be late. Make sure you have your books downloaded and do not show up stoned or drunk. If you do, the session is over immediately."

"Cool, yeah, no problem. I don't drink or do dope." He clapped me on the shoulder. "Thanks, Archimedes. That's a cool name. Is it Chinese?"

"No, it's Greek. It means master thinker. My father was a student of ancient Greece and when he found out he was having a son, he was certain I'd live up to the meaning." Why was I telling this baboon how I was named? "Most people call me Arch or Archie."

"Archie like the comics! That's pretty neat. I'm Phil Kestrel, but everyone calls me Kes. That's short for Kestrel." He offered me a hand the size of a manhole cover. With a fast glance at the other jocks watching intently, I shook once, quickly. "I'll be at the bookstore at seven." He gripped my hand even tighter. A thousand little firebolts raced from my palm to various parts of my body. Parts that shouldn't be affected by a handshake or the smell of his woodsy cologne or the way his smile made me feel less odd than normal.

"Nice to meet you, Phil. I have to go." I tugged free and bolted, skipping my usual green tea latte from the Feline Like Coffee shop a mere hundred feet away.

I tore off outside, pulling a fast left, and didn't stop speed walking until I dropped down into my seat for Asian studies. Professor Hayashi gave me a perturbed look over the top of her funky yellow eyeglasses. I rushed to open my old Dell. She noted my arrival with a sharp glance at her smartwatch. I slunk down in my seat to hide behind my laptop.

"Mr. Kee, would you like to fill us in on where we left off last class?" Professor asked without turning from what she was writing on the whiteboard.

"We were discussing the dynamics that led to the beginnings of the Qing empire," I replied, scanning my notes on the sly as my focus was still shaky.

She never said good or well done. She just gave a nod of her dark head and then launched into the Manchus and the start of a great dynasty. My fingers were still tingling from that handshake. Big dope probably squeezed me so hard that I had nerve damage. What other reason would there be for my digits to tingle like they were?