Explore "Revolution Is Not a Dinner Party" by Ying Chang Compestine on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
My heat rash was no longer red and itchy as the milk tree leaves began to turn shades of yellow and orange. Since I had the highest test scores at the end of third grade, Teacher Hui, who taught Chinese literature, had recommended to the school board that I skip fourth grade. I looked forward to starting fifth grade. Even though I would be the youngest in the class, I was sure I'd still be the first one to raise a hand to answer her questions.
Teacher Hui was slender and shorter than Mother and Mrs. Wong. She had a perm in her shoulder-length hair. She could wear a blue scarf many different ways. She often read my writing to the class as she slowly walked between the rows of desks. Once in a while, her beautiful double-lidded eyes would smile at me. I liked the way she bent her fingers and pushed her curly hair behind her ears.