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Classmates made fun of Noah’s Chinese heritage. In the lunchroom, jocks and popular kids handed him scrawled caricatures of Chinese people. They greeted him with what he called the “ching-chong gesture,” in which they pulled up the outer corners of their eyes and let loose a stream of nonsense words ending in -hong, -hing, or -wong. People “don’t really like that others are different from what’s ‘normal’ in our white, upper-class bubble of a town,” Noah said. They also made fun of his hair, using it as an excuse to insult his masculinity. Noah kept his hair long, sometimes past his shoulders, for several reasons. He liked that his hair distinguished him from other guys at school, kept him warmer during the winter, and afforded him a versatile tool for self-expression. Best of all, by growing his hair long and then cutting it off in one fell swoop, he could donate it to an organization that created wigs for chemotherapy patients.

One senior in particular made a point of picking on Noah. Noah didn’t know why Frederick, a popular partier in Noah’s AP Calculus class, zeroed in on him. He had targeted Noah from the first day of school, jeering “Cut your hair!” at every chance. This week, he had loudly remarked, “Your frosted tips look horrible,” and several classmates agreed. Today, he had thrown paper airplanes at Noah’s head during a test. Noah supposed he had to get used to Frederick because they were swimming teammates who would see much more of each other come swim season.

Noah’s hair didn’t affect his swimming because it fit into a cap, but it bothered his teammates. At the end of Noah’s sophomore season, he qualified for the district meet. A team tradition called for championship qualifiers to bleach their hair one night, which Noah did, and then shave their heads at the pre-competition team dinner. Noah refused.

“C’mon, it’s just hair,” chorused the other upperclassmen. “Quit being such a little girl!”

“You’re not being a team player!” a senior yelled, kicking Noah out of the house. “Get out! If you’re not willing to be a part of this team, we don’t want you!”

Noah was wounded. He had hoped that some of his teammates would at least stand up for him. They averted their eyes and found other things with which to busy themselves. Several months later, Noah still hadn’t cut his hair. He kept the bleached ends because he thought they were “funky Asian.”

Noah’s busy schedule included swimming practices, tutoring, Chinese school, Chess Club practice, audio-video work and newsletter writing for his church, and several hours a week of voice lessons and rehearsals for various musical groups. He was the only member from his entire school district in the community’s regional choir.

At the end of freshman year, the band had announced that it was accepting applications for the Honor Guard. Honor Guards carried banners and flags and were the band managers, in charge of setting up and moving props and equipment. Noah applied for the position and got it. He loved spending time with his friends every day throughout the football season. More important, he had convinced his girlfriend to be an Honor Guard too.

In Noah’s opinion, Leigh, a senior, was smart, kind, funny, and mature. They had started going out in the spring of Noah’s freshman year, when she asked him to a movie. Since then, Leigh had been his rock. Noah was stressed from pushing himself academically because both of his workaholic parents had been student overachievers. He was under the impression that “it was necessary to do well because I felt like if I could make them proud of me, I would know they loved me. My parents just don’t show love as easily as I want,” he said. Worst of all, Po’s health was declining. Po and Gung (Cantonese for maternal grandmother and grandfather) had spent weeknights at Noah’s house, helping to raise him and his younger brother when they lived in California. Po, especially, had been a major influence on Noah even after Noah’s family had moved to Pennsylvania when he was nine.

After the