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The Same

Amy Tran

The Chinese teacher laughs, sharing his 
memory. "When I first come to America, 
everyone look the same to me." His thick accent -
er-ryone, sehm - is too enthusiastic, 
is too inviting to the students 
who glance at each other, eyebrows raised, shifting 
in their seats. Unaware, he continues, 
"Do you think all Chinese people look the same?"

Peep-oh, sehm - invites a smile from 
the boy in the front row, 
blue-eyed, slouching, casually says,


"Yeah. 'Cause y'all do."


He looks around, pleased, his smirk showing off 
the strong line of his jaw. He knows 
his place in the room --the front row. It allows him

this sentence, the words not a challenge but a statement

of fact. No disagreement, until he hears 
the voice of the girl behind him, who has 
the same almond eyes of the teacher 
and a small, clear voice as she corrects him.


"Because you all do." 

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