The Year of the Crocodile Read Online Free PDF

how does one drink this shit?”
    â€œIt tastes like crap,” my mom says. “Chug it all at once.”
    I shake my head behind him.
    â€œYou sure you’re not an alcoholic?” my mother asks. “Tina never gave me a list of all the ways that you’re fucked up.”
    There is nowhere to hide. I look over at Blake. Help me, I mouth .
    â€œWorkaholic,” Adam says. “Everything else stems from that.” He tilts the cup up, and thankfully, does not take my mother’s advice. He takes a sip and frowns pensively.
    My mother persists. “You know what you need to get everyone’s mind off your big drug scandal?”
    Shit. This is not happening. I almost whimper. The only thing worse than my mom yelling at Adam Reynolds about human rights abuses is my mom offering him helpful advice. This will not go well. This…
    â€œWhat do I need?” He gives her a curious smile. “I’m gonna bet Martin in PR will fucking love your advice.”
    â€œA sex scandal,” my mom says.
    â€œI was right.” Adam looks up. “Martin’s gonna love it.”
    â€œSex is much more interesting than drugs. These days, so few things qualify as a true scandal, though. And you’re not married, so cheating is not a possibility.” She frowns. “Probably you’d need an orgy to really get attention. And pictures. Pictures are more likely to go viral than text. I read that. You should tell Martin.”
    Adam Reynolds chokes on his soju at the word orgy . “Interesting idea. No fucking thank you.”
    My father looks at him. “I never would have expected Adam Reynolds to be a prude. This is interesting information.”
    Oh, shit. They’re double teaming him now.
    Adam sets down his soju. His eyes narrow. “I’m not a fucking prude.”
    â€œYes, you are!” Blake calls from across the room. “Don’t believe him!”
    â€œNo, I’m not. Just because I believe in personal privacy and—”
    â€œPersonal privacy?” My mom shakes her head. “ You believe in personal privacy? Forgive me if I am misremembering events. You announced to the entire world that you were a two-bit crack whore, and—”
    Adam is staring at her in disbelief. This whole thing is going wrong. Terribly wrong. Exactly as I knew it would.
    My mom snaps her fingers. “Ah. I’m so sorry. English is not my first language. Sometimes I make mistakes. Did I say two-bit crack whore? I meant recovering crack whore.” She leans over and pats his hand. “I know the difference must be very important to you, even if nobody else will see it.”
    I’m not even sure what to say. How to make this better.
    Adam Reynolds practically explodes in laughter, shaking his head. “You’re not bad,” he says, “for a commie cult member.”
    He may be laughing, but I have gone to DEFCON 5. My parents practice Falun Gong, which is illegal in China. It’s the reason they were granted asylum in the United States when we moved here years ago.
    China’s official stance is that Falun Gong is an extremely complicated cult. His statement is the offhand equivalent of tossing a grenade.
    But my mother simply shakes her head. “You’re just saying that because you can’t do it.”
    â€œWhat can’t I do?”
    â€œFalun Gong,” my father puts in. “A simple series of exercises. Requires a clear mind and flexible thinking. You can’t do it.”
    Adam Reynolds sets down his soju. “The fuck I can’t.”
    â€œAlso, you will get yourself banned from China,” my father says.
    â€œI’d like to fucking see them try.”
    And that is how our parents first meet. Adam Reynolds takes off his shoes in my parents’ living room and ends up practicing “Buddha Stretching a Thousand Arms” while my mother watches, eating cake and offering pointers like, “If