It's Boba Time for Pearl Li!


 
 
 Dedication
 
 
 For Kaia, whose bottomless well
 of creativity inspires me every day.
 
 Contents
 
 Cover
 Title Page
 Dedication
 Chapter 1
 Chapter 2
 Chapter 3
 Chapter 4
 Chapter 5
 Chapter 6
 Chapter 7
 Chapter 8
 Chapter 9
 Chapter 10
 Chapter 11
 Chapter 12
 Chapter 13
 Chapter 14
 Chapter 15
 Chapter 16
 Chapter 17
 Chapter 18
 Chapter 19
 Chapter 20
 Chapter 21
 Chapter 22
 Chapter 23
 Chapter 24
 Chapter 25
 Chapter 26
 Chapter 27
 Chapter 28
 Chapter 29
 Chapter 30
 Chapter 31
 Chapter 32
 Chapter 33
 Chapter 34
 Chapter 35
 Chapter 36
 Chapter 37
 Chapter 38
 Chapter 39
 Epilogue
 Acknowledgments
 Glossary of Business Terms
 How Pearl Calculates Profits for Kawaii Crochets
 Auntie Cha’s Sparkling Mango Green Tea Boba Recipe
 About the Author
 Copyright
 About the Publisher
 
 
 
 Chapter
 1
 I DECIDED TO NAME THE hot dog Oscar. I mean, how clever is that? Oscar as in Oscar Mayer, the meat company. Get it? Hilarious, if I do say so myself. Even if hot dogs aren’t exactly a common dish in the Li household.
 Unfortunately, a funny name was the only good idea my brain had last night. Because after I stitched through the tail end of the yarn and tucked it into Oscar’s stuffing, I popped him into my backpack so I could bring him to school. With his little beaded eyes and slightly crooked smile, my newest crochet creation was just too adorable to keep to myself.
 I didn’t mean to sew his smile that way. I counted the number of stitches between his eyes wrong and ended up with an even number, which made centering his smile impossible. But I liked the way his crooked smile made it look like he knew something no one else did. And that yellow stripe I stitched onto his body for mustard . . . Oscar was a true masterpiece!
 Priya and Cindy, my two best friends, would love him. I had to take him on a field trip to Lynbrook Middle School.
 What a mistake.
 Fast-forward to now. The sound we’d been waiting for all day had finally rung, and just like that, sixth grade was over. Summer had officially started!
 I couldn’t wait to get out of the most boring computer skills class ever. I scooped up what was on the desk and grabbed my backpack to shove everything in . . .
 And out tumbled Oscar.
 After a few somersaults, he bumped up next to the crisp, clean white sneaker of Miss Perfect herself, Kendall Stewart.
 I lunged forward. But before I could get him back to safety, Kendall had Oscar in her manicured hands.
 “What’s this?” She turned him around to get a better look. “Aren’t we a little old to be playing with dolls, Pearl?”
 My cheeks burned. But against my tan skin, I knew it wouldn’t show. My mom liked to remind me that it was a good thing to not have your emotions show on your face. That way, you could hide them better. But sometimes, I wished they could do the talking for me. Maybe people wouldn’t be so quick to look past me if they knew what I was really feeling.
 Or if I had the guts to tell them.
 I’m not playing with dolls, I wanted to shout. I’m definitely too old for that. But making them with your own two hands? That’s not easy!
 Did I say what I was thinking, though? Of course not. My mouth liked to stop working whenever I had to confront someone, especially someone like Kendall Stewart. She always looked like she just stepped out of a movie, shining with that energy only beautiful, confident people have. Even the plastic charms on her bracelet matched the swirly pattern of the sundress she was wearing.
 “Hey, give that back!” Priya leapt to my rescue, her eyes flashing and her long hair whipping forward like a bolt of black lightning. She snatched Oscar from Kendall, shoved him back into my hands, and pulled me out of the classroom in a huff.
 When we got outside, I sighed with relief and threw my arm around her.
 “You’re my knight in shining armor, as usual.” I laughed.
 She flashed me a smile as big and bright as her oversized red sweater. “And you’re my damsel in distress,” she quipped back, slinging her own arm around my neck.
 That was our running joke ever since we became best friends in third grade. Even then, Priya was a fierce defender of the meek. The other kids always teased me for how small I was. But it was the day that a boy called me a “ching chong with glasses” that our friendship really took off. She shoved the boy so hard into the mud that he had to find another pair of pants from the lost and found.
 Then we bonded over our love of crafts when I shyly presented her with a rainbow clay lump covered with mounds of glitter as a thank-you. As we’d gotten older, I could still count on her to be my voice when it wouldn’t come out on its own.
 “Now that you’ve been rescued, let me see!” She held out her hand, flipping her hair back in that dramatic way she always did. I tossed her Oscar.
 “I love it!” she cooed, turning him around. “Very pop art.”
 “I finally finished him last night.” I pushed my glasses back up my nose. Charm bracelets weren’t my thing, but a fun collection of glasses was! The last day of sixth grade deserved a little extra flair, so I had picked out my bright red cat-eyed pair this morning. “See, I even sewed on mustard with this single crochet strand.”
 A jingling sound approached us from behind. Priya and I looked at each other and grinned. Without turning around, we both called out, “Hey, Cindy!”
 “Aww, how adorable!” Sure enough, it was Cindy, our other best friend. The long earrings dangling