Chapter 11: Lip
In the Gallagher household with six children, Lip was the brightest of them all—the only one with a real shot at graduating high school and making it to college.
For many people, getting into college doesn't seem like a big deal. Even if one doesn't make it into a top-tier university like Tsinghua or Peking University, there's always a decent second-tier school offering a bachelor's degree. In general, getting into college feels attainable.
But things are different in America. The gap in educational opportunities between the rich and poor is enormous. For kids from low-income families, going to college is nearly impossible.
In his previous life, many people praised American schools for their relaxed pace. Kids played more and studied less. American kids were thought to be freer, more creative.
But most of that came from online influencers and marketing spin—it wasn't the full picture.
In truth, there are two types of education in America: public and private. Most people were only talking about public schools. And the gap between public and private education was staggering—like heaven and earth.
Public schools in America, especially in impoverished areas, were a mess. In elementary grades four or five, students were still struggling with basic arithmetic. No one paid serious attention to academics. Skipping class, getting into fights—these were everyday occurrences. As long as things didn't get too out of hand, the teachers and staff simply turned a blind eye.
Private schools, on the other hand, were a whole different world. The discipline was military-grade. The academic environment was comparable to Chinese high school juniors and seniors preparing for the gaokao. Not only did students have to excel in basic subjects, but they were also expected to develop talents and interests outside the classroom.
The difference between public and private schools was immense—like sky and earth.
Why such disparity? Because public schools were free, while private schools charged astronomical tuition. Truly wealthy families never sent their children to public schools. From an early age, those children received elite, tailored education that prepared them for the nation's top universities.
Most of America's upper class—those controlling 90% of the nation's wealth—came out of private schools. Public school success stories were extremely rare—maybe one in a thousand.
And Frank's family lived in the South Side of Chicago—a place synonymous with poverty. The public schools there? Unsurprisingly bleak. Everyone around them was poor, and to be blunt, academic ambition was nowhere in their blood.
Most students didn't even finish high school. They dropped out to work, join gangs, or start families. It wasn't uncommon to see pregnant teens attending classes with their babies in tow.
In such an environment, just graduating high school was already a feat—going to college was nearly impossible. And even if a kid made it, affording college tuition was another mountain. Even state schools weren't within reach for the poor.
There was only one exception: true genius. And Lip was one of those rare geniuses.
Lip's intelligence probably came from Frank—after all, the old Frank had dropped out of the prestigious Northwestern University.
Anyone else in the family wouldn't understand what Frank was doing when he tapped away at the computer. But Lip got it immediately.
He was astonished—first by the fact that Frank could understand such complicated Chinese, and second by the fact that their alcoholic father was translating documents of all things.
"I'm trying to make some money," Frank told Lip.
"You? Trying to make money through honest work—translating? Not stealing or scamming?" Lip couldn't help but laugh, as if he'd just seen the sun rise in the west.
"You still haven't recovered from your amnesia?" Lip asked.
"I've recovered," Frank said. "Some memories take time to piece together, but Lip, I'm not the same Frank anymore. I've changed."
"Heh." Lip didn't respond. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, picked up a few books, a notebook, and a pencil, then sat across from Frank.
The family was poor. They only had one computer and one shared phone.
The computer was better off than the phone—it was mainly for Lip to study or for everyone to search for jobs or side gigs online.
The phone was more contested, with everyone scrambling to use it, carefully watching the call charges.
Lip, knowing full well what old Frank used to be like, didn't take the computer away—Frank was working on a translation, not watching adult videos or something.
But he kept an eye on him anyway—worried Frank might pawn the laptop. After all, it wouldn't be the first time.
They sat in silence. Frank kept translating. Lip read, occasionally glancing at Frank. He had never seen Frank so focused.
Before long, the other kids trickled in. The house turned into a lively market. No one paid any attention to Frank's translating.
Fiona came home last, carrying a black plastic bag filled with burgers and fried chicken. It wasn't bought—this food was free.
Many fast food and bakery chains in the area discarded unsold food at the end of the day, regardless of whether it was good or bad. Fiona, who worked at such places, often brought some home. The food was fresh and clean—perfectly good for dinner.
As the chaos filled the house, Frank stayed quiet. He didn't tell the kids about the trouble with Ginger or the credit cards.
It was too much for them to handle. Fiona already bore the weight of the entire household—raising five kids was no small task. He couldn't add to her burden. He had to deal with this himself.
Frank slapped his face a few times. The issue with Ginger and the debt felt like a mountain crushing him—but for the family, for the children, he had to pull himself together.
"Fuck you, Frank," he muttered at his reflection in the mirror after washing up, cursing the old self who left such a mess behind.