The late afternoon sun streamed into Audrey Mây Nguyễn's reading room, casting a thoughtful and contemplative expression on the innocent face of a young girl entering adolescence. There was a sense of maturity, yet also an unmistakable innocence. She was engrossed in a book she had borrowed from the Library of Congress – a place her mother had taken her to during a work trip to Washington, D.C. Audrey, also known as Mây, was born and raised in the U.S., but her parents were Vietnamese, giving her a unique blend of two cultures, languages, and mindsets that were vastly different, yet complementary.

People often called Mây by her poetic name, "Cloud," symbolizing dreams and innocence. However, the truth was the opposite. Mây had a remarkably mature mind from a young age. She never cried or begged her parents for toys, but she was always ready to accept any conditions just to visit the library three times a week.

Mây studied in the American education system, where all students were required to learn English, and of course, Vietnamese was not taught in schools. It wasn’t until June 2024 that San Francisco would officially recognize Vietnamese as one of its official languages, making it easier for Vietnamese immigrants, like Mây’s family, to adapt. But that was two years in the future when Mây would be 18. For now, she was still a teenager growing both biologically and mentally.

“Mây, can you put the book down and come have dinner?”

“I’m coming, Dad,” Mây called out. Her father was a wonderful man who had raised her since the day she was born and was her closest friend. Because of her different personality and way of thinking, Mây had almost no friends her age from first grade through tenth. This worried her mother, who wanted Mây to socialize with girls her age. But Mây found talking to them made her feel more foolish. She preferred subjects like books, philosophy, chess, and mathematics, while the other girls mostly talked about boys, fashion, and perfume.

To Mây, this wasn't a big issue. She didn't mind not having friends her age – at least she didn’t have to partake in their silly activities. It wasn’t that she disliked them; she just felt her world and theirs were entirely different.

Mây hurried down the stairs to make it in time for dinner with her dad. She didn’t even notice her feet thudding loudly on the steps until her dad reminded her.

“Hey, slow down a bit on those stairs, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Yes, Dad,” Mây replied with a cheerful smile.

“Where’s Mom?” she asked while picking up some tuna with her chopsticks and taking a bite with rice.

“Your mom’s busy at work. She might be home a little late. One of her clients is having some trouble with her husband’s family, and she’s helping her prepare for the upcoming court case.”

Mây’s mother was a successful lawyer who had worked for the U.S. Department of Justice (DOJ) for five years when she and her husband first moved to the U.S. After having Mây, her mother decided to leave the DOJ and start her own law firm, so she had less time to spend with Mây. Although Mây was closer to her dad growing up, she admired her mother because she learned so much about law from her. Her mother gave her famous legal books as birthday gifts, and Mây had read them all. Among them was Black's Law Dictionary – a leading legal dictionary first compiled by Henry Campbell Black and published in 1891. It’s widely used by lawyers, judges, and law students in the U.S., and sometimes her mother referred to it when dealing with difficult legal terms in legislation.

Mây had also read The Federalist Papers but didn’t like it much – not only because it was highly academic but also because it was filled with debates about law and political power in America. The style and content were a bit overwhelming for a young girl like her. Above all, Mây disliked arguments. Living in America, a place where cultural and racial diversity was the norm, she often saw passionate and heated debates in multiple languages. It was ironic and tragic that, despite having a lawyer mother, Mây herself despised arguments. There was one instance when a classmate argued with her about academics, calling her a bookworm who only knew how to study and couldn’t fit in with others. Instead of retaliating, Mây chose silence, smiled, and nodded, saying, “You’re absolutely right. You’re great, and I’m just someone who works hard day and night for my future.”

Though Mây respected her mother, she didn’t want to become a lawyer due to the profession’s harshness and risk. She preferred peace and aspired to be involved in social work or charity. She had no interest in chasing power or glory; all she wanted was to live an ordinary life. Mây dreamed of working for UNICEF because of her love for caring for others, especially young children.

But would life be easy for Mây, with her extraordinary yet conflicting mindset in a world full of contradictions?