The Year I Flew Away

by Marie Arnold

  When we go out for recess, I don’t just play games with the other kids—I lead, because I understand the rules now. I play with Carmen and the other kids in my class, and no one is laughing at me. I finally belong.

  We’re in the middle of a game of tag when suddenly one of the students shouts, “The candy lady opened her window!” Everyone in the yard is excited. The kids gather in small groups and crawl through a hole in the fence.

  “Where are they going?” I ask Carmen.

  “Didn’t you hear? The window’s open!” she says, jumping up and down.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s March, spring is almost here. That means the candy lady opens her window and sells treats,” she says.

  “What kind of treats?”

  “She has every candy you can think of, and she has a thousand Popsicle flavors. Even the flavors I get when we go on vacation to Mexico. Her Popsicles come in a small plastic bag. When I get them, I tear into them with my teeth and suck on the ice until my brain freezes.” She laughs.

  “Okay, let’s get some,” I reply, but then I remember something and my heart sinks.

  “What is it, Gabrielle?”

  “I didn’t bring any money with me,” I reply.

  Someone behind me starts laughing. I turn around, and it’s Tianna and her awful dolphins. Don’t they ever take a day off from being mean?

  “What are you laughing at?” I demand.

  “You. You don’t have any money. And I know the reason why,” Tianna says with her nose in the air.

  “That’s not true. I do have money. I have a lot of it. But I left it at home,” I mumble as my stomach churns.

  “No one in your house has money. You’re from Haiti. Everyone there is poor. Carmen, you have to go to the candy lady by yourself. Your new friend is too poor to come with you.”

  The dolphins begin to laugh. I fold my arms across my chest and scowl. I rush toward her, but Carmen stops me. “Don’t listen to Tianna.”

  “But she’s always picking on me. And now that I speak perfect English, I can argue with her and have a billion words I can use.”

  “You’ll get in trouble,” Carmen warns me.

  “Come on, girls; let’s go see the candy lady. We’ll get a big bag of candy. Or maybe two,” Tianna says smugly. They follow her through the hole in the fence.

  “Come on, let’s go,” Carmen says.

  “I can’t. I told you I don’t have any money.”

  “But I do. We can find something to split.”

  “No, it’s okay. You go ahead.”

  “Gabrielle, if I didn’t have money, would you share with me?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “So, it’s only fair for me to share with you. Now hurry, before the window closes,” she says. We crawl through the hole in the fence, then sneak over to the red brick house.

  “Are you sure we aren’t going to be seen by the teachers? They’re right over there,” I point out.

  “Ha! That’s never gonna happen. Not on my watch,” someone says behind us.

  We turn and come face to face with a kid named Getz. His real name is Melvin, but everyone calls him Getz. Why? Because whatever you need, he can get it for you—so long as you can pay his price. Getz wears a gray fedora and trench coat—every day. It’s odd, but the kids have gotten used to it by now.

  “There’s no way the teachers would tell on us,” Getz says.

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  “You’re new around here, so I’ll let you in on a little secret, kid,” he says with a cocky smile. He signals for us to come closer. He leans in and whispers, “It’s a well-kept secret, but the fact is, teachers love the sweet stuff too, can’t get enough of it.

  “Yeah, sure, they act all grown-up when we kids are around—broccoli this and vitamins that—but it’s all an act. Teachers have a sweet tooth. And I’m the one who gets them what they need: Nutter Butters, Ding Dongs, or Twinkies. I get them all. And so long as they get their treats, there won’t be any trouble,” he says proudly.

  “Getz, can you really get anything your customers ask for?” I ask.

  “Haven’t you heard my motto?” he asks.

  “No,” I reply.

  “You want it—I Getz it. Here, take my business card,” he says, handing us two white cards with his name on it.

  “Um, thanks,” Carmen says.

  “No problem. There’s a ten percent discount if you refer a friend,” he shouts as he takes off.

  Carmen nudges me—it’s almost our turn at the window. I get a good look at the candy lady in the window. She’s plump and perfectly round, like a ball. Her skin is dark and radiant like the night. Her eyes sparkle, and her puffy cheeks glow.

  There’s a beautifully colored wrap on her head that’s as high as a tower. She’s wearing a pair of earrings shaped like colorful parakeets. There’s a matching necklace dangling from her neck, with the initials MM on it. The candy lady leans forward and talks to the boy who’s next.

  “Henry, I told you before, there will be no more chocolate until you get a note from a dentist.”

  “But my dentist says my teeth are fine.”

  “Okay. Smile,” she says; the boy smiles. He’s missing six teeth. “Next!” the candy lady says.

  “Aw c’mon, candy lady. Please?” the boy begs.

  “Oh, all right, all right. Here,” she says as she reaches inside a basket near the window. She hands him a green apple.

  “Very funny. What am I supposed to do with this?” the boy says, shaking his head as he stomps away.

  The girl in front of us places her order—three peppermint-chocolate balls and a strawberry Popsicle.

  “All right, that will be fifteen dollars and fifty cents,” the candy lady says.

  Everyone in the line gasps. Candy has never cost that much, no matter how big a bag a kid gets. There’s no way.

  “Fifteen bucks for candy?” the girl says, stunned.

  “No. The candy is fifty cents. But the box of laundry detergent your mom has to get to take out the stains you leave on your shirt after eating the candy costs fifteen dollars.”

  I look the girl over, and the candy lady is right. I can make out everything she has had to eat so far today: The dark brown, glossy syrup stain from the waffles or pancakes. The bright orange spot she dripped on herself while drinking her orange juice, and the shiny sparkle of sugar from the bag of Sour Patch Kids she had earlier.

  “You’re charging me for the detergent?” the girl demands. “That’s not fair!”

  “Neither is your mom staying at the laundromat until nightfall. Now, you want me to come down on the price, I will. Only if we can come to some kind of understanding.”

  “Fine. What are your terms?” the girl asks.

  “You don’t purchase anything that drips, sticks, or stains,” the candy lady announces.

  “Aw, man. What does that leave me with?” the girl asks.

  The candy lady turns her back to us and then swivels around holding something. “Behold, the world’s first stain-free Popsicle!”

  “It’s an ice cube on a stick!” the girl says.

  “That’s right. And it’s all yours. Free!” the candy lady says as she hands the ice pop to the girl.

  The girl groans and storms off.

  “All right, who’s next?” the candy lady asks.

  “We are,” Carmen says.

  “You two still have most of your teeth?” the candy lady asks.

  “Yes,” we reply in unison.

  “Well, then I guess it’s okay,” she says. “I’ve got just the thing for you.” She hands Carmen a small bag of lollipops.

  “What flavor are they?” I ask.

  “It’s my favorite—mango with chili. Here, try one.” She hands me one. I put it in my mouth, and right away, the spicy-sweet flavor floods my mouth.

  “This is so good!” I reply.

  “What kind of candy do they eat in Haiti?” Carmen says.

&
nbsp; “You’re from Haiti?” the candy lady asks.

  “Ah, yes. Kind of,” I reply with my eyes on the ground.

  “Look people in the eye when you talk to them. And especially when you are talking about your birthplace, young lady. I’ve been to Haiti. Good people. Strong. Smart. Kind.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I reply.

  “Sorry, but we gotta go,” Carmen says as she pays the lady. As we make our way back, I can’t help but feel like we’re being watched. I turn around and catch the candy lady looking at me in a strange way. Like she can see right through me . . .

  * * *

  When school is over, I take the bus and sit next to Carmen. She has an older sister who is a teenager, just like my cousin Kayla. We laugh about how boy-crazy they are and how much makeup they wear. The other kids join in, and soon, the whole bus is buzzing with stories and laughter.

  When the bus gets to my stop, Carmen and I say goodbye and make plans to sit together again the next day. As soon as I step off the bus, I find Rocky waiting for me by the lamppost.

  “So, how did it go?” Rocky says before I can greet him.

  “It was perfect! Everything was perfect! Oh, Rocky, you should have seen it—they liked me. And all I had to do was lose my accent!”

  “Well, that’s not all. You also lost something else, remember?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Well, Lady Lydia said each wish would cause you to lose something.”

  “Oh yeah, like a sock or something I don’t care about . . .”

  “Exactly. So, do you still have both socks on?”

  I look down at my sneakers, and both socks are on.

  “Maybe one of the socks in my dresser is gone. Let’s go look,” I tell him as I run toward my building.

  I enter the apartment and have Rocky go around back and get in through the window. It turns out we didn’t need to do that—no one’s home yet. My aunt and uncle are still at work. The twins are at daycare and Kayla is probably hanging out with her friends. She’s probably practicing kissing boys with a pillow. I saw her do that once—teenagers are so weird.

  I enter my room, and Rocky is on the windowsill waiting for me. I go over to my dresser drawer and look through my socks.

  “Well?” Rocky asks.

  “All my socks are here. Even the ugly ones my uncle got me with the pictures of bacon and eggs.”

  “Your uncle got you food socks?” Rocky says.

  “I know, I know. He just likes pictures of food on clothes. He thinks it’s funny. He got my aunt a sweater with pasta on it. It’s awful. My aunt keeps ‘accidentally’ throwing it in the trash. But whenever she does, he finds it.”

  “Okay, so all your socks are here. Then what did the wish cost you, if not a sock?” Rocky says.

  “Well, the sock was just an example. The wish could have taken my pajamas. Or maybe one of my dresses.”

  “I saw a horror movie once, and a monster took the little girl’s toes.”

  Rocky and I lock eyes. The fear we feel is bigger than the sky itself. Could it be? Do I still have all my toes?

  “I would feel my toes being taken, wouldn’t I?” I ask in a weak whisper.

  “There’s only one way to find out . . .” Rocky says as he looks down at my feet. I swallow hard, sit on my bed, and take off my shoe.

  “Ready?” Rocky asks.

  “Ready,” I reply. I hold my breath, close my eyes, and slide my sock off my right foot. Then I open my eyes.

  Five toes.

  Phew!

  “Now the other one,” Rocky says.

  “Okay, one more time,” I reply as I take my other shoe off. Rocky looks on, his eyes wide with fear. I slide my left sock off and—five toes!

  “Yes!” I shout.

  “Who has all her toes?” Rocky asks.

  “I do!”

  “Who does?”

  “I do!” I laugh.

  Our celebration comes to an end when I hear someone at the door. My family’s home.

  “Do you want me to go?” Rocky says.

  “No, you stay here; I’ll go say hi and see if I can get you something to eat.”

  “Food? Yes, like what?”

  “Maybe a nice piece of cheese?” I offer.

  “Well, I am training to be a rabbit, but I suppose rabbits eat cheese, so yes.”

  “Okay, be right back.”

  I rush out to the kitchen, where my family has gathered. Everyone is talking and joking around as they help put away the groceries. In a panic, I run back into my room and close the door behind me. My heart is beating so fast that I put my hand over my chest, hoping to slow it down.

  “So, where is it? Where’s the cheese?” Rocky says.

  “I know what the wish cost me.”

  “Oh no, the wish took the cheese? Why? Why so cruel?” Rocky says as he throws himself down on the windowsill and takes out a handkerchief to dry his tears.

  “No, the wish didn’t take away your cheese,” I reply in barely a whisper.

  He studies the shock on my face. “Gabrielle, what’s wrong?” he says as he gets closer.

  “My family is out there talking to each other.”

  “And?”

  “And I couldn’t understand a word they said. Earlier today I couldn’t understand Mrs. Bartell, but I thought I just wasn’t listening. It wasn’t that. I can’t speak or understand Haitian Creole. Rocky, the wish took away the language of my home . . .”

  Chapter Seven

  Witch Hunt

  I TRY OVER AND OVER AGAIN to understand the things that my aunt and uncle are saying. It’s no use. It’s like they are speaking some kind of alien language. Rocky helps me look up Haitian Creole in the Encyclopedia Britannica. My aunt and uncle can’t afford to buy us the whole set, but thankfully, we have books that cover up to the letter H.

  “‘This language is a mix of eighteenth-century French and West African languages,’” I read out loud. “Maybe I only lost some Haitian, but kept the French part?”

  So, Rocky tests out my theory. Luckily for us, he speaks every language. He speaks French, and I don’t understand a word. We try for over an hour to get me to speak Haitian Creole, but nothing works.

  “Oh no . . .”

  “Maybe you can start over. And learn to speak Haitian from the beginning,” he says.

  “Okay, let’s try it,” I reply.

  Rocky gets up and says, “I am here to teach you Haitian Creole.”

  “Yes, okay. I’m ready.”

  But I’m not ready. I didn’t realize it before, but Haitian Creole can be a hard language to learn. I slump down on my bed. It’s no use. My native language is gone for good. Rocky tries to cheer me up, but I’m not in the mood.

  “Are you sure a magic trick won’t help?”

  “I don’t think so,” I say.

  “I can pull a rabbit out of a hat for you.”

  “Really?” I reply.

  He runs over to my dresser, gets inside a baseball cap, then jumps out and says, “See, rabbit out of a hat!”

  I try to smile, but I can’t. “Thanks for trying, Rocky.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. How am I going to talk to my family now? It’s one thing to practice English, but to not speak Haitian Creole at all? And not being able to understand them? They are going to know something is up! And then I will have to tell them about doing a deal with a witch. Then they’ll send me back to Haiti for misbehaving.”

  “Maybe I can speak for you. I’ll whisper to you what to say, and you just repeat it.”

  “That could work, Rocky, but wait—how can you be around all the time? People would see you. They’d notice that I’m using a rat as a translator. It would never work.” I sigh and lower my head.

  “What if they don’t know I’m there? What if I become invisible?”

  “Rats can be invisible?” I ask.

  “Don’t be silly, of course not. But it just so happens that I know who ow
ns a glass squid cape.”

  “Glass squids?”

  “Yes, glass squids are the magicians of the sea. Their skin is completely see-through. They can hide anywhere. They aren’t nearly as cute as rabbits, but they are useful.”

  “And your friend has a cape made from them? Who’s your friend?”

  “A turtle I once helped get back on his feet—literally. That guy was on his back for days before I came along. He owes me one.”

  “A glass squid cape. Honestly, that sounds kind of gross.”

  “Maybe, but it will get the job done. Using the cape, I’ll be around to translate for you and no one will see me—until we figure out a better way.”

  “I guess we don’t have a choice. Can you go get it now?”

  “Be right back. Act normal until then,” he says as he scurries out the window.

  Rocky comes back half an hour later, just as my aunt is calling to me. He sits on the windowsill with a small black cape that fits around his neck perfectly.

  “I can still see you,” I tell him.

  He dips his hands into a glass of water on the windowsill and throws a few drops on the cape. He disappears right away!

  “Rocky, it worked! I can’t see you!”

  My aunt calls up to me again. All I recognize is my name. I can’t see Rocky, but thankfully, I can hear him.

  “Your aunt said, ‘Come to the phone—it’s your mom,’” Rocky says.

  Rocky and I make our way to the phone. I hold the receiver out far enough that he can hear what my mom is saying and say it back in English.

  My mom’s beautiful voice fills my ears. Rocky whispers what I should say. He keeps it short—I say wi and non, which mean “yes” and “no.” That’s it. That’s all the Haitian I know.

  My dad takes the phone and talks fast. He laughs. He’s made a silly joke. He does that. But now I won’t hear the jokes or get to roll my eyes because they aren’t funny. And when the call is over, my mom signs off, saying “I love you.” She says it in Haitian, and Rocky translates it for me. But I didn’t need him to tell me what she said. I think “I love you” doesn’t need translation.

  When I am done on the phone, Rocky and I go back to my room. Rocky is excited that we got away with it, but I’m not as happy. Actually, I’m kind of sad.