by Angela Ahn
Haji and Mom flanked Hammy, helping her come into the house.
“Hi, Hammy.” I smiled as I stepped aside to let her in the door. I held my tension as far away from me as I could and pretended to be cool. “Welcome home!” I lifted the sign a little bit.
“Hello.” She reached over with her good hand and gave my cheek a light pat. “Beautiful sign, thank you. Where’s L.B.?” Hammy’s eyes scanned the living room.
With her good arm, Hammy reached into her purse and pulled out Trixie. She tucked him under her arm, just like L.B. used to hold him.
L.B. had crept out of the kitchen, but instead of greeting Hammy, she practically hid behind me.
Hammy’s eyes lit up. “L.B. Why so shy? It’s me!”
L.B. stayed behind me and said, “Hi, Hammy.” She stared at the ground before she ventured to say, “Are you okay?”
“Hammy’s arm a little bit…hurt.” She gestured to her cast. “But not bad for old lady!”
L.B. emerged from behind me.
“I think you probably want him back now.” Hammy leaned over stiffly, holding Trixie out for L.B. “When I was lonely, I hold him, and I think of you. He helped me so much, thank you.”
L.B. held Hammy’s gaze. Her hand reached out, tentatively at first, but then suddenly grabbed Trixie and in the same motion reached out and grasped Hammy’s waist.
“I knew it! I knew he would make you feel better!” She buried him in her face and inhaled deeply.
“We stay here for a little while, until Hammy’s arm gets better, and then when I go home, I make you special Korean food. You probably not had good Korean food lately.” Hammy stared at my mom.
Mom looked irritated and pursed her lips together. Dad put his arm around her.
“Let me show you your room!” L.B. smiled shyly as she took Hammy’s hand and led her upstairs.
Haji stood by the front door and watched Hammy and L.B. go upstairs slowly. I gave him a crooked smile, which he returned.
8:30 p.m., time to meet my maker
Conditions: Paradise lost (also a bit overcast)
Within just twelve hours, my room, which had always been my sanctuary, my own private escape, was now filled with the oppressive excitability and enthusiasm of L.B. There was a surreal, horror-movie element to my life now, because I was sleeping on a thin piece of foam with my sister’s face only two feet away from me.
When we were settling in, she let out an ear-piercing shriek, followed by a series of exploding giggles. She was back to her old, unbearable self.
“Quit it!” I said to her angrily.
“Sorry,” she said, smirking. “This is just so incredible! It has been a thrilling day. Hammy’s return, and now this!” Then she got all serious and tried hard to stop smiling. “I promise to give Petey some space.”
I looked at her skeptically.
“But when in REM sleep, it’s impossible to predict what may happen!”
Hammy and Haji poked their heads into the room.
“Good night,” they said.
“Like camping!” Haji said, laughing.
“Good night,” I muttered. I did not think it was funny at all.
“Good night, everyone!” L.B. chirped happily as Hammy and Haji closed the door.
L.B. settled into her area with a very satisfied look on her face. She pulled the sheet up under her chin and then started giggling again.
“L.B., please…,” I begged.
“In many parts of the world, it’s common for large families to all sleep together in the same room, often even the same bed.” She wasn’t fooling me one bit.
“Well, this is Canada! We don’t have to live like that, do we?” I asked indignantly. She opened her mouth to reply, but I interrupted her. “That was a rhetorical question! Don’t say another word!” I pointed my finger at her as she tried to resume a straight face, and I flipped over onto my side so my back was turned to her. I fitfully went to sleep.
When I woke up, L.B.’s arms and legs were completely draped over me. She was a mouth breather. She breathed in and then blew her toxic breath out—directly into my face.
I pushed her off of me.
She took a few seconds to wake up and said, “Petey, what is it?”
“You have absolutely the worst breath in the world!” I yelled as I fanned my face.
“Halitosis is common in the morning!” L.B. pouted.
I stomped across the hallway and tried to get into the bathroom, but the door was locked.
“It’s Haji! Almost done!” Then I heard the toilet flush.
I waited outside the door for Haji to emerge.
“Good morning, Peter!” Haji said happily. He tucked a Korean newspaper under his arm and moved aside to let me in.
I walked into the washroom and immediately gagged. How much could one person tolerate? I mean, I was grateful Hammy had been released from the hospital, I really was. I would be even more grateful if Haji would start using Mom and Dad’s washroom instead.
Chapter 27
A RISKY CHOICE
Sunday, September 1, 1:30 p.m.
Conditions: Summer’s last gasp
With everything that had happened with my family this summer, I’d hardly seen Joe at all. He texted me and we decided to meet up this afternoon to hang out. I hadn’t told him too much about our trip; in fact, the only word I used to describe it to him when he’d asked was fine, but that was the opposite of the truth.
We walked to the 7-Eleven on the corner of Kingsway and Joyce Street and poured ourselves extra-large Slurpees. The choice of flavor for the base layer was key to mixing a quality Slurpee. Today was a Coca-Cola kind of day. I topped it with a thick layer of Orange Crush.
“I’m going to try the spicy mango,” Joe said, smiling mischievously and pulling at the lever.
“You’re going to regret it,” I warned him.
“Sometimes you just gotta take a risk, you know?”
I shrugged. I guess he was right, but sometimes it was also good to play it safe.
After we paid for our drinks, we decided to walk by Gaston Park. We weren’t going to play soccer or anything, we had both worn sandals, but hoped there might be something interesting going on. Hanging out with Joe again felt good. It was like things were getting back to normal.
“Whoa!” Joe yelped in surprise after his first long sip.
“Told you.”
“No, no. It’s actually pretty good!” He resumed sucking on his straw. “Seriously. Try it.” He held his cup out for me.
I shook my head no. Firstly, sharing straws—yuck. Secondly, I was happy with my normal flavors.
Even if the weather is beautiful, the last weekend before school always has this dark cloud hanging over it. I know what’s coming in just a few short days and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Specifically, Ryan. I’d already seen that punk once this summer, and soon I’d have to see him all the time. I wasn’t emotionally prepared.
At the park, there was a group of old women doing tai chi, and even though I couldn’t understand what they were saying, there was still something so familiar in their faces and I was reminded of Hammy.
“Wanna go sit on the swings?” Joe asked.
I shrugged. “Sure.”
We both planted our bottoms into seats and, using our toes, we gently rocked ourselves, twisting our bodies but never going very high because it was hard to hold a Slurpee cup and do some serious swinging.
The playground was one of the newer kinds, with a bouncy rubber floor, brightly colored slides and a small arrangement of bars to climb over and through. Next to the swings, there was a big pit of sand. On a small hill next to the sand, a water feature, like a small metal channel, where you could control the stream of water with movable dams. If you manually kept pumping the water and didn’t block it with the d
ams, the stream eventually flooded part of the sand, turning it into a mud pit. There were a few kids with shovels and buckets, digging and laughing. They were kicking up a lot of dust. I watched them while drinking.
“Fools.” I thought that I had said that word only in my head, but apparently I hadn’t.
“Who’s the fool?” Joe asked.
“Those kids.” I gestured over to the innocent faces. “I hope none of them has asthma.”
Joe looked confused.
“Asthma and dust. It’s a bad combination, believe me.”
I sucked up the rest of my drink but, like summer, it hadn’t lasted long enough.
Chapter 28
A WET BLANKET
Friday, September 6, 1:30 p.m.
Conditions: Stagnant air mass
My school always starts the year in a weird way. We go to school for one hour. One measly hour. It’s mostly just to take attendance, but what it really does is leave you feeling in limbo. I had to go back to Mr. Costa’s classroom and sit at my old desk. Even though I knew I was in sixth grade now, it still felt like fifth grade.
Ryan showed up on the first day of school wearing a Kukkiwon Taekwondo shirt. Was he trolling me? Something about it grated on my nerves. Like now he was even stealing my cultural stuff, which he had no business stealing. Looking at him made me simmer like hot soup in a stone bowl.
I heard him say to Liam, “My parents found me the best taekwondo class in the city. My master went out to dinner with the head coach of the Kukkiwon team when they were in town and they invited my class to Seoul next summer!”
I didn’t think it was possible, but my rage increased.
When we were finally assigned our new classes, Ryan was in my class—again. Obviously, I was cursed. I almost wanted to ask L.B. what the statistical odds of that happening were, but at the same time, I didn’t want to know. There were always two classes for each grade, but somehow Ryan and I always ended up in the same one. After seven years with this guy (including kindergarten!), I needed a break. I even got Stephanie Aquino too.
“Sorry, man,” Joe said to me as my fate became obvious.
“Lucky you,” I said to him as he went off to the other sixth-grade class.
The usual group quickly restarted our daily soccer games. It was just natural for us to all run to the field, but from the very first day back, my head wasn’t ever really in the game. Ryan wasted no time resuming his “king of the pitch” attitude. He tried to score on me from anywhere and everywhere. He didn’t let the other players have a turn. He got furious when he was open and nobody passed to him. He was angry if he got checked. He gloated like an inflated peacock when he scored.
Soccer wasn’t fun anymore. I could feel our game breaking up.
Joe came up to me during a pause in the game yesterday and said, “I know it’s only the first week back, but is it just me or is he worse this year?”
“You think so too?” I asked, relieved that it wasn’t all in my head.
“Yeah, something about him this year. He’s driving me crazy. Like he’s making me hate soccer,” Joe confessed as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I’m thinking of hanging somewhere else. I’m sick of this.” He’d pointed with his index finger in the general area of Ryan.
I didn’t think he was any different from last year, not really, but this year, he felt unbearable. Maybe the rest of us had changed. A few boys just stopped showing up to the field and instead trickled away to the basketball court. I eyed the seventh-grade boys laughing and having a good time.
“In your face, Peter!” Ryan shouted now as he ran by doing his victory lap. It was the fourth time he had scored on me that day. I felt as though the net got bigger over the summer and somehow I got smaller. Every single ball seemed to get past me. And since Joe was true to his word and hadn’t showed up at the soccer field today, choosing to hang out near the basketball court instead, I felt worse.
I threw off my gloves. “I’m out!” I yelled.
“Peter!” Liam shouted at me as he jogged my way. “You can’t quit! Nobody else wants to play goalie. We’re already so short on players!”
“I’m not feeling great today,” I lied. I felt okay. I put my hand to my chest for dramatic effect.
“Just scared of being scored on for the millionth time this week, Petey?” Ryan said mockingly.
Something in me finally broke. I couldn’t keep quiet. “Stuff it, elf,” I replied.
“What did you say?” Ryan asked in disbelief.
“You heard me,” I replied calmly. I took a confident step forward, towering over him, and even though my guts were quaking inside, I tried not to show it. I saw something in Ryan’s eyes that I had never seen before. Instead of holding my gaze, he turned away.
“You don’t have to be such a bully!” Ryan said, sounding surprised.
Ryan really was unbelievable—he could dish it out, but he sure couldn’t take it when the tables were turned.
The bell rang, and it gave everybody an excuse to retreat. Ryan scowled at me and sprinted toward the school, but I walked calmly with a smile erupting on my face.
4:20 p.m.
Conditions: Frosty
My sixth-grade teacher, Ms. Tran, told us she was going to assign us big projects this year. She was one of those teachers who never yelled and she smelled like cupcakes. She wore thick cardigans to match her thick glasses. We were in the library working on our new science unit, which I normally would have loved, but today I felt no excitement about it. I felt sorry for Ms. Tran when I saw that Ryan had trapped her into a one-sided conversation about himself. He wasn’t trying to keep his voice down at all.
“My mother compiled a list of all these writing contests she says I should enter.” He showed Ms. Tran a sheet of paper full of information.
“Wow, I didn’t know there were so many writing competitions available for kids!”
“Well, as you know, Ms. Tran, my mother is an award-winning journalist. Did you see her recent piece on corruption in the oil and gas industry?”
She shook her head no.
“I’m surprised. You really should be more up-to-date on your current affairs.” He looked at her with disbelief. “Anyway, she keeps track of all these things for me. There are a few I’m especially interested in.” He was speaking more loudly than before. “The Royal Tyrrell Museum, for instance, has an open call for submissions. They announced it in a newsletter in June, but I have another few weeks before the deadline.”
I glanced up. He was staring right at me.
“I’m going to write an excellent piece on what it takes to be a paleontologist.” He didn’t take his eyes off me. “I expect it will be prominently featured when I win.”
“I didn’t know that you had an interest in paleontology, Ryan,” Ms. Tran said.
“Oh, no, I don’t,” Ryan said, looking disgusted. “What a joke. I’m just writing it to win. Pad my résumé, as my mom says.”
“Well, good luck on those, Ryan,” Ms. Tran said, trying to make her escape.
“I don’t need luck, Ms. Tran. I’ve got talent.”
I took a long, slow breath. I tried very hard not to care. I wasn’t going to be a paleontologist anyway, but he didn’t know how badly my summer had gone. Still, the mention of the museum stabbed me where it hurt. I refused to give him the satisfaction and I held my expression as emotionless as possible.
But at home, I went on a rampage.
“Mom!” I shouted. “I need garbage bags and boxes!”
“Why?” she asked as she poked her head into my room.
“It’s time to get rid of stuff!”
“What’s the sudden urge to clean your room?” She was holding something behind her back.
“It’s time. All these dinosaur things, they’ve all got to go.”
“You’ve real
ly given up the idea of being a paleontologist?” she asked, slouching her shoulders and unable to hide her disappointment.
I stared at her in disbelief. “Yes, Mom!” I said impatiently. “Were you not there this summer? Did you not see what happened?”
She looked at me, unimpressed. “Yes, I was there, Peter. I’m sorry we weren’t more cautious before the dig. But you can manage your asthma—it shouldn’t manage you. I don’t think one small setback should stop you from fulfilling a lifelong dream. It was wonderful that you had an ambition, especially because it was scientific. But now you don’t seem to have one…,” she said, looking vaguely around my room. She stared at the shelves in Dino Grotto, where my paleontology books and dinosaur figures stood neat and orderly, now covered with a fine layer of dust.
“Seriously, Mom? Give me a break!” I exclaimed. Struggling for air on a sunbaked rock was hardly a small setback!
“Okay, then, how about molecular biology?” she suggested. “Has that very good microscope sparked anything yet? You’ve got all those really great slides. Haji spent a lot of money on it.”
“No!” I shouted, feeling pained and frustrated. “You can’t just hope I’m going to love a new branch of science, Mom! You can’t force molecular biology or astronomy or botany on me. It’s just got to happen on its own. Believe me, it hasn’t happened yet!” Dinosaurs had ripped out my heart; how could I just quickly move on to something else?
“Well, clearly you are not in a reasonable mood to discuss your future,” she said stiffly. No, I wasn’t. “I guess I’ll just see if I can get my money back for this.” From behind her back emerged a book, Through the Microscope: A Primer for Biologists. “But, it is something you need to think about—when you’re ready,” she said as she turned to leave my room. She adjusted the book awkwardly in her arms as she tried to get a free hand to smooth down the ends of her hair. “This discussion isn’t over. Bags or boxes?”
“Both.” I quietly fumed while I waited for her to return.
