The Trouble Begins

by Linda Himelblau

  He's at his fence but it's too late. All but the very top oranges are gone. He doesn't even tear up the sign. He just creaks up the stairs into his house like he's sad and he doesn't even see that guy in the tree that waves at him. Now we're even. I paid him back for what he did to me. I'm laughing. Kind of. I wonder what my grandma would say if she knew.

  The Thief

  I got a bike now like all the other guys in my class but I can't ride it. I wonder what would happen if I rode it just once to show them. Even this morning no one would see me. My grandma's asleep and everybody else is gone. I could go down the alley and hide it again after school. Later I'll tell my dad how I didn't really borrow it, I found it in the alley because someone threw it away and I fixed it up.

  I hate school. I ride my bike to school for the first time and the principal is out at the bike rack. He hurries over when he sees me. “You have to lock your bike up to leave it here, Du,” he tells me.

  “Not that thing,” says Anthony, behind the principal's back. “Who'd want it?” I look mean at Anthony so he knows I won't forget he said that.

  “You have to take it home unless you lock it.” The principal says it again louder. A teacher hurries over to talk to him.

  “The seat looks like a piece of doo-doo, Du Du,” whispers Jorge. “The tires are flat. Did it cost a dime or a nickel?” I want to make Jorge shut up but I don't know what to do with my bike. I feel dumb just standing there.

  “You can lock it up with mine.” It's Todd, who sits in the front of the room so I don't talk to him much. He puts his chain through both our bikes. I walk off to class with him and leave the principal and Anthony and Jorge behind.

  I stop to visit my bike on my way to the dumbest reading group in Room 10. It looks cool lined up in the bike rack with all the others and it's mine. I don't care if I'm late to Room 10 because we're reading the story about a skinny girl in a covered wagon for the third time. Some kids in the group still can't read it. We have to answer when the teacher shows us the cards with the hard words on them. They're so easy I won't answer. I have to sit there while Jennifer reads out loud. It takes her fifteen minutes to read a page. I think about my bike. I think I'll look for a board so I can make a ramp to jump off.

  I visit my bike again on the way back to Mrs. Dorfman's. Everybody's talking at once when I get back to class but I can't figure out what's happening. Mrs. Dorfman doesn't even mind when everybody blurts. She never likes it when I blurt, which is one of the reasons I don't say anything anymore. I feel dumb raising my hand like the kids in front.

  We all go to recess. Anthony and Jorge get me out in four square by teaming up. Anthony hits it real soft and high to Jorge and Jorge slams it out of reach in the corner of my square. I go mess around at the gym bars. I stroll in slowly when the bell rings.

  Veronica's got her hand raised, waving it around like she's trying to chase flies. “Boys and girls, please get out your math papers from yesterday,” Mrs. Dorfman says. She won't look at Veronica. Veronica won't put her hand down. Mrs. Dorfman finally says, “Veronica,” in a tired voice. Everyone knows she's going to complain about something from recess.

  “Du stole my brother's bike,” she says. “I saw it locked up in the bike rack and Christie said it's Du's. He rode it to school. He stole it from my brother a month ago.”

  “I did not!” I blurt.

  “If there's stolen property, it's a matter for the police,” announces Mrs. Dorfman. “I am not paid enough to be judge and jury for everything that goes on around here. Veronica, after math you may go and discuss this with Mr. Martin.” We correct our math papers. Mine doesn't need correcting but I see that Veronica's does. A lot. When she gets up to sharpen her pencil my foot is out in the aisle. She's so clumsy she trips right over it. No one would care except she hits her big mouth on the corner of Tiffany's desk and her lip starts to bleed. It's just a little bit of blood. Nobody at this school cares what anyone says to you or what they do to you but if there's even a little bit of blood the teacher acts like you murdered somebody.

  “He tripped me,” cries Veronica, struggling to her feet.

  “I did not,” I blurt. “She tripped herself.”

  “He stuck his foot out. I saw it,” calls out Rosaria. She's Veronica's friend.

  Mrs. Dorfman is angrily scribbling on a yellow slip for the Counseling Center. Good, I think. I won't have to sit here for boring math.

  The Counseling Center is the same as always. I look at magazines. Ms. Whipple talks to me about kindness to others. I nod and say, “Uh-huh.” The phone rings. Suddenly it's different. The principal wants to see me this time. I sit on a hard chair outside his office. I watch the secretary work the computer for an hour. She never looks at me. The principal calls me into his office.

  “What do your parents think of this type of behavior, Du?” he says. I shrug. “That's what I thought.” I make myself look at his face like Vuong said I should. His eyebrows go right across his nose. “Report back here after school,” he commands, pointing to the door. He tips his head back and both eyebrows raise up. I go so I don't have to look anymore.

  I sit at the table in his office. I hear everybody laughing and messing around outside as they go home. His table has piles of papers on it and a bowl like a frog with paperwrapped candy and crumbs in it. He doesn't offer me any. I don't want it anyway. I copy the school rules over and over on cheap paper that tears if I erase. But I don't have to erase. It's not hard. I can do it without even thinking. Sometimes instead of “I will respect the rights and property of others” I write “I will respect the fights and potato chips of others.” Nobody's going to read them. I don't know how long I'm supposed to do it but I never look up and I never ask.

  It's like sewing. I don't think about anything anymore. I just do it. One page, both sides. Two pages. Three. Four. The principal shuts off his computer and stands up. I keep writing. “I hope you have learned your lesson, Du.” He holds out his hand for my stack of papers. I don't want to look at his face but I hand them to him. He tears up all my copying and throws it in the trash. “You may go home,” he says. “Your parents have been notified about the stolen property.” I leave. He called my dad at work again. He told him about my bike. He doesn't know that now my eyes are hot and my insides feel tight. He has won.

  Todd's gone but my bike's in the rack. I should ditch it in the alley on the way home. But it's my bike. I fixed it. It goes pretty fast after I pump up the tires. And I didn't steal it. I found it. I'll just ride it home and tell my dad even if he is mad. He'll know I rode it to school anyway.

  I felt angry when Veronica said I stole her brother's bike but now I don't feel angry. I know it's going to turn into a big thing. I want to just keep riding my bike straight down the street to wherever the street ends. Someplace out where there are just trees and grass. Except my front tire's getting flat.

  I cross Fortieth Street. At the end of my street a car screeches up next to me and a bunch of big Mexican guys jump out.

  “There's the kid,” they yell.

  “You messed up my sister, muchacho. You're gonna pay.”

  “You stole my bike, you little runt. And you wrecked it too.”

  I ride around a tree that blocks them for a second while I get past. I take off down the street on my bike; two of them run after me. The other two pile back in the car and come screeching along behind.

  Tire, don't go flat now. I'm almost home. I hate being scared. I hate them.

  I slam in the gate. At the same time my dad slams out onto the steps from inside the house. I know the only reason he's home now is because he got the call from the principal. The Mexican guys chasing me stop for a second at our fence. They yell angry stuff at us in Mexican. I hang on tight to my bike. If I leave it to run inside they might take it. Then one, two of them push through our gate. My dad is down the steps like a tiger. I drop the bike behind me to stand with him if they try to do anything to him and he needs help. There is a flurry. Mostly grabbing shirts an
d pushing. I get knocked down but I am up again fast.

  Sirens! A screech of brakes. The Mexican guys and my dad and me stand facing each other across the little broken walk that goes up to our front door. Angry ugly scary faces. Rough breathing. Two policemen run up with their clubs out. They push between us on the little walk. One makes the Mexicans step back. The other moves toward my father and me.

  “Get off my property! Don't touch my son!” He stands where he is. Mexican and Vietnamese and English words fill the air. One of the Mexican guys lunges at my bike. For a moment I pull and he pulls. The policeman with a red mustache makes him let go.

  “He stole the bike. He beat up our sister,” the guy yells. He is young but with thick muscles and short dark bristly hair. He is so angry he is like a wire about to snap. The policeman herds him over to a corner of the yard.

  The other policeman, a big black guy like a football guy on TV, talks to me. “You steal that bike?” he asks. He looks at the bike with a snort like it's not worth stealing.

  “No,” I yell like the Mexican guy so they'll believe me. “I found it.”

  “Why you hide it from everybody, then?” my dad shouts. “Why do you say you borrow it?” What he says helps the Mexican guys. He thinks I stole it too.

  “Well?” asks the policeman quietly because he's sure I stole it.

  How can I tell them all the stuff so they'll listen? How can I tell them that I found it under a mattress in the alley and fixed it and it didn't have a seat and now it does because I found a seat too and I didn't tell them because I didn't want them to make me get rid of it because we don't have bikes and it just seemed like a good thing to hide it for a while. It's too much to say. They won't listen to it all. The truth is simple. I don't say anything except, “I found it,” with my head down. I know they won't believe me. A great bike like this just lying around someplace.

  The red mustache policeman comes back from the squad car. “It doesn't belong to either one of them,” he announces. “A bike with that number was reported missing up in North County a couple of months ago. You can all go home now.” He crosses his arms and stares at the Mexican guys.

  “What about he beat up our sister?” yells the bristlyhaired guy from the corner of the yard.

  “That's another matter. You'll have to file a complaint,” says the black policeman, sighing.

  My dad looks like he's gonna jump on me now. “She tripped at school,” I say, looking down. I know he won't believe this either.

  The policemen wait until the Mexican guys get in their car and roar away. They put my bike in the squad car. They finish writing down some stuff. The red mustache one looks at me where I stand behind my dad. “Where do you think you're gonna end up if you steal stuff?” he asks. I shrug. My dad swats at me. “You listen to your dad, young man,” the policeman says. His radio blares and he and the black policeman walk to their car and drive slowly away. I see people who live near us outside their houses, staring. Of course that old man is outside too. He's almost falling over his fence, he's trying so hard to hear.

  My dad grabs the back of my shirt. I twist and see his angry face. Behind him Thuy and Lin and Vuong stare out from the front door. Nobody will believe me. I duck down and yank away. My dad would never expect me to do that. He loses his grip on my shirt. I run. He shouts. I run faster away to the backyard. I jump the back fence. I run down the alley toward the big apartments at the end of our block.

  I sit around outside the wall there until I'm so cold and hungry that's all I can think about. I don't want to go home but I don't know where else to go. Finally I think of the shed. I go back down the alley. I climb through the window into the shed. It's pretty dark in there now with the last daylight from the window. Cat is curled up asleep in the corner on some old bags. Her slit eyes partly open when she hears me come in. I sit on the trunk for a while. I don't want to make anything out of the building set now. Slowly I crawl over to Cat. I talk to her in Vietnamese. She watches me carefully but she stays curled up there. I stick out my hand. She sniffs my fingers. I don't have any food but she lets me pet her smooth warm fur. She purrs.

  My stomach hurts. I am so hungry. I want something to eat so bad I'm thinking about going into the house. I don't care what my dad does. Maybe he's not so mad now or he's gone back to work. He doesn't believe me about the bike. He'd believe the others but they'd never fix up a cool bike. Now it's gone. At least those Mexican guys didn't get it. Stupid Veronica went home and told about the bike and said I beat her up. The principal made me write all those lines and then called my dad anyway.

  I talk to Cat because she trusts me. “Cat, you're the only one that believes me. I came in here and you're all curled up and warm and you let me pet you when I don't even have any food. I'll bring you something later. I'll have to hurry so I'll just throw it through the window. Watch for it.” I say good-bye to Cat. I climb through the window again. I take a deep breath and walk up the back stairs. I hope my dad went back to work.

  It is quiet when I open the back door. I know I have to face them. I walk into the dining room. Thuy and Lin and Vuong look up from their books. They jump up from their chairs. Everybody yells at once. My dad is still home. He and my mom crowd around the table with the others. Everybody shouts how bad I am. Except my grandma. She just looks so sad as she takes my arm and sits me at the table. I don't want to cry. My mom is crying. My dad is tight and angry, waiting for the others to finish their yelling.

  He makes a big circle with his arm. It means “Get out of here.” The others know what it means. They shuffle out. Even my grandma. I wait with my head down.

  He stands over me. “We did not come here to be robbers,” he growls. “You bring shame to the whole family.”

  I wait. “I didn't steal it,” I choke. “I found it.” He doesn't say anything. I think he wants to believe it but he can't. He doesn't know what to do. Nobody in our family ever stole before.

  He shouts in Vietnamese. “Stealing? Robbing people of what they work for? Beating girls at school? This is shameful. Dishonor for our whole family like …” I am sitting frozen here at the table afraid to move because he might explode. The doorbell rings. No one ever rings our doorbell late at night. More trouble. It is the police or even the Mexicans returning. My dad stops yelling to listen.

  A man's voice talks English from the front doorway. My dad strides out to see who it is. I creep across the room to hear too.

  “Madam, I couldn't help overhearing the incident on the sidewalk today.” It's the voice of the old spy next door. I stick my head around the door to the living room. He's standing in our doorway with his bald head and his bushy eyebrows. He's talking to my mom, who opened the door. Thuy and Lin and Vuong are behind her. Nobody says anything. My mom probably doesn't understand what he's talking about. The old man changes his voice. He talks very loud and slow. “Your boy did not steal that bike,” he announces. “I saw it in the alley, piled on the garbage cans, the night before he found it. I am the one who threw away the bicycle seat.” There's silence. “Well,” he says. “Just thought you'd want to know.” He turns to shuffle back down the stairs.

  “Wait, wait,” my mom cries, grabbing the back of his sweater. He stops. She pushes past the others to run to the kitchen. She comes back with a plate covered with a paper towel. “For you, for you,” she says. “Thank you. Thank you.” She bows. She hands him the plate. I think she's crying again.

  He takes the plate. “Thank you, madam,” he says. He goes home.

  Now they're all talking at once again. They're laughing. My mom's laughing and crying. Only my dad's not laughing. “So, not a robber,” he says, “but still lying, hitting girls at your school.” He shakes his head sadly like that's something beyond understanding. I start to explain but he interrupts. “You lied about the bike, borrowed it, you said.” He turns his back on me and walks slowly to his room. My grandma hurries to the stove to make some food. The plate my mom gave to the old man was the dinner my grandma saved for me.
Golden spring rolls with a bowl of red sauce. Now I'll have soup with noodles.

  I lie on the couch at night when everybody has gone to bed. The old man came over to tell my family the truth. Even after I played that mean trick with his oranges. I wonder why. He threw that old bicycle seat away for me to find. I feel bad about his oranges. I guess I won't trick him anymore. I wonder if the Mexican guys will try to get me when the police aren't around. They still think I stole the bike. So does everybody at school. The Mexican guys think I beat up Veronica too.

  Headless

  Thuy slams the front door. She races to Lin and Vuong, studying at the table. She's yelling and jumping around. Thuy never slams the door and she never yells and jumps. This could be interesting. I leave the TV. I check the window but I don't see the old man watching.

  “I won! I won!” Thuy cries, waving around a piece of paper. We crowd near her as she brushes papers aside and puts the paper in the middle of the empty space. A little piece of paper. “Thuy Nguyen,” it says on one line. At the end of the line it says “$250.00.”

  “A check for two hundred and fifty dollars. Wow!” Vuong is impressed.

  “My poster!” Thuy cries. “My Fair Housing poster won first prize.”

  I remember the thing. She was crabby when I drank orange juice near her while she was working on it. “Get out of here, Du. Don't spill that,” she ordered. She had her nose down to that poster for days, coloring little tiny houses all over it. She covered the table with eraser crumbs until late at night. Still, I wish I had that much money. She'll give it to my dad, of course.

  Saturday is a long day. I get up early to look for Cat. I blow some weed seeds toward the old man's grass. He was okay about the bike. The seeds won't grow anyway or he'll pull them up before they have a chance. He'll get some exercise. It's good for him. I watch cartoons.