I Have the Right To

by Chessy Prout

  We found Lucy with the rest of her class farther up the hill. She was sitting on the ground in a daze, hugging her knees.

  “This is so cool,” she mumbled.

  Aftershocks forced us to crouch defensively on the hill. My sisters and I huddled together and listened to the crescendo of rattling windows to our right, looking fearfully at the large poles with dangling electrical wires to our left. Mom worried that cars parked along the steep driveway would start rolling sideways if there was another jolt.

  I just wanted to go home. The principal eventually allowed students to leave if their parents were with them, so we began our climb up the hills through the University of the Sacred Heart, which is next to our school.

  We made it to the top of the second hill, grabbed our bikes from the rack, and walked them up the third hill. I thought about taking my handlebars and running, but Christianna wouldn’t stop crying while we wound our way through the ancient university gardens.

  As we trudged through the eerily abandoned streets, shards of glass from broken streetlamps littered the cracked sidewalks. We arrived home less than an hour after the earthquake.

  The color returned to Mom’s face when Dad finally called. He had had trouble finding a cell signal in central Tokyo, where he worked as CEO of Invesco Japan, a division of the American company Invesco.

  “I’m okay, I’m safe,” he said. “But turn on CNN.”

  In stunned silence, we watched thirty-foot tsunami waves wash over entire coastline towns ninety minutes east of us. People, real people, were drowning before my eyes. I couldn’t blink. News anchors reported that the quake had a 9.0 magnitude, the largest ever recorded in Japan. I grabbed Christianna’s hand, trying to soothe her as much as me.

  Dad called again a few hours later. “I’m going to stay to make sure everything is fine with the business. Is it okay for some employees to sleep at the house tonight if they can’t get home?”

  “Of course, whatever you need,” Mom said.

  Mom grabbed everything she could find in the cupboards and cooked like she was feeding an army. A somber haze enveloped our apartment as news anchors switched between the tsunami waves and dire concerns about radiation leaking from the damaged Fukushima nuclear power plant. I staggered around the apartment, unable to form words.

  It was amazing how much could change in twenty-four hours. The night before, our home had felt like a party after Lucy received her acceptance to St. Paul’s School in Concord, New Hampshire.

  Lucy was three grades ahead of me and president of her class. She had that angsty I’m-too-cool teenager thing going. But when the St. Paul’s acceptance email flashed on the computer screen, Lucy cried and pleaded, “Can I go? Can I go? Can I hit accept?” She was so excited she literally ran out the front door and sprinted around the neighborhood at nine p.m.

  Dad had attended the prestigious New England prep school as a scholarship student back in the 1980s, and he secretly hoped that we would follow his path. A huge smile spread across Dad’s face whenever he talked about his days playing baseball and basketball at St. Paul’s. He made lifelong friends there and still kept in touch with his basketball mentor, who taught him the importance of integrity and compassion. Dad was especially proud that the boarding school had started a Japanese language program at his request.

  I wanted to be happy for Lucy, but I was devastated at this news. Lucy was my best friend, and the thought of her leaving me ripped a hole in my chest. I couldn’t believe that she would go so far away to boarding school. We had our typical sister fights: she tried to get rid of me during sleepovers with her friends, and I loved “borrowing” her clothes. But at the end of the day, our bond of sisterhood ran deep.

  When we were younger, we’d wake up and spend hours together with our Barbies. We still loved playing hide-and-seek with the other kids in our three-story yellow-brick apartment building. Lucy had a secret hiding spot that she wouldn’t tell me about. All I knew was that I could hear her voice from inside the beige hallway walls.

  Our life in Tokyo revolved around a few square blocks that Lucy and I could navigate with our eyes closed. Our neighborhood in Hiroo was filled with both Japanese and gaijin (foreigners) like us. Each morning we greeted the stoic guards at our school, who had watched my sisters and me graduate from strollers to bikes. I knew some Japanese, but we mostly spoke with them in broken English with hand motions and head nods. After school, Lucy and I rode our bikes to the local sushi shop, where the old lady knew my daily order: a toro and scallion roll, ikura nigiri, and inarizushi, marinated tofu skin wrapped around rice.

  Almost every weekend, our family brought in dinner—usually udon noodles or hamburgers and shakes—and we played karaoke on Wii Nintendo in the living room. Mom had a beautiful voice and always belted out a song from her favorite band, Earth, Wind & Fire. I loved all music, from Taylor Swift to Run-DMC. Christianna, Lucy, and I had spontaneous dance parties that spilled from room to room, growing in energy and tempo. We liked to jump on Dad’s black lacquer coffee table, which he’d bought when he was a bachelor. It was low to the ground, and we used it for everything, from stage to dinner table to game station to dance floor.

  “Come on, Christianna, let me twirl you,” I’d say, spinning her tiny body around on the table. “Now follow me.”

  “Okay, Chessy,” Christianna squeaked, copying my dance moves.

  Dad would cheer us on from the couch. Even though he worked long hours at his job, family came first on weekends. And Dad was a staple at our sports games and other school events at Sacred Heart, always clapping the loudest.

  On Sundays our family walked together to church in Omotesandō, and I devoured curry doughnuts at Andersen’s bakery on the way home. I loved those fluffy dough balls so much I dreamed about them in anticipation: they were soft and crunchy at the same time and filled with curried minced meat, potatoes, and carrots.

  Our life in Tokyo was perfect. This was our home, where we—all five of us—belonged.

  And Lucy was leaving all this behind, leaving me behind to attend St. Paul’s.

  On the day of the earthquake, nobody was leaving. The subway and train systems shut down in Tokyo, and hotels were mobbed with businessmen and stranded tourists. Dad waited until nearly all his employees had found a place to stay and then began the long trek home with several others past the Hotel Okura and through the streets of Roppongi.

  I emailed my best friend Annie to see how she was doing:

  Are you guys ok??? Are you home?? Im sooo worried!! :( I hope you all got home safely . . . Lots of aftershocks . . . we r watching cnn and all the tsunamis and lots of fires. ohmygosh. Sooooo scary . . . all covered in black debris. Email me back when you are home or safe!! I hope you all are ok and prepared for the other shocks. :(

  Annie wrote back a little while later:

  Omg I’m not okay!! :( everyone is so frantic here!! My house is so BAD I’m Serious!!! Everything fell!! I’m so sad n scared. please help! I’m not even sleeping in my house!!! :((((

  I wished I could bring Annie and my other friends home so we could protect each other; safety in numbers. My friends at Sacred Heart were my second family. But now we were separated, and I couldn’t comfort them. I watched the devastation and loss of life on TV. All these people were dying, and there was nothing we could do to save them. I felt terrified and helpless. But mostly I was numb.

  Lucy moved into my pink butterfly canopy bed so Dad’s employees could sleep in her room. We curled up together and listened to the wooden shoji screens shake with every tremor. I tried to lie perfectly still, as if that would stop the aftershocks, and prayed, “Please don’t get bigger, please don’t get bigger.”

  Mom was supposed to host a baby shower for my piano teacher on Sunday. She loved throwing parties and knitting together new friendships. I always looked forward to our massive Halloween bashes, when Mom and Dad would lead dozens of kids on candy hunts through the neighborhood. I learned from Mom the importance of building communit
y, and I tried to welcome new girls to Sacred Heart and invite them to my birthday parties and sleepovers.

  I was excited about the baby shower, but in the hours after the earthquake, no one could think about celebrating life to come when there was so much death and destruction in the country we called home.

  Sacred Heart closed school indefinitely. Dad heard from friends in the US military and Japanese government that the nuclear crisis was far worse than it was being portrayed. Mom and Dad huddled together and came up with a plan. Instead of our family heading to Okinawa for spring break at the end of the month, Dad enlisted the help of a friend to get Mom and us girls on a flight out of Japan. Dad needed to stay behind to take care of the business.

  We tearfully said good-bye to Dad in the driveway. I flung my arms around his waist and refused to let go. Yeah, he was the head of a company, but he was our dad first. He should have been coming with us. The earthquake had already done so much damage; why did it need to tear apart our family, too?

  Mom promised we’d return to Japan in a few weeks when things got back to normal. We were just taking a short trip to our vacation home in Florida. We’d spent every summer and winter break in the United States, hopscotching between family and friends in New England, New York, and Florida. Lucy dubbed us “vagabums” because we lived out of suitcases. I tried to convince myself that this was another journey to America. But the feelings of doom would not recede.

  I passed out on the long flight, exhausted from the fear that had been marathoning through my body for the past three days.

  Suddenly I was jarred awake. I looked over at Mom, who was trying to buckle in a wily Christianna before we began the descent into Chicago for our connecting flight. We walked into the terminal and camera flashes blinded us. Journalists pushed microphones into our faces. Somebody mentioned that we were the first flight from Japan to land in Chicago since the earthquake.

  Before I said anything, Lucy told me my teeth—newly without braces—were now stained yellow from the curry udon I ate on the plane. I kept my mouth shut.

  I loved playing in our apartment in Hiroo with Lucy, Christianna, Mom, and Dad. I’d dance around in my school uniform before heading to International School of the Sacred Heart.

  My family enjoyed taking trips around Japan, including visiting Aunt Fueko (above). We wore matching robes during a visit to a ryokan, a traditional Japanese inn (first image, above).

  TWO

  Naples, Florida

  Iprayed every night for Dad to stay safe and for everyone who had been killed in the earthquake to have a place in heaven. Days stretched into weeks, and before I understood what was happening, our temporary evacuation had turned into an indefinite stay in Florida.

  In early April, after many arguments around our kitchen table, Mom enrolled me and my sisters at a private school near our house in Naples. I missed Dad, my friends at Sacred Heart, and life as we knew it.

  On the first day of school—April Fool’s Day, of course—my nerves were eating away at my stomach as I worried about the culture shock and whether I’d fit in. I had left my self-confidence back in Japan with the rest of my stuff.

  I wanted to blend in so much that I’d disappear, so I picked out the most boring outfit possible—a khaki skirt and a white polo shirt. When Mom dropped me off in the middle school parking lot, I looked around and noticed all the girls were dressed in different shades of pink. So much for blending in.

  I was assigned a buddy, Kate, to help me adjust. It was like someone had switched the characters in the movie of my life. I had always been the one who welcomed new kids to Sacred Heart.

  Everyone in Naples was tan, a perfect Florida bronze. It was so different from Japan, where pale skin was prized and women shaded themselves from the sun with dainty umbrellas.

  I quickly discovered that I couldn’t hide here. Everyone had been together since kindergarten at the Community School of Naples (CSN), and they’d all heard about the Japanese kids who’d escaped the earthquake. They seemed utterly confused that I was a blond-haired, blue-eyed girl with an American accent.

  The kids stabbed me with questions: “You’re the Asian girl? You’re the one from Japan? Do you speak Chinese? Do you eat dog?”

  I was surprised by some of their ignorance but didn’t want to embarrass them. I took a deep breath before answering and forced the corners of my mouth to turn up.

  “No, I don’t speak Chinese,” I said. “But I do know some Japanese.”

  The bell rang and I hurried into homeroom. At first I wondered if I was in the right place. There were boys sitting in the classroom, and I couldn’t stop staring. They threw stuff at each other. They talked back to teachers. I tried to stifle the nervous laughter that kept rising in my chest. I was in total disbelief that this was now my life.

  At the end of the day, I stomped out of school, a fist clenched around my heart. I missed Annie and Hana and the other girls at Sacred Heart. I desperately wanted to go back to Japan.

  I marched over to Mom’s car and quickly locked the door after I slid inside. I made sure no one was looking before I shuddered with horror. “I can’t believe how rude the boys are! This would never fly at Sacred Heart!”

  I refused to give up hope that we would return to Japan, even though there were frightening reports about shops running out of food and meltdowns at the Fukushima power plant. Our black duffel bags sat by the front door, ready to go back to Tokyo. We FaceTimed with Dad every day, and he told me to stay strong.

  “We’re going to figure this out, Chess,” Dad promised. “You focus on school and be good to Mom.”

  It was my third day at CSN and I tried to do a better job at fitting in: I put on pink pants from Lucy’s closet and a white polo shirt. Maybe if I looked good, I would feel better on the inside. I woke up every morning with a tornado in my stomach.

  Today, it was swirling at epic speeds. I went to the school bathroom and saw a bloodstain in my underwear.

  “Think fast, Chessy,” I muttered under my breath. I’d never had my period before, so I was completely unprepared. And I didn’t have any friends yet, so I couldn’t ask them for help.

  I worried that people would think I was pooping if I spent too much time in the bathroom. I grabbed a fistful of toilet paper and wrapped it around my underwear. Things couldn’t get worse.

  Then lunch happened, and the school cafeteria was its own kind of hell. I sat at a long lunch table of about fifteen girls, all gabbing about who said what and who liked who. I took my first spoonful of minestrone soup as I sat back and listened to the day’s gossip. Suddenly I lost my grip on the cup, unleashing a second crimson tide on my sister’s pink pants. My white shirt was a battlefield of carrots, celery, beans, and onions.

  Kids looked at me and grimaced and then offered napkins. I ignored them and ran to the bathroom, where I broke down in a stall. A classmate, Macy, knocked on the door. I’d met Macy at a theater program for kids during a summer vacation a while back, but I still didn’t know her very well.

  “Chessy, I have an extra pair of gym shorts. Do you want me to go get them for you?”

  “Yes, please,” I said, pretending that I wasn’t crying. “Thank you so much.”

  Macy sprinted to the gym lockers three buildings away and brought back her shorts. She also gave me a yellow T-shirt from the school store. I was the new kid who soiled herself with soup and had to wear clunky gym shorts and a yellow shirt that happened to be the color of urine. It was mortifying.

  Mom cried when I told her about my day. It didn’t take much for either of us to turn on the faucet of tears. She tried to make things better by bringing home a chocolate cake to congratulate me on “becoming a woman.”

  Christianna looked puzzled but didn’t bother asking questions. She just wanted cake.

  “This is too much to handle,” I whined as I shoved forkfuls of frosting into my mouth. “Why does this have to happen now?”

  As much as I missed the fierce sisterhood at Sacred Heart
, I began to find the boys at CSN fascinating. Zach and Scott were always making funny faces and playing practical jokes on each other. I had trouble suppressing my laughter during class.

  It was hard getting to know the boys. At lunch, they ran around on the fields while the girls sat and gossiped. I thought about how I used to play volleyball at Sacred Heart during lunch and climbed the yellow slide from bottom to top during snack break with Annie. We got sweaty and didn’t care what we looked like.

  At CSN, some of the girls were in a constant state of primping: touching up mascara and reapplying eye shadow. It seemed like so much effort for sixth grade. They were obsessed with boys, and it was hard keeping up with their crushes. They changed them so frequently, as if they were pairs of shoes.

  “Chessy, who do you like? Who’s your crush?” Bella asked me from across the picnic table at lunch.

  “I don’t have a crush on anyone,” I stuttered. “I’m still getting to know everyone.”

  “Well, you should think of one soon,” Bella advised.

  Zach and Scott seemed pretty cool, but I didn’t know what a crush was supposed to feel like. Maybe there was something wrong with me.

  Then one day, Zach asked me out on a date, and I said yes. But I’d never been on one before—what were you supposed to do on a date? Did I have to talk to him? I was so out of my element.

  Thankfully, Lucy stepped up to help.

  “Just be normal,” she said. “Zach’s such a nice kid and so is his sister.”

  Lucy was friends with Zach’s sister, so the four of us made plans to go to the beach for Zach’s birthday. Lucy reviewed my many outfit changes and let me borrow her blue ruffle bikini bottoms and a pair of red sunglasses.

  Zach showed up with his new birthday present: a black-and-white paddleboard. First he paddled me around while I lay on my stomach and let the warm gulf water rush between my fingers. Eventually, I gained enough confidence to stand and paddle on my own. I felt so powerful gliding on the water.