by Van Hoang
“Have you fed off the meat of a magical boar?” The Monkey King was still there. The Monkey King who had just tried to kill her. Kind of.
“What? No,” Thom said.
“Have the fairies bestowed upon you a magical cloak or ornament that has given you such great strength because they felt sorry for someone so feeble?” he asked.
“Feeble?” Thom repeated, offended.
“Where is it?” The Monkey King bounced over to her, floating in circles around her, making her dizzy.
“What?” she asked, pulling away.
“Show me the magical object,” he said.
“I’m not—I don’t have a magical object.”
“A ring, a necklace, shoes. It could be anything.” He peered closely at her from his spot in the air.
“I don’t have any of those things. I mean, nothing magical. I don’t even like earrings.” They always made her ears itchy and red.
“Then how are you so strong?” He lifted her left arm, then her right, as if checking her armpits. “You are the size of a pea. Where does your power come from?”
“I don’t have powers!” She dropped her voice. “And be quiet. People will hear you.”
“Someone has bestowed magical powers upon you. I must know the source.” He loomed closer, his eyes threatening, focused.
“Stop it.” But he didn’t stop, moving way too close too fast. She panicked, and before she knew what she was doing, her fist flew out and slammed into his jaw.
The Monkey King jerked back, his eyes rounding in shock. He rubbed the sore spot in consternation and sniffed, studying her from every angle. “No mere mortal can be this strong. You struck me, and I am stronger than ten thousand oxen, I can lift mountains. I have defeated dragon-kings. I am the only person who can lift my iron staff, which weighs seventeen thousand pounds.”
It was a nightmare, the recurring one she always had, about people finding out what she was, what she could do. Only this time, like the myth of the Monkey King, who was supposed to be fictional, it was coming true. She had kept the secret for so long. Now that someone knew, it was only a matter of time before the world found out. She was eleven; she knew how these things worked. She’d be taken away, tested, everyone believing her to be some sort of alien.
And yet … he wasn’t looking at her like she was a freak. He was looking at her like this was a good thing. Like he was planning something. His lips stretched over surprisingly straight teeth and sharp extended canines. She took a step back.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.
“How strong are you?” he asked, excited.
“I just said—”
“Imagine the things we can do!” he said, talking over her. “With my cunning and your strength—”
“Shh, someone will hear,” Thom said, looking toward the closed door. She could see through the small window that most of the students had moved on to their next class. It was only a matter of time before Mrs. Abbot came back. She had to get rid of the Monkey King before then.
“We must discover the extent of your powers!” he crowed.
Thom clapped a hand over his mouth. He jerked away, but she grabbed his ear to keep him in place and stop him from blurting out anything else. He lifted into the air, but with her hand over his mouth and one clamped onto his ear, only his legs lifted. His arms flailed. He giggled into her palm, and she realized why he was so amused when her feet lifted off the floor, too.
“Hey!” She tried to take a few steps back as he dragged her, grabbing his other ear as she lost balance.
He giggled louder. “Ready for your first lesson?”
But before Thom could learn what he had in mind, something crunched under her feet. Looking down, she saw the calculator. She let go of the Monkey King and picked it up. “Oh no.” It was completely broken now, the plastic shattered, the screen demolished.
And then, of course, Mrs. Abbot walked back into the classroom.
She and Thom froze. Papers were all over the floor, desks had been shoved against one another, chairs turned over on their backs. “Thom…?”
The Monkey King was gone.
Which was good. Right? Mrs. Abbot would have freaked out if she saw a humanlike monkey in her classroom.
But how was Thom supposed to explain this mess?
“What in the…?” Mrs. Abbot’s gaze fell on Thom, and the smashed pieces of plastic in her hands. “Is that my calculator?”
All Thom could think of was the trouble she’d be in, Ma’s heartbroken expression, the inevitable lecture about family and honor and respect. Mrs. Abbot’s eyebrows drew together, and harsh lines appeared around her mouth.
“How did this happen, Thom?” she asked.
“There was a…” Thom hated the softness of her voice. Nothing she could say would make this look good.
Mrs. Abbot sucked in a breath. “What happened?” she said through clenched teeth.
“It wasn’t me, I swear. I didn’t—”
“Who was it then? One of the other students?”
Thom shook her head.
“You can tell me their names,” the teacher said, speaking softly now and keeping her eyes locked on Thom’s with a careful, kind expression.
She must have thought Thom was afraid of being a tattletale. But how was Thom supposed to explain that a magical monkey was responsible for this?
“You don’t have to take full blame for this,” Mrs. Abbot continued. “If one of the other kids pressured you into it, you can tell me.”
Thom swallowed and shook her head again.
Mrs. Abbot sighed. “I don’t have much of a choice then, do I?” She gestured around at the mess. “I’m sending you to the Office.”
* * *
The Office. Office with a capital O. Where the principal, Mrs. Colton, lived. Thom sat, shaking, in front of the huge metal desk as she waited, not bothering to browse the neat bookshelves, ducking her face in case anyone saw her through the bright window.
“Thom,” Mrs. Colton said, lowering herself slowly into her chair with as much effort and care as a spaceship docking. Even sitting, she towered over Thom, her shadow a looming, monstrous silhouette, dark against the brightness of the window behind her. “I don’t often see you in my office.”
Thom shook her head. If principals had a superpower, it was the ability to make everyone speechless and terrified. Anything Thom said could be misconstrued and used against her.
“Mrs. Abbot said you made a mess in her room. The desks thrown about, and you broke a calculator?”
Thom sank into her seat, her shoulders tense.
“Who was it, really?” Mrs. Colton asked, her voice dropping to a near whisper. It was clear she thought someone else had helped, at least, maybe even forced Thom to take the blame. Like they were in a movie and the real criminal had run away and Thom was the stupid one who was caught with her hand still in the jar. “If you tell me, I won’t suspend you.”
“What? Suspend me?” Thom bolted upright. A suspension would go on her permanent record! Universities would look back on the suspension and decide she wasn’t good enough for their school. She would be forced to study even harder to make up for this mistake.
“I know you couldn’t have torn apart that room alone. And the table … you couldn’t have carried that to the middle of the room on your own. Mrs. Abbot said she was only gone for five minutes.”
Suspension. Thom couldn’t get that out of her head. Already, she could picture her life after today … First, suspension, then detention, not once, but every day, and ultimately expulsion. She would lose all motivation to study. It started with one bad grade—that’s all it took—the gateway to a career of flipping burgers and living in Ma’s basement.
Thom shook her head. No, that couldn’t be her life. She was smart. She was a good student. She listened to her elders. She was filial and studious and good. She had to tell the truth.
But how was she supposed to explain that Mrs. Colton and Mrs. Abb
ot were right? That she hadn’t messed up the room on her own, that it was the Monkey King they should go after. They would think she was crazy.
“Please don’t suspend me.” It was weak, but she had to say something when Mrs. Colton was still waiting. “If it goes on my permanent record, I won’t get into any good schools.”
The corners of Mrs. Colton’s mouth twitched. She looked like she was about to say something, then stopped and smiled. “I’m not going to suspend you.”
Thom let out a breath.
“Only because you’ve been an excellent student so far, and I know you’re still adapting to … life in Troy. Count this as a warning. But I will have to call your mom.”
Thom’s eyes flew wide open. No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. This was worse than suspension. Ma wouldn’t understand. She would assume that Thom had done something wrong. Punish first, question after—that was the Vietnamese parenting method. Ma was going to make sure Thom never had the chance to misbehave ever again. Not that Thom had misbehaved before or even this time, but … she would never have the choice now.
“You can go,” Mrs. Colton said, already turning to her computer. “You can probably still make it to second period. Here, I’ll sign you a late pass.”
11
AS THOM LEFT THE OFFICE, she bowed her head, hoping no one would see her, and almost walked into someone. Two someones. Wearing matching pairs of low-top pink Converse, jeans, and soccer jerseys.
Bethany and Sarah. Kathy’s friends, and the stars of the soccer team. What were they doing out of class anyway, leaning against the overly cheerful yellow walls with their arms crossed, dressed almost exactly the same, in jean shorts that only barely met the school dress code and loose blue raglan sweaters? Bethany popped her gum and looked down at her shoe, where Thom had bumped into it, leaving a black smudge on the white toe cap.
“These are new,” she said.
“What?” Thom rubbed at her cheeks. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
But Bethany kept staring at Thom as if waiting for her to do something. Thom inched away, eyeing the hall and wondering how she could escape.
“Well? Clean it,” Bethany snapped.
Next to her, Sarah snorted and looked away.
“Your shoe?” Thom asked.
“No, your face.”
Heat crept up Thom’s neck. Bethany and Sarah eyed each other, and even though they tried hard not to, their laughs came out in breathy huffs.
Bethany kicked out her foot. “What are you waiting for? Clean it.”
“It’s just a smudge.” Thom hated how small her voice was, whiny and high, like a baby’s.
“I don’t care if it’s just a smudge,” Bethany said. “These were brand-new and spotless before you showed up.”
“Yeah,” Sarah interjected obediently. “You ruin everything.”
“Hey,” Bethany said, and Sarah’s face broke for a split second, as if afraid that she’d said something wrong. “She won that last game.”
“Yeah, and hospitalized someone doing it.” Sarah’s grin morphed her face into something satanic, her white teeth flashing, sinking into her plumped, glossed lips.
Thom took a step back. They knew. First the Monkey King, and now them. Thom’s life was officially over.
“Hey.” Bethany snapped her fingers in Thom’s face.
The door to the left opened, and Kathy walked out. They must have been waiting for her, but that still didn’t explain why they were all wandering the halls when they should have been in class. Kathy looked at Thom with surprise, then at Bethany and Sarah.
“Hey.” Even her voice was perfect, soft and melodic and not too sweet. She wasn’t talking to Thom, but to her friends—Thom wasn’t worth her notice. “Let’s go.”
Thom breathed a sigh of relief but caught herself when she saw Bethany still side-eyeing her.
“Not until she cleans my shoe.”
“What?” Kathy looked down. “What’s wrong with your shoe?”
“She got it dirty.”
Kathy glanced at Thom, but it wasn’t a nice glance. It was annoyed, irritated, like she couldn’t believe she had to deal with this inconvenience.
“Come on, let’s just go,” she said. “We’re already late.”
“I said not yet.” Bethany didn’t take her attention off Thom. “You heard her—we’re already late. Hurry up.”
Thom looked at Kathy. She wasn’t going to let this happen, was she? How could she just stand there and watch?
But Kathy turned away, walking a few steps from them, and crossed her arms.
Bethany didn’t say anything else but waved a foot in the air.
“How?” Thom asked. This wasn’t happening. Things like this didn’t happen. Any minute now, a teacher was going to make them go to class. This would have never happened back in West City, where security guards constantly monitored the halls. But not only that, this would never have happened because, back home, she would have had Thuy with her. She would have had her friends.
“Use your sleeve,” Bethany said, as if it were obvious.
Kathy let out an annoyed sigh. “Whatever. I’ll meet you guys there.” She didn’t look back as she disappeared down the hall.
Thom slowly pulled the sleeve of her hoodie over her wrist. She couldn’t believe this was really happening, and Sarah was just going to watch it happen while Kathy slipped away like she couldn’t be bothered, even though they both had to know it was wrong. Her eyes flooded as she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. What would Ma say if she could see her now? Ma was small but fierce, and there was no way she would have let some girls bully her, even if they were bigger and older. But Thom wasn’t Ma. She wasn’t that strong—not when it really mattered.
“Oh my God, just do it,” Sarah said, grabbing Thom’s shoulder and pushing her down. Her grip wasn’t strong, so Thom moved, more out of surprise than anything. “Why are you so slow at everyth—Ow!” She let go of Thom and whirled around.
An apple—an apple?—rolled away from her foot. A red spot was already forming where it had struck her calf.
“What was that?”
Bethany and Sarah looked at each other, then at Thom.
Before any of them could do anything, a group of teachers came around the corner. Bethany and Sarah made a run for it, while Thom stood rooted to the spot.
One of the teachers—Mr. Charlton, who taught her Reading and Language Arts classes—made a beeline for her. Thom liked Mr. Charlton, even if he pronounced her name like it began with th, instead of the right way, like the name Tom.
“Thom,” he said. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”
That spurred her out of her shock. She couldn’t think of anything to say, so she flashed her prison-blue late pass at him and ran away.
She was breathing too fast, her heart hammering, hands shaking. As she rounded a corner, sunlight spilled through the glass windows from the right. A door was opened at the end, and she ran through it, out into the courtyard.
Something pressed against Thom’s shoulder, and she glanced up. The Monkey King was floating in the air beside her, one elbow resting on her head as he peered down at her. He was almost weightless, just heavy enough for her to know he was there.
“You could have killed those girls,” he said, his teeth bared. “With your powers, you could have just—” He waved an arm, then punched a fist into his palm.
“Was that you?” she asked, still breathing hard. “The apple?”
“I could have hit her harder. Put a hole in that leg. Puny little girl didn’t stand a chance.”
“Don’t hurt her,” Thom said. That was the last thing she needed.
“Why?” He lifted off her shoulders and hovered backward, facing her. “You want to protect her even though she was going to beat you?”
“She couldn’t beat me.” It felt strange to say it out loud. Thom hated her superstrength, but it gave her a small thrill to know that Bethany really couldn’t hurt her. At least not physically.
“That’s right,” the Monkey King said. He nodded, holding his fists up. “You could beat her. Show her—”
“No,” Thom said, shaking off the thrill. “I’m not going to do that. I’m never going to do that. Besides, I wouldn’t have run into them at all if you hadn’t messed up that classroom—you threw a table at me! I had to go to the … principal’s office.” She said the last part in a whisper. Thom tried not to think about the fact that she was outside talking to the Monkey King instead of in class like she should have been.
“I wanted to prove that what I saw last night was real,” he said.
“Real? Wait—” That was funny. She’d been thinking the exact same thing about him all morning.
“Yes. You are incredibly strong for someone so small. I’ve been alive for centuries, and girls like you are very rare.”
Thom didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment. On the one hand, it was a cool thing to hear, but on the other, she didn’t want to be rare. She wanted to fit in and make friends. “What do you mean, girls like me? Are there others? Have you met others like me?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned close and just batted his eyelashes. Thom took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Why was she standing here, arguing with a monkey? She should be in class—she should get back before they noticed she was missing.
She turned around and started for the door.
“Wait.” He appeared suddenly in front of her, and she had to stop, but she was so angry, she held up a fist.
To the Monkey King, her curled fingers must have looked like an infant’s. A threat from a fly. A smile slowly spread across his mouth, eventually almost splitting his face in half. “It’s only fair.” He held out a cheek. “Go for it.”
“What?”
“Hit me.” His eyes sparkled; his giggles beat against her eardrums. “Use your power.”
She dropped her hand, disgusted with him and with herself. Was she really threatening him? Had she really wanted to hit him, for real this time? “I’m never using my power.”
