Flying the Dragon

by Natalie Dias Lorenzi

  As she finished the rest of her snack, Skye wished Amber were there. Or one of her other teammates. Then she could laugh and joke about the mere idea of having a Japanese study group right after class. They could talk soccer instead of kanji.

  Skye thought of Hiroshi. This must be how he feels at school. At least Skye understood most of the conversation around her, even if she couldn’t speak as well as the others. Or write. Or count, apparently. But what would it be like not to understand at all? And to not be able to say even the basic stuff?

  Skye thought of Hiroshi’s book that had fallen from his backpack the other day at the bus stop—Tim Gets Dressed. Ugh. Skye’s Japanese book was hard to read, but at least she had the same book as everyone else. Then again, she was in a class with mostly third graders. No, she decided Hiroshi’s situation was a million times worse. He needed to learn real English, and she would be the one to teach him.

  As Skye packed up her o-bento box and Kumamoto Sensei came back into the room, an idea began to grow inside of Skye. By the time she walked out the door at dismissal, she had a plan in place. A plan to help Hiroshi.

  14

  Hiroshi

  Hiroshi discovered the folded-up paper sticking out of his pencil box on Monday morning before the first bell. He scanned the room to see if anyone was watching him, but no one was.

  Hiroshi unfolded the paper and was surprised to see Japanese writing mixed with English:

  Hiroshi blinked. Sucks would definitely be useful. In fact, it was the perfect word to describe what was coming—Grandfather’s first treatment. Hiroshi glanced at the clock. In twenty-five hours and thirty-seven minutes, Grandfather would be waiting in the hospital, probably wearing one of those thin gowns, not knowing what was going to happen. Would he be scared? Hiroshi had never seen Grandfather scared.

  In twenty-five hours and thirty-six minutes, Hiroshi would be scared, sitting here in school, thinking of Grandfather. Skye has it wrong—missing out on a soccer team doesn’t suck. Cancer is what totally sucks.

  The bell rang, and Skye took her seat. He glanced at her, smiling his thanks, and she nodded.

  Hiroshi made his way through the math worksheet, waiting for nine o’clock. But at 9:05 Mr. Jacobs still hadn’t come through the door to pick him up for ESL. Hiroshi double-checked his math. 9:10. Still no Mr. Jacobs.

  “Mrs. Garcia?” a voice filtered through a loudspeaker in the ceiling.

  “Yes?” Mrs. Garcia answered.

  “Mr. Jacobs will be late today. He’ll pick up his students when he arrives.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Baca.” Mrs. Garcia stopped by Hiroshi’s desk and leaned down. “Did you understand, Hiroshi? Mr. Jacobs will be here soon.” Hiroshi nodded. Mrs. Garcia glanced at the paper on his desk. “Do you have an ESL assignment to work on while you wait?”

  “Yes, Teacher.” Actually, Hiroshi had finished his assignments the night before, but he couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. There was no way he was going to pull out his first-grade books in front of everyone.

  Mrs. Garcia began the reading lesson for the rest of the class. Hiroshi tried to follow her words, but they all ran together. Then he had an idea. He flipped his ESL notebook over, turned it around, and opened to the last page. This would be a good place to write the new English word Skye had taught him. He began to copy her English tip into his notebook.

  “Psssst!“

  Hiroshi turned. Skye was looking at him out of the corner of her eye and shaking her head. Hiroshi shrugged. What is she trying to tell me? She looked back and forth from the paper to Hiroshi, eyes narrowed and shaking her head again, faster this time.

  “Hiroshi?” Mrs. Garcia called. Hiroshi jumped, and Skye’s eyes snapped back to the front of the room. “It’s time for ESL.” Mr. Jacobs stood in the doorway and waved. Hiroshi gathered his things and followed him to class.

  When everyone was seated in the ESL room, Mr. Jacobs turned to the group. “Sorry I was late today, everyone.” He picked up a whiteboard marker. “I ride my bike to school. How many of you ride bikes?” A few kids raised their hands. Mr. Jacobs drew a picture of a bicycle on the board. Hiroshi wished he rode his bike to school, like he had in Japan.

  “When I was on my bike, a truck passed me.” Mr. Jacobs drew a stick figure on the bike and tapped it with the marker. “That’s me.” Then he drew a truck. He pointed to the weather chart near the calendar. “What’s the weather like today?”

  “Rain,” someone said. Mr. Jacobs nodded and motioned Ravi to the front. Ravi chose a paper raindrop from a basket and taped it to the chart.

  Mr. Jacobs drew a puddle between the bike and the truck. “The truck drove through the puddle. Splash!” He spread his arms and looked down at his trousers. “I got all wet, and had to go home and change.” A murmur ran through the class. Poor Mr. Jacobs.

  Hiroshi snuck a peek at the last page in his ESL notebook, then closed it. He raised his hand. Now was his chance to make up for the shoes mistake; he would show Mr. Jacobs what a good English student he was.

  “Yes, Hiroshi?”

  Hiroshi cleared his throat. “I am sorry, Teacher.” His voice was loud and clear. “That totally sucks.”

  Mr. Jacobs’ eyebrows raised like two question marks. Then he threw his head back and laughed—the kind of laugh that came from his belly. Had Hiroshi made a mistake? He flipped to the back of his notebook again. No, he’d gotten the words right; maybe it was his pronunciation. He closed his notebook and eyed Mr. Jacobs, who was now biting his bottom lip and wiping a tear from his eye with his knuckle.

  “Hiroshi, where did you learn that?”

  Hiroshi felt his cheeks burning. “I say it wrong?”

  “No, Hiroshi.” Mr. Jacobs had snuffed out the last of his laughter, but his eyes still twinkled. “It’s just that … well, it’s the kind of thing you say on the playground, not in the classroom.”

  “Oh.”

  Hiroshi should have never listened to Skye.

  “You weren’t supposed to say it to a teacher!” Skye said in Japanese as they stepped off the bus and made their way up the sidewalk.

  “You didn’t tell me I wasn’t supposed to say it to a teacher!” Hiroshi shot back. “Now I have insulted him, and everyone laughed at me.”

  Skye sighed and placed her hands on her hips. “You didn’t insult him. He gets that you’re learning English and you just said the wrong thing.” She shook her head like this had all been Hiroshi’s fault. “Okay, fine.” She swung her backpack around and let it plop at her feet, then leaned over and unzipped a small pouch in the front.

  “What are you doing?” Hiroshi asked.

  “Hold on.” She dug through the pouch and came up with broken pencils, a half-eaten sandwich, and a small notebook. “Aha!” She pulled out another folded piece of paper, just like the one she had given Hiroshi earlier.

  “Oh, no—not another one. I don’t need your English lessons.” Hiroshi started to walk away.

  “Oh, yes, you do. Believe me.” She picked up one of the broken pencils. “I have an idea.” Skye unfolded the paper and wrote something at the bottom. “Here.” She thrust the note at him.

  He stepped forward and snatched it from her hand. “What did you write this time?”

  “Look at the bottom.” Skye replaced the pencils, sandwich, and notebook, zipped up the pouch, and flung her backpack over her shoulder. She poked the paper where she had drawn the letter “A” with a circle around it.

  “What does it mean?” Hiroshi asked.

  “A is for adult. If you see that, it means you can say it in front of adults.”

  “And if it’s not for adults?” Hiroshi could hear his voice rising. “Like ‘totally sucks’ is not for adults?”

  “Then the A will have a line through it. Got it?”

  “Fine.” Hiroshi looked at the rest of the words on the page:

  Hiroshi frowned. Why would anyone mistake him for Chinese? But when he looked up to ask, Skye had already crossed the street. Hiro
shi decided he was definitely clueless about everything in America—especially Skye.

  15

  Skye

  Skye tossed her backpack at the foot of the stairs and hoped there was something good in the fridge.

  “Is that you, sweetheart?” her mom called. Skye found her mom sitting with her laptop at the kitchen table. “How was school?”

  “Fine. I guess. Do you have another project due?”

  Her mom nodded. “How are things going for Hiroshi?”

  “Good.” She looked over her mom’s shoulder. “Are these the plans for the new library?”

  “Mmm. It’s coming along nicely.” Her mom loved to talk architecture, and Skye hoped she could steer her away from the subject of school and Hiroshi. But her mom shut her laptop and swiveled to look at Skye. “What happened?”

  “What do you mean?” Skye grabbed a banana from the bowl on the counter.

  “At school. You seem distracted. How is Hiroshi doing?”

  Skye shrugged. “I’m starting to teach him some American slang.”

  Her mom laughed. “That’ll be useful as he makes friends. What a great idea.”

  Skye didn’t explain that the English tips were her way of making up for everything. She should have told that kid to stop making fun of Hiroshi’s mask. She should sit with him at lunch. And she should have told him not to say “That totally sucks” in front of a teacher. Now he was so embarrassed that he’d probably never speak English again. She peeled her banana and took a bite.

  “I’m sure it has to be hard for him—a new place, not understanding the language, missing his friends.” Her mom reached out and squeezed Skye’s hand gently. “He’s so lucky to have you helping him.”

  Skye looked at her shoes. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Her mom stood and headed toward the sink. “You don’t give yourself enough credit,” she said over her shoulder.

  Oh, yes she did; she took all the credit for not helping Hiroshi more. “I have to start my homework.”

  “Homework can wait.”

  “What?” That’s a new one.

  “Your grandfather called and invited you to the park today. He and Hiroshi are going to fly their kite.”

  Fly their kite? Hiroshi probably wouldn’t want her there. And the thought of speaking first-grade Japanese to her grandfather? “I think I’ll pass. I’ve got a lot of homework.”

  Skye’s mom cocked her head. “Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Well, good, because you have to go.”

  “But I just said—”

  “You can do your homework later. Your grandfather starts his treatment tomorrow, and we don’t know how it will go, or how he’ll feel from here on out.” She gave Skye a gentle push toward the door. “Go on. It’ll be fun.”

  Skye sighed. She’d left Hiroshi to fend for himself at school. She wouldn’t be able to carry on a conversation with her grandfather in Japanese without sounding ridiculous. And she hadn’t flown a kite since she was seven.

  Yeah, she was in for a fun time, all right.

  Skye hung back once she spotted them. She had parked her bike at the racks near the foot of the hill and stood to watch for a few minutes. The kite was not at all what she’d expected. Instead of a diamond shape, this kite was a hexagon, the sides longer than the triangle-shaped top and bottom. Instead of the usual beach-ball colors, there was a dragon design that seemed to change colors as it traveled across the sky—first a deep red, then a hint of purple, and even some shimmering green. The kite wasn’t in the shape of a dragon, of course, but it looked so real—beautiful and terrible, its scales glinting in the sun. It looked like a hexagon-shaped window had been cut out of the sky, and the dragon was staring down at her from some other world.

  Her eyes traveled down the string to where her grandfather and Hiroshi stood. She had never seen either one of them look this happy. Not like she’d known them for all that long. Come to think of it, she didn’t really know them at all, did she? The two laughed and talked and grinned into the wind, pointing every once in a while to the kite at the top of their string.

  Skye winced when she thought about how she’d basically ignored Hiroshi at school. She hadn’t meant for things to turn out that way; they just had.

  “Sorano-chan!”

  Skye realized she’d been staring at the kite again, and that her grandfather had called her name. Her Japanese name. She waved and saw Hiroshi’s smile slide off his face. She wanted to turn around, hop on her bike, and pedal all the way home. But her grandfather was beckoning with a gentle smile, like part of that hill belonged to her, too. She trudged up the path, making a list of Japanese kite-flying words in her head. Kite, wind, string … that was about it.

  “Sorano-chan, how lovely to see you.” Her grandfather looked younger than he had last week. Maybe it was the smile.

  “Thank you, Grandfather. Um … good to see you, too.” That wasn’t right. Was it? Her Japanese didn’t sound formal enough, but Skye couldn’t think of another way to say it. “Nice kite.” Skye searched her memory for something more. “I mean, the kite is a thing of great beauty.” There. That sounded pretty formal, didn’t it? Skye thought she saw Hiroshi smirk, but maybe it was just the way he was squinting in the sun.

  “I am glad it pleases you, Sorano-chan.” Her grandfather smiled at her. She certainly wasn’t Maya the Japanese Wonder, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  “Grandfather and I made the kite,” Hiroshi said, glancing at Skye over his shoulder.

  She looked at the dragon. “Oh my gosh, you made that?”

  Grandfather laughed. Hiroshi didn’t. “I put it together, and Grandfather painted it.”

  Her grandfather nodded toward the kite. “Would you like to try, Sorano-chan?”

  “Oh, I can’t paint. And I’ve never made a kite. It looks hard.”

  He smiled. “I meant would you like to try to fly the kite?”

  Skye saw Hiroshi’s shoulders stiffen, so she took a step away from him. “Actually, it’s been ages since I’ve flown a kite. I wouldn’t want to crash it.”

  Grandfather’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Do not worry. Hiroshi will see to it that nothing happens to the dragon kite.”

  Hiroshi offered her the reel only after Grandfather nodded. Should she take it? She could see that Hiroshi didn’t trust her with the kite. She didn’t trust herself with it, either.

  Grandfather laughed. “You two look so serious! Go on, Sorano-chan. The dragon does not bite. Hiroshi, show your cousin how the dragon prefers to be handled.”

  Hiroshi handed the reel to Skye with both hands. The reels she’d remembered had all been plastic, brightly colored, with a handle for holding and an end for wrapping the string. But this reel was a work of art. The smooth, shiny wood had a rectangular prism shape with a handle on each end. Twin dragons were carved on the sides, their tails winding around the handles.

  “Did you make this, too?” Skye looked from Hiroshi to Grandfather.

  “Yes, many years ago,” Grandfather answered. “But I did not do the carving.”

  Hiroshi looked at Grandfather. “Who did?”

  “First Uncle.”

  Hiroshi’s eyes widened.

  Skye was still trying to figure out who First Uncle was when Hiroshi turned to her. “Your father carved this? I never knew he was a wood-carver.”

  Skye stared at Hiroshi. “My father?” There must be some mistake. She looked back at the dragon reel. “My father made this?”

  But before anyone could answer, Skye felt a tug on the line and looked up. The dragon kite had tipped sideways and was now starting to fall.

  Skye gasped. “Oh, no! The dragon!”

  Hiroshi looked worried and reached for the reel. But Grandfather placed his hand on Skye’s shoulder. “Give it more line.” Skye shook her head and tried to give the reel to Grandfather, but he gently pushed it back toward her. “More line, Sorano. Unwind it a bit, then let the dragon pull
as much line as he needs.”

  It didn’t feel right to give a falling kite more line, but what did she know? She prayed she was doing it right. “Like this?”

  “Just like that.” Grandfather nodded. “I can tell the dragon approves of you.” Skye could hear the smile in his voice. Sure enough, the dragon started to climb.

  “Hold him there, Sorano-chan. That’s just fine.”

  Skye tightened her grip on the handles, and the dragon stopped its climb. She felt the dragon’s energy travel from his perch at the top of the sky, down the line, through the reel, and right into her fingers. She shuddered to think what would have happened if the dragon had fallen. Best not to press her luck.

  “That’s enough for now. Thank you.” Skye handed the reel back to Hiroshi, who took it without a word.

  “You are a natural, Sorano. Like Hiroshi. And your father.”

  “My father flew kites, too?”

  Grandfather squinted into the sun, tracking the dragon. “He used to be one of the best.”

  “He never told me. I didn’t know he liked flying kites.”

  “He won several rokkaku battles.”

  “Rokkaku? What’s that?”

  Hiroshi spoke up. “It’s kite fighting. When you try to make other kites fall from the sky. The kite that’s left flying is the winner.”

  “How do you do that?”

  “There are three ways.” Hiroshi sounded like maybe he’d forgotten he was mad at Skye. “You can cut your opponent’s line, tip his kite, or block its wind—that’s the most difficult move.”

  “Can you teach me?”

  Grandfather looked at the gray clouds that were moving in. “It will rain soon. We will begin with a rokkaku lesson next time.”

  Next time. Skye was about to ask what time tomorrow, and then she remembered. Watching the easy way Grandfather pulled in the line as Hiroshi wound it up with the reel, it didn’t seem like Grandfather was sick and that tomorrow was treatment day.