The Year of the Book

by Andrea Cheng

  “What do you have?”

  “Duck.”

  “Do you eat with chopsticks at your house?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “On Thanksgiving?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I know how to eat with chopsticks and I like duck better than turkey anyway. What do you have for breakfast?”

  “Cereal.”

  “Don’t you have something Chinese?”

  “Just cereal,” I say again.

  “I like cereal,” she says. “Can I come?”

  Laura’s eyes are begging. We are almost at the corner where she turns one way, and I turn the other. “Next year isn’t for a long time,” I say.

  Seven

  Get Well Soon

  After Thanksgiving break, Allison brings pictures to school that she has put into a small album. At sharing time, she shows them to the class. Laura and Allison on the toboggan, it says under the first picture. They are both wearing red snowsuits and smiling at the camera. Ice fishing, says another. They are standing in the middle of a lake with fishing poles.

  “I’d be scared to stand on that ice,” Devon says.

  “Me too,” says Lucy.

  “Not me,” says Laura. “We went fishing almost every day.” She looks at Allison.

  “I caught a big bass,” Allison says.

  Allison passes the album around so we can see it better. I look closely at each of the pictures. Laura and Allison and the boys are building an igloo. It would be fun to build an igloo out of ice bricks. Laura’s brothers are laughing. The last picture shows Laura and Allison asleep in the car on the way home.

  Even if Laura had invited me, I probably wouldn’t have gone. I didn’t even really want to go trick-or-treating with her. Maybe that’s why she picked Allison instead of me to go to Michigan. You know how Allison is, she said. Allison is a skinny girl with brown hair and sweater sets. Now she’s whispering something to Lucy and looking sideways at Laura. She’s a whispering kind of girl.

  I feel like crying but I don’t even why because who cares about Michigan and toboggans? I want to take Hush out of my book bag and read but we’re supposed to write about what we did over Thanksgiving. I don’t know what to write. I played concentration with Ken and Dad. I read My Louisiana Sky twice because it was really good. I read Charlotte’s Web out loud to Ken. On Thanksgiving, we had dinner at Auntie Linda’s house with fish and duck and eel. Camille and I had fun playing with tangrams. First you cut a square into seven shapes. Then you use those shapes to make new pictures. After that, Camille’s mom taught us how to knit. On Saturday, I went with Mom to Mr. Shepherd’s and helped him reorganize his bookshelf. What is there to write?

  Ms. Simmons is sitting at her desk, rubbing her face with her hands. Then I see that she has dark circles under her eyes. I go up to her desk. “I don’t know what to write,” I say.

  “Whatever you want, Anna.”

  “What about your Thanksgiving?” I ask.

  “My mother’s been sick,” she says.

  I go back to my seat and think I’ll make a card for Ms. Simmons’s mother, but I don’t know her name, so I have to ask.

  “Olga,” says Ms. Simmons. She seems impatient, but I can’t make a card without knowing her name. “Olga Simmons.”

  Olga. What a funny name for Ms. Simmons’s mother. To Mrs. Simmons, I write on the front. Get Well Soon.

  “Is Ms. Simmons sick?” Laura whispers.

  “It’s not for her.”

  Laura looks confused.

  “It’s for Ms. Simmons’s mother,” I say.

  “I thought we were supposed to write about our Thanksgiving.”

  “I’m making a card for Ms. Simmons’s mother first.” Laura makes a much nicer card than mine. She draws a bright red house with a tree in front. She decorates the tree with candles. “That’s what they did for Christmas trees in the olden days,” she whispers. Then she writes:

  Dear Ms. Simmons,

  I'm sorry to hear that you were sick. I hope you feel better soon.

  Sincerely yours,

  Laura A. Morgan

  P.S. Merry Christmas.

  Her cursive writing is perfect. My letters are slanting uphill. I can start over but there isn’t enough time because I still have to write about my Thanksgiving before the bell rings for gym.

  The gym teacher is absent and the substitute says we can have a free period. The kids are cheering and clapping. Some of them are shooting baskets and some are kicking the soccer ball. Tai keeps running up and tagging me. “Can’t catch me,” he says. But I don’t feel like trying to catch him. Allison and Lucy are jumping rope. When the substitute isn’t looking, I head to the locker room to get my book.

  There on the bench is Laura, and she’s been crying. “What are you doing down here?” I ask.

  She doesn’t answer.

  I sit down on the bench. “What’s wrong?”

  Laura’s blond hair falls forward. “She hates me,” Laura whispers.

  “Who?”

  “Allison.” She swallows. “And everybody.”

  “I don’t hate you,” I say.

  Laura takes a deep breath and looks up. “Allison said she and Lucy don’t like me anymore.”

  I know I should say that’s not true, but how do I know? Allison and Lucy were whispering today and looking over at Laura.

  “I’m not like you are,” she whispers. “You’re so ... I don’t know.” She smoothes back her hair. “You’re tough.”

  “Not really.”

  “You seem like you are.”

  I look at the floor. “I just like to read.”

  We hear other kids coming. “Thanks,” Laura says.

  “For what?” I ask.

  Laura grabs my hand. “For being my friend.”

  I squeeze her fingers. The locker room door opens. Laura goes over to the sink to wash her face and get a drink. By the time all the girls are there, you can hardly tell she was upset.

  I stay after school to finish my card. The writing is crooked and the paper is dirty from erasing. I take out a new clean piece of paper.

  Ms. Simmons is on the phone. She says, “No, Mother doesn’t like coffee. Yes, she prefers tea. Yes, tea with lemon. I’ll be over soon.” She hangs up and rubs her eyes.

  I draw a teacup with steam coming out. Next to it I draw a bright yellow lemon. On the cup I write Get Well Soon, and I sign my name in cursive.

  Then I work on my Thanksgiving paragraph.

  Over Thanksgiving, I read My Louisiana Sky. I think it is one of the best books I have ever read. I never thought of what it would be like if your mother was mentally retarded. At first the girl wished she had a normal mother, but then she realized that she loved her mother the way she was.

  Writing that makes me think about Mom. I always wished I had a mom who spoke perfect English and who got her driver’s license when she turned sixteen. But if Mom wasn’t the way she is, she wouldn’t be my mom and I wouldn’t be me. Suddenly I just want to go home, but I have to finish my work first.

  The other thing that happened was that my mom just passed her driver's test. She failed the first time but she passed the second. We celebrated on Thanksgiving.

  Ms. Simmons is grading our spelling tests. I stand by her desk. “For your mother,” I say, handing her the card.

  “Thank you, Anna,” she says. “Lemon tea, her favorite. How did you know?”

  “I heard you on the telephone.”

  “You have good ears,” she says.

  I give Ms. Simmons my Thanksgiving paragraph and she reads it quickly. “I don’t know that book, Anna, but I’ll take it out of the library.” Then she says, “Please congratulate your mom for passing the driver’s test. You know, I failed that test three times.”

  “You did?”

  She nods. “I finally passed on my fourth try.”

  As soon as I am outside, I take Hush out of my backpack. Toswiah has to change her name because of the witness protection program. I wo
uld hate to change my first name, but I wouldn’t mind changing my last. Instead of Anna Wang, I could be Anna Brown or Anna Smith. I see my reflection in the glass pane in the door. But then my name wouldn’t match my face. There is a girl in the Chinese class named April Sawalasky. She was adopted from China, so she has a Chinese face without a Chinese name. I wonder if she even thinks about that.

  I close my book at the intersection. Ray has already gone home. I stand waiting for the cars to pass. The wind is blowing the leaves around. Finally there is a break in the traffic. I cross the street as fast as I can without running.

  When I get to the corner, I see a blond girl up ahead with two taller boys. When I get closer, I see that it’s Laura and her brothers. For a second I think maybe I should run to see how she is doing. She could come over and we could make lemonade. But she’s with her brothers and the three of them seem just fine. I turn the other way and read-walk all the way home.

  Eight

  Winter Break

  I get a book out of the library that has patterns and directions for paper airplanes. Dad brings home some thin cardboard from the store that’s just perfect. I draw the pattern pieces onto the cardboard and cut them out carefully with small scissors. Then I fold the small tabs and glue the pieces together. It takes a long time, but I like seeing how the plane takes shape.

  “Cool,” Ken says. “I like that one.” He points to the jet on the cover.

  “That’s the one I’m making,” I say.

  I finish it after lunch. Then I stand on the sofa and throw it across the living room. It takes a quick nose dive into the floor.

  “According to the directions, it’s supposed to make a loop,” I say.

  Ken picks it up and straightens out the nose. Dad thinks maybe we should bend the tail up more. I throw the airplane again. It takes a small dip and lands underneath our Christmas tree.

  “Better,” Ken says.

  By the end of the day, we have three airplanes and all of them make a loop before landing. I finally realized that you have to make the tail fins a little wider. I think this is going to be the best winter break ever. Then the phone rings. “It’s Laura,” Mom says.

  I take the receiver. “Want to come over?” she asks.

  “When?”

  “Right now.”

  I don’t want to go, but I can’t just say that I’m busy making paper airplanes with my brother and my dad. I have to think of something fast. “I can’t,” I say. “I have to study Chinese characters for Chinese school tomorrow.”

  Laura doesn’t say anything at first. “How about tomorrow? Can you come after Chinese school?”

  I don’t know what to say. Laura is waiting. “Okay. I’ll come.”

  ***

  Mom wants to drive us to Chinese school by herself.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to go along?” Dad asks.

  Mom nods. “I can do it,” she says, picking up the keys.

  Mom drives a little slower than the other cars, but she stays in the middle of the road pretty well.

  When we get to Chinese school, Camille and Auntie Linda are standing by the curb. “Congratulations!” Auntie Linda shouts to Mom. “You are driving by yourself.” Then they start talking a mile a minute in Chinese.

  Camille looks at me. I notice that she has on a sweater that looks handmade. “I like your sweater,” I say.

  “My mom knitted it,” she says. “It’s freezing out here. You want to go in?”

  Camille sits next to me on the floor of the basement room. “Are you in fourth grade?” I ask.

  “Yup.”

  “What school do you go to?”

  “Pleasant Hill. But we’re moving at the end of the school year.”

  “Where to?”

  “North Fairmount.”

  “Hey, that’s where I go.” Without even thinking, I grab her arm. “Maybe we’ll be in the same class.”

  “But I think I might have to ... I mean, I might be repeating.” Her eyes meet mine. “My mom says you’re really smart.”

  I think of how nice it will be to have Camille on the playground before school even if she’s not in my class.

  “I can introduce you to Ray.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “The crossing guard.”

  Teacher Zhen comes in. “Good morning, students,” she says in Chinese. Then she says that we’re going to learn words about winter like snow and ice and cold. I realize that I’m starting to understand what she says.

  On the way home, Mom says that Auntie Linda told her that Camille is having trouble in school, mostly with reading. The teacher said she might have a learning disability.

  “Camille said she’s going to North Fairmount next year,” I say.

  Mom nods. “They think it will be a better school for her. She can have more help at North Fairmount than at Pleasant Hill.”

  “She’s repeating fourth grade,” I say.

  “Maybe,” Mom says. “They’re not sure yet. Now she has a tutor.”

  As soon as we pull up in front of the house, I remember that I told Laura I was coming over after Chinese class. I wish I was going to Camille’s house instead.

  Maybe I’m getting a virus, some kind of flu. I can’t go to Laura’s house if I’m sick. I wouldn’t want to infect the whole family with a bug. But I think of Laura’s crying face in the locker room, and I know she is waiting.

  I put the airplane book and a bunch of paper and scissors in a bag to take to Laura’s. “I’m sure they have things to do there,” Mom says, but I want to take my supplies. Mom walks down the hill with me.

  We are almost at Laura’s house. “I might not stay long,” I tell Mom.

  “Okay.”

  “I might just stay for half an hour.”

  Mom sighs. “Give Laura a chance.”

  I want to say I’ve given her and Allison and Lucy lots of chances. I want to say that Laura only wants to be my friend when Allison is mean to her. But Laura’s mom is opening the door.

  “Come in,” she says to Mom. She has blue begging eyes just like Laura, and light brown hair that’s flying around her face.

  “Thank you,” Mom says. “I have a test tomorrow. So I cannot stay.”

  Laura’s mom nods. “Laura told me you are studying to be a nurse. How wonderful.”

  Laura motions to me from behind the stairs. “Let’s spy,” she whispers.

  We go into the closet and look through a crack in the floor, but all I can see is light. There are winter coats and dresses hanging all around and the closet THE YEAR Of THE BOOK is hot and stuffy. Laura has a notebook to write down anything that we see. “Hey,” she whispers, putting her eye to the crack. “Look.”

  I look but there is nothing to see.

  In the notebook she writes, David's arm.

  I didn’t see any arm. I look again and this time I smell something funny. I inhale deeply. “What’s that?” I whisper.

  Laura sniffs. “I don’t smell anything.”

  I sniff again. “It smells sweet.”

  “My mom’s detergent, I bet,” she whispers. But the smell isn’t like that. It’s getting stronger. Laura puts her eye to the crack again. She opens her mouth and covers it with her hand. Then she bursts out of the closet yelling, “Mom, they’re starting a fire.”

  Her mother comes running from the kitchen. I follow Laura to the top of the stairs. Her mother goes quickly down to the basement. We stand crouched on the landing.

  “Haven’t you ever smelled incense before?” Andrew shouts.

  Laura’s mom is throwing the incense into the sink. The boys are saying all kinds of bad words to their mother. They say they know why their father doesn’t want to live here anymore. Laura is writing furiously in the notebook.

  I want to run home and make airplanes with Ken. I tell Laura we should go outside but she insists on writing everything down.

  “What for?” I ask.

  “Documentation,” she says.

  “What’s that
?”

  “Evidence.”

  “What for?”

  “In case we have to go to court again,” she whispers. “For burning incense?”

  “Shhh,” Laura says, turning the page.

  Finally the boys are sent to their rooms for the rest of the day. Laura’s mom fixes lunch and acts like nothing happened. After lunch, we go up to Laura’s room and make a maze out of building blocks. She wants to put her gerbils in to see if they can find their way out.

  “That’s mean,” I say.

  “They like it,” she says, picking one of them up by its tail because that’s how you’re supposed to pick up gerbils.

  “Pick up the other one,” she says. “We can race them.”

  I shake my head.

  “They won’t hurt you,” she says.

  Suddenly the gerbil bites her thumb. She drops it on the floor and it runs behind the bookcase.

  “It doesn’t really hurt,” she says, putting her finger in her mouth.

  We go into the bathroom and get a Band-Aid. “We better put some Bactine on,” I say, “in case the gerbils have rabies.”

  “They don’t,” Laura says, putting the Band-Aid around her thumb.

  “How are we going to catch the gerbil now?” I ask, hearing scratching noise coming from behind the bookcase.

  “Let’s just leave it,” she says.

  We go outside and climb in the mulberry tree. Laura says that when Allison came over, she didn’t want to climb the tree because it would get her white pants dirty. “Then she said she was bored at my house and she wanted me to ask my mom if we could use her makeup.” Laura’s eyes are getting watery. “She said if I didn’t ask, she would go home.”

  “Did you ask?”

  Laura shakes her head. “My mom doesn’t even have makeup.”