Stanford Wong Flunks Big-Time

by Lisa Yee

  “Huuuummmmm … hummmm … huuummmm …”

  “Enough!” she yells.

  Millicent glares at me, hunches over, and begins writing something in tiny perfect letters like she’s some sort of human computer. It’s the contract. I make her swear on her mother’s life that she won’t tell anyone about our secret. She makes me swear to bring pens next time. We both sign the contract, and then Millicent has Mrs. Martinez, the library lady, add her name to “make it official.”

  “Can I go now?” I’m exhausted.

  “No,” Millicent snaps. “We haven’t even begun.”

  I wonder if her underpants are too tight. She’s sure acting like it. Man, Millicent talks a lot. I can’t even understand half of what she is saying. Will she ever shut up? She’s been going on for such a long time I’m getting hungry. I reach for my backpack.

  “What are you doing now?” Millicent hisses.

  “Eating a deviled ham sandwich.” Is she so blind that she can’t even tell what a sandwich is? “I have to keep my energy up for basketball. I’m the league free-throw champion.”

  “Put that away,” she squawks, “or Mrs. Martinez will kick us out of here.”

  “Chill, Mill.” I take another bite in slow motion. It’s fun watching Millicent’s face get all scrunched up. “You want a taste?”

  Millicent grabs her notebook and hurls it at me. It goes flying way over my head, but I jump up and catch it. Ha!

  “You pig,” she shouts. “You have no regard for anyone but yourself!”

  Mrs. Martinez sprints over just as Millicent is about to hit me over the head with a huge book.

  “Ms. Min,” she says, all out of breath. “Please lower your voice. This is a library, not a playground.” Mrs. Martinez pries the book from Millicent’s hands and places it on the table. “I expect better of you.”

  Millicent Min getting chewed out by a librarian???!!! I laugh so hard I almost choke on a piece of ham. Then Mrs. Martinez starts in on me about the evils of eating in the library. I stop chewing and stash what’s left of my sandwich in Millicent’s briefcase.

  Millicent is glaring at me, and the library lady is lecturing me. Man, this is going to be one long summer.

  JUNE 28, 2 P.M.

  It’s all too weird. Mom’s packing. Dad’s pacing. He even took off work today to be here. Yin-Yin is staring at the television and it’s not even on.

  My sister is home from college. Her duffel bag sits by the front door next to Yin-Yin’s boxes and old-lady suitcases. Last fall when Sarah was packing for the dorms, she was so happy to be moving away. Dad was happy too, because his daughter was going to his alma mater, Stanford University. He was so proud of her. He still is.

  No one’s happy today.

  “Hey, Squiggy,” Sarah says. I hate it when she calls me Squiggy. “What’s the scoop?”

  “Yin-Yin’s moving out.”

  “I know that. But why?”

  “Because she hid the eggs,” I try to explain. “Because she tells funny stories, because she salutes the mailman, and because she keeps getting lost.”

  I want to cry, but I can’t. When I was little I cried all the time and Sarah made fun of me. Boys aren’t supposed to cry. I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek.

  “How long are you here for?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

  “Just until the fifth,” says Sarah as she takes the rubber band off her ponytail and shakes out her hair. She’s really pretty like Mom, only she doesn’t need to know that. She’s got a big enough head already. “Did you hear I’ve been accepted to the Summer at Sea program?”

  “Yeah, Dad told me.” I wish she was staying home this summer. Why can’t she just stay home?

  “I heard you’re going to summer school.”

  “I flunked English,” I mumble.

  “You just have to study more,” she says, sounding like Millicent.

  “Yeah, well, easy for you to say!” Sarah looks startled. “Not all of us can get straight A’s, you know. Dad’s always comparing me to you. ‘When Sarah was your age, she won this award. When Sarah was in English class, she did extra credit just for fun. Sarah is such a great student, why can’t you be more like her?’ Sometimes I wish I never had you for a sister!”

  Uh-oh. I take it back, I take it back.

  “Hey, Squiggy,” Sarah says softly. “I know you don’t mean that. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Letting him get to you like that. You shouldn’t compare yourself to other people, Stanford. You’re a great kid. You’ll get through summer school. I heard that Mom and Dad hired Millicent Min to help you.”

  “Yeah,” I mutter. “I’ll bet Dad wishes she was in this family instead of me.”

  Sarah musses up my hair. “Don’t be such a goof. If I were home this summer, I’d tutor you myself. But I can’t pass up an opportunity to study aboard a ship and sail around the world. Besides, how else can I buy my little brother souvenirs from every port? Maybe I’ll even find a sword for you.”

  I’ve always wanted a sword.

  “I know these next couple of months are going to be difficult with Mr. Glick’s class and Yin-Yin moving out,” Sarah tells me. “But Mr. Glick is not so bad once you get to know him. And you can visit Yin-Yin anytime.” She looks sad. “Promise me you’ll visit her, so she won’t be lonely.”

  “I promise,” I tell my big sister.

  JUNE 29, 9:30 A.M.

  Vacation Village does not look like anyplace I’d want to vacation at. It’s a regular old building with ancient-looking furniture in the lobby and ancient-looking people shuffling in every direction. You can’t even turn around without bumping into one of them. And it smells like old people’s feet. Who would want to vacation in a place that smells like old people’s feet?

  I hold my breath and try to make it all the way to the elevator before I have to exhale. No wonder some of the old people wear oxygen masks. In the elevator my parents raise their voices, talking louder and faster to Yin-Yin like they have a lot to say before the doors open.

  “You will love it here!”

  “You are so lucky they have a spot for you!”

  “Our house is so close by!”

  We step out of the elevator and everybody stares at me. A lot of the old fogies try to touch me and pat my head like I’m some sort of dog or something. It’s so creepy, but I let them because … well, I don’t know why I let them. Old people make me nervous. Maybe next time I will tell them to stop.

  Mom and Dad do not seem to notice how ugly the place is, but Sarah and I look at each other and grimace. Yin-Yin keeps her head bowed as we make our way down the hall. The tissue in her hand is all shredded. She’s shuffling like the rest of the old people. Yin-Yin didn’t do that before.

  “Oh look! Fresh flowers!” my mother exclaims.

  Dad announces, “It says here on the bulletin board that they are serving pot roast tonight. Yin-Yin, you love pot roast.”

  “No, I don’t,” my grandmother mumbles. “You do.”

  “Hello! Hello! Hello!” an old man shouts at us. He is way down the hall but comes racing toward us in a weird slow-motion sort of run that makes him look like he is going to tip over. His hair is tilted to one side. “You must be the new girl,” he says to Yin-Yin.

  She gives him a glare. “I’m neither new nor a girl.” His mouth hangs open as he watches her walk away.

  “This way, Yin-Yin,” my mother says as she pushes the door open into a small apartment. It is actually just a bedroom with a couch and table and a bed. Hey, the bathroom has a telephone in it! The walls are plain, but there is a tree outside the window. I can see the branches. We are on the third floor.

  “Isn’t this nice,” Mom comments. What? Is she blind? “We’ll bring some of your furniture and decorate the walls and it will be so cozy.”

  “A room with a view,” Dad says, trying to sound cheerful.
<
br />   Yin-Yin doesn’t answer. She just stands by the window and stares out at the parking lot.

  “Come on, Stanford,” my father says. “Let’s get Yin-Yin’s things.”

  “Yes!” my mother chirps. “And while you do that, Sarah, Yin-Yin, and I will go exploring. I hear they have aerobics and arts ’n’ crafts and all sorts of fun activities here!”

  Mom and Dad have been chattering away nonstop ever since we left the house. Why are they talking to Yin-Yin like she’s a little kid? And why isn’t she protesting? I know if they tried to imprison me here, I’d make a run for it.

  Dad doesn’t say anything as he hands me Yin-Yin’s boxes from the trunk. The more silent he is, the madder I get. Finally I blurt out, “Why can’t she still live with us?”

  “It’s complicated,” is all Dad will say.

  He thinks I won’t understand. Why doesn’t he ever want to talk to me? He and Sarah used to talk for hours.

  As we lug the boxes into the building, the bottom breaks on the one I am carrying. I expect Dad to yell at me, but instead he puts down his box and together we pick up Yin-Yin’s things.

  I hand him a photo of Sarah and me on Christmas Day the year we got the new television. Dad stares at an old picture of himself standing next to his father. They both look grim. The plaster imprint of my hand that I made when I was in kindergarten has broken in two. “That’s easy to fix,” my dad assures me.

  I like it that it’s the two of us doing something together. I just wish we were doing something else.

  We drop off the boxes in Yin-Yin’s room. She’s still standing in the same spot by the window.

  “Where’s Kristen?” Dad asks.

  “She and Sarah went exploring,” Yin-Yin tells him without turning around.

  “Did you want to go with them?”

  “No.”

  The three of us are silent for a long time. My father keeps looking like he’s about to say something, but then doesn’t. Finally he speaks. “Mom,” he says softly in a tone I’ve never heard before.

  My grandmother turns around. She’s been crying.

  Dad looks shaken. “I’m going to go get some sodas for us,” he says. Then he rushes out of the room.

  I go up to Yin-Yin and put my arm around her. Am I getting bigger, or is she getting smaller?

  Yin-Yin keeps staring out the window. I can’t tell what she’s looking at. Without facing me she whispers, “Stanford, you have to get me out of here. C’mon, Stanford, help me run away.”

  “Sure, Yin-Yin. Whatever you say.”

  “No!” she suddenly shouts. She turns to me. Her eyes look wild. “Promise me,” she pleads. Her grip on my wrist is strong. “Promise to help me!”

  “I, I promise, Yin-Yin,” I sputter. “I promise.”

  She lets go of me and calmly looks back out the window. My dad returns with three sodas. “Root beer, anyone?” he asks brightly.

  Yin-Yin ignores him.

  For a moment he looks lost. “Stanford?” he says, holding one out to me.

  I take it and he seems grateful.

  “Give it a little time,” he tells Yin-Yin. “You’re going to love it here.”

  “Please go away,” she tells him.

  “Mom …,” my father pleads.

  “Go,” she says firmly.

  “Bye, Yin-Yin,” I say as we leave.

  She does not say good-bye to me.

  We find my mom and Sarah watching some old people watching a movie about some old people who swim in magic water and turn young again. “Time to leave,” says Dad.

  We step into the elevator. When I was smaller, there was always a race between Sarah and me to see who would get to press the buttons. Neither of us moves, so it’s up to Mom to hit the down button. We all face forward in silence and watch the numbers above the doors count down as the elevator hums its way to the ground floor.

  JULY 1, 3 P.M.

  I hate Millicent Min.

  “Did you read the Robert Frost poem?”

  Millicent doesn’t even bother to say hello. Instead she just launches right into schoolwork. Not that I’d want to say hello — I’d rather be saying good-bye.

  When I don’t answer, Millicent makes a face. “I thought not.” She pushes a book toward me. “Read this,” she orders.

  I grab the book and give her a good glare before staring down at the words.

  “Out loud,” Millicent demands. “Read it out loud.”

  Before I even finish the title, she barks, “Louder and with feeling! Robert Frost did not pen ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’ so Stanford Wong could mangle his poetry.”

  I hate Millicent Min.

  I read her stupid poem. When I am done, Millicent says, “Read it again.”

  “Awwww,” I start to protest, but her eyes are shooting lasers at me. It’s amazing how frightening she can be, especially since she’s such a puny little weakling.

  I read the poem out loud five more times. When I finally finish, Millicent looks smug. “Whose woods is he in?” she asks.

  “How am I supposed to know that?” I snap. “He’s probably trespassing and will get arrested.”

  “Do you think the narrator of the poem is trespassing?”

  “That’s what I just said.”

  “Why do you think the horse stopped?”

  “Maybe he had to pee. That’s why you should never eat yellow snow.”

  She doesn’t even smile. I hate Millicent Min.

  “How would you describe the setting of the poem?”

  “Freezing,” I tell her. This is boring. “And dark. They are probably lost. They may even die in the woods and never be found until the snow thaws. Then there will be two skeletons, a man and a horse.”

  I imagine Millicent lost in the woods. This cheers me up a bit.

  Before she can ask me something else, I ask, “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be helping me? Shouldn’t you be giving me the answers?”

  “True,” Millicent says, all prissy, “my job is to help you. But I merely lead you to the questions. The answers you have to discover on your own.”

  “Then what good are you?”

  “I have promises to keep,” Millicent growls, “like agreeing to tutor you. How is it even possible that you are Sarah Wong’s brother?”

  I hate Millicent Min.

  “Well, how’s it possible that your parents are normal and you’re not?” I ask her. “Did they adopt you from the Human Society?”

  Millicent bursts out laughing, “You mean the Humane Society?”

  “I meant to say that,” I sputter. “I said it wrong on purpose.”

  It takes Millicent a while to stop snickering. I am still stewing as she continues to grill me about the horsey poem. The more questions she asks, the more confused I get.

  “Stanford, what does the darkness symbolize?”

  “Stanford, why is the imagery so important?”

  “Stanford, do you agree that the second stanza has an unbroken curve of rhythm?”

  How can we talk about a dumb poem for so long when the poem is so short? I can’t wait to get out of here and onto the basketball court. I wish Millicent would just shut up. I feel like the guy in the poem who has miles to go.

  I hate Millicent Min.

  JULY 3, 2:45 P.M.

  Teacher Torturer tried to trip up SSSSpy today. However, much to his tormentor’s surprise, I responded, “The horse is confused because he can’t find the farm and they still have to go a long way before it’s time to chill out.”

  “Stanford,” Mr. Glick said, looking at me over his glasses. “You are right on target.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes, yes,” he said excitedly. He turned to the class. “Who can elaborate on Stanford’s observations? Stanford just told us that the narrator and the horse have been together a long time. Yet there are miles left on their journey. That’s why the narrator says his horse must be confuse
d that they are stopping.”

  I said all that? Several hands in the room shot up. Mr. Glick pointed to a girl in the front. “Kate, could you build on Stanford’s premise?”

  *

  “Stanford!!!” the Roadrunners shout as I near the court. They always greet me like I’m some sort of hero. I pull my shoulders back. Stretch tosses the ball to me and we immediately start playing.

  “You look happy,” Gus says. “You must have had a good day at work.”

  “Yeah,” I tell him. “Today wasn’t bad.”

  JULY 4, 6:31 P.M.

  Last Fourth of July, Maddie gave Yin-Yin some illegal Chinese firecrackers. My mother kept yelping at every pop, and my father laughed a lot. It was pretty great.

  This year Yin-Yin is locked away at Vacation Village. We begged her to come home to visit, but she won’t leave her room, not even to eat. Someone has to bring her all her meals. I thought all the activities at Vacation Village were supposed to cheer her up.

  We all stopped by this afternoon. Sarah gave Yin-Yin a glittery Uncle Sam hat and forced her to wear it. Mom brought an apple pie from Butterfield’s Bakery. The pie was untouched when we left. From the parking lot I spotted Yin-Yin staring out the window still wearing her hat. I waved to her, but she did not wave back. She probably didn’t see me.

  Now Mom, Dad, Sarah, and I are sitting in the backyard not talking, this time because Dad made his famous barbecue beef teriyaki sticks.

  “Is that what I sent you to Stanford University for? To come home with crazy ideas?” Dad rarely uses that tone on Sarah; usually it’s reserved for me.

  “It’s not crazy,” Sarah shoots back as she crunches on a carrot. “Being a vegetarian is very healthy.”

  “No, it’s not. Everyone needs to eat meat,” Dad informs her, holding out a teriyaki stick. Sarah sets it down on her paper plate and picks up another carrot.

  I’m happy he is mad at my sister for a change. To earn extra points, I eat all my teriyaki sticks and then eat Sarah’s too. She lines up her baked beans with her fork and frowns. Just when the silence is going to kill us, Digger shows up with Gus.

  “Hello, Mrs. Wong!” Digger says. “You look nice today.”