by Andrea Cheng
I shake my head.
“Just wondering.” Andee takes a deep breath. “Okay, I’d better go. See you later.”
Andee goes out to the car. I want to run after her and say, Andee, wait, you used to love it at my house, remember? But she has already shut the car door. I stand in the doorway, staring out into the front yard. The wind is cool and leaves are blowing off the apple tree. I go back inside to get my sweatshirt, then step outside. Fall has always been my favorite time of year. After months of heat and humidity, I love the smell of leaves and the taste of crisp Jonathan apples. But today I feel like crying. Andee obviously doesn’t like Fan, and now it seems as if she doesn’t like me either. And Fan is not very happy, especially when she gets low grades. For a moment I wish Fan had never come to America in the first place. Then Andee would have gotten a regular AFS student who had studied English for many years and wore fashionable clothes like hers.
The wind blows my hair across my face. I feel like taking a long walk by myself, but I can’t just leave Fan alone in the house. I take a deep breath and go back into the living room.
Fan shows me her history quiz. There are ten short-answer questions, and she only got credit for two. “Very terrible,” she says.
“That’s because English is not your first language,” I say.
She closes her eyes. “I must study more.” She sits on the edge of my bed and reads the history book, mouthing the words silently.
I look through my planner. I have to answer ten questions about To Kill a Mockingbird for English and do a page of math problems, but I don’t feel like doing either. The only teacher I really like this year is Mr. Freeman. I love the way he teaches history by focusing on a specific thing. First it was sugar, and now we’re looking at salt. I never knew that salt used to be considered something really valuable, almost like gold. In the Middle Ages, people even fought wars over it. Mr. Freeman shows us how we can see the history of the world in something so ordinary, something we use every day.
I open my math book to page 92, but instead of copying the problems into my notebook, I write a note to Andee.
Dear Andee,
I wonder why you seem so different from how you used to be. I am guessing it has something to do with Fan. Or have I hurt your feelings? Is something else wrong?
I start doodling in the corner of the page. I have so many questions, but I don’t think I should interrogate Andee. Maybe I should try to tell her how I feel instead:
When you went out to sit in the car today, I felt like crying. I remembered how you used to love to come over to my house, and suddenly I wished we had never invited Fan to come to America, and things would be like they used to be. But maybe that’s not true because I know things always change.
Your friend, Anna
After I sign my name, my eyes get teary. I reach for a tissue and blow my nose.
Fan looks up. “You cannot do the problems?” she asks.
“I’m starting over,” I say, flipping the note over quickly and copying the first math problem onto a clean page.
After lunch, Fan sits down at the computer and finds a message from home. She is happy at first, but then her face drops. “My grandfather is sick again,” she says. She reads the short note several times. Then she sits on the sofa and stares at the cover of the history book.
I sit next to her. “Maybe it’s not so serious. Maybe he just has the flu.”
“My mother is working in the day and in the night. Baba too. They need to buy medicine for Gong Gong. Now I cannot help.”
“Do you want to go back to China?”
Fan raises her eyebrows. “I cannot give up. I cannot disappoint my family.”
Mom comes in carrying Kaylee, and I tell her about the email. She sits on the other side of Fan with Kaylee on her lap. “You are our daughter in America,” Mom says in Chinese. “But you have your first family in China. Please ask your mother how we can help.”
“Xie xie,” Fan says, then opens the history book and starts reading.
Mom takes Andee’s mom into the kitchen when she comes to get Fan. I hear them talking in low voices, and I guess Mom is telling her about Fan’s grandfather.
Instead of going out to wait in the car, Andee opens her backpack. “Can you help me with my Chinese homework?” she asks Fan.
“Fan’s grandfather is sick,” I say.
“Is it serious?” Andee asks, sitting next to Fan at the dining room table.
“Sick is serious,” Fan says. Then she takes Andee’s notebook and corrects the mistakes with her purple pen. “Write the Chinese words like this.” Her voice is clear and sure. She shows Andee how to make the strokes in the right order.
Andee tries again.
“No,” Fan says. “This way.” She takes the pen and rewrites three of the characters.
“Mine look the same,” Andee says.
“No,” Fan says. “Not the same. Chinese writing must look beautiful. This way. One, two, three, four.”
Andee tries once more.
“Better,” Fan says.
“Thank you for helping me.” Andee is controlling her voice and speaking more slowly than usual. “I’m sorry to hear about your grandfather. I hope he feels better soon.”
“He is not better.” Fan stands up, crosses the living room, and walks slowly up the stairs.
Andee looks at me. “We can send money to her family,” she says. “For medicine or whatever they need. Or, I bet we can get the medicine here if we can find out exactly what it is. My mom uses these international courier services to send things all over the world.”
I can tell Andee wants to help, and Fan’s grandfather probably does need more medicine, but Andee sounds as if she knows how to solve the problem right away. Shouldn’t she first try to understand more about how Fan feels? “I don’t think—” I take a deep breath and start again. “When Fan was little, she stayed with her grandparents in the countryside while her parents lived in Beijing to earn more money. Her grandparents really raised her.”
“So what do you think they need?”
“We should ask Fan. She’s the one who knows.”
“I wonder if Fan should go back to China.” Andee swallows hard. “I think she’s been pretty unhappy with us. Even if she doesn’t go back, she should live with you.” Her voice breaks. “Maybe she’d be happier.” Then Andee is talking and crying at once. “Everything I suggest, she just shakes her head. All she ever wants to do is study. We even asked her if she wanted to see New York City, and she said no.” Andee looks up. “We try to be generous, but she—I really think she’d be better off with your family. But of course my parents completely disagree.”
I reach for my notebook, tear out the page with my note, and hand it to Andee. Her eyes move quickly over the words.
“Sorry,” she says. Her voice comes out in a whisper. “It’s really not your fault.”
Instantly, I feel better. But there is still so much I don’t understand.
Andee takes a deep breath. “Now that her grandfather is sick, maybe she really should go home. I asked her if she wanted to, but she said she doesn’t want to disappoint her family.”
“She’s only been here for two months,” I say.
“It feels like forever.”
Fan is coming down the stairs. She has washed her face and pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail. I wonder if she heard what Andee said.
Andee’s mother comes into the living room and puts her arm around Fan’s shoulders. “When we get home, we will talk about next steps,” she says.
Fan stands stiffly without answering. Then the three of them walk out to the car.
Chapter Nine
CAT
Hideat and I decide to have the first CAT meeting without the high schoolers. We put flyers up in the middle school halls on Monday, and eleven students show up in Mr. Freeman’s room on Wednesday afternoon.
I feel nervous about running the meeting, but once we get started, everything falls into plac
e. There are five sixth-graders, four seventh-graders including Hideat and me, and two eighth-graders. I write an agenda on the board the way Andee always did. Then I show a Power Point presentation of the projects we did last year: mentoring first-graders, fundraising for an orphanage in Africa, and knitting hats for babies in China. I ask everyone to brainstorm about things they would like to do this year. One girl says we could organize a book drive for Children’s Hospital. A boy says we could volunteer as tutors for the Literacy Alliance to help people learn to read. Hideat takes notes on everything, and we agree to try to find out more about the specific organizations that we could help and to meet again next week.
“You kids have quite a thing going,” Mr. Freeman says after the other students are gone. He wants to know more about the activities we did last year, so I tell him about my trip to Kaylee’s orphanage in China to deliver the hats. He listens hard. “You kids really do things,” he says. “Not just talk about them.” He smiles. “I guess that makes sense, Community Action Team. Keep me in the loop if I can help.”
Talking to Mr. Freeman makes me miss the old Andee. Last year, she was the one who was always ready to make a plan of action, not me. She was the one with the notebook full of steps to take.
I glance at the clock. It’s three thirty, and Dad is coming to pick me up in an hour. Fan said she has volleyball practice after school on Wednesdays, so I head over to the gym. I take a shortcut across the field between the middle school and the high school. The air is warm, but the wind is strong. It blows dust from the field into a cloud that stings my eyes. I hurry toward the school building.
When I get to the gym, Fan is in the back row, holding the ball. She plants her feet, tosses the ball, and slams it over the net. The other team can’t return her power serve.
“Way to go!” the coach calls.
A couple of the girls pat Fan on the back.
Instead of doing my homework, I sit in the bleachers and watch the practice. Fan is the shortest one on the team, but she jumps higher than everyone else and slams the ball down fast. She seems confident and sure on the court, like she did on the crowded bus in China. But most of the rest of the time in America, like at my house or at Andee’s, at the grocery store, or in the school hallway, she seems small and scared.
The girls on the volleyball team look like adults to me, and suddenly I feel self-conscious in my baggy T-shirt with my flat chest. When I told Mom I wanted to get a bra, she said Asians usually mature later, and I really don’t need one yet.
When the game is over, the girls cluster around Fan. The coach has a big flip chart showing all the schools they are going to play against, and the tournament dates. “I’ll send everyone an email with the schedule,” she says. “Make sure you come to every practice. And don’t forget to do your exercises at home.”
Fan sees me and walks over to the bleachers. “Hi, Anna. You stay after school today?”
“I had the Community Action Team meeting.”
The coach comes by and tells Fan that she should run laps to keep up her endurance. I’m not sure if Fan understands, but she nods.
“You’re really good,” I say.
Fan looks over at the coach and lowers her voice. “I like volleyball. But I have to stop. I have to study. Volleyball has no future, but study English can help my family.” Fan picks up her jacket.
“I don’t think you should quit,” I say. “You’re the best one on the team.”
Fan shakes her head. “Study more is better.”
I remember what Andee said about how Fan never wants to do anything except study. Maybe she really is stubborn. We go outside and stand by the curb. The wind is gusty now, and leaves are swirling off the maple tree. One lands in the hood of Fan’s sweatshirt. “That’s good luck,” I say.
Fan doesn’t understand.
“If you catch a leaf, you will have good luck.”
“The leaf catches me is still good luck?” Fan asks.
“Yes! Maybe that means you will win the volleyball tournament.”
Fan takes the leaf out of her hood. “The meaning is Gong Gong will get well,” she says.
Soon after I get home the phone rings, and I am surprised to hear Andee’s voice. “Fan said you had a CAT meeting.”
“We met after school in Mr. Freeman’s room.”
“I thought we were going to do CAT together,” she says.
“But you said you were too busy.”
“I just said I didn’t want to start right away.” Andee’s voice has an edge that I’ve never heard before.
Kaylee is chasing Ken around the kitchen while Dad is cooking dinner. Andee is right. I should have asked her again before I just scheduled a meeting. I want to tell Andee that I’m sorry, and that we can schedule the next meeting together. I want to see if she can come over so we can plan some projects. I want to ask her what high school is really like. But I can hardly talk.
“Did you schedule the next meeting?” she asks.
My voice comes out in a whisper. “It’s after Thanksgiving. On Wednesday.”
“Okay.”
Andee doesn’t say “See you soon” or anything like that. All she says is “Bye.”
Chapter Ten
The Swallow
Andee’s family is going skiing in Vermont over Thanksgiving. They invite Fan, but she doesn’t want to go. Andee and her mother bring her over on Tuesday night, and she goes right upstairs to study.
“I told you,” Andee says.
“I think she’s really worried about her grandfather.”
“We’ve told her that she can call anytime she wants, and that we’ll buy her a ticket home if she decides to go. We even offered to buy her another ticket to come back again if she wants to finish the school year. We’ve suggested just about everything we can think of.”
Andee’s voice is getting louder, and I feel the usual lump growing in my throat, but this time I will not let it keep me from talking. “Fan thinks that studying is the only way she can help her family.”
Andee cuts me off. “Don’t you think I know that? You think I know nothing about different cultures when I’ve traveled all over the place ever since I was born? Fan is the one who is closed-minded.”
The late-afternoon sun is coming through the window and reflecting the blue stone in Andee’s necklace. Her face looks beautiful with her long neck and frizzy hair. But her eyes are angry. “Why would she come to another country if she just wants to hole up in a room?” she adds.
My voice is louder. “You can’t tell her what she should do. You don’t know what she feels like or anything about her life.”
“I ask her about her life all the time. But there’s nothing I can do if she won’t talk. At least not to me.”
Andee’s cheeks are red and her eyes are swollen and I suddenly feel sorry for her. Then we see that Fan has been standing in the hallway, listening. She has on her pajamas like the first night she arrived, and her hair is a mess. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Dui bu qui.” She gives me a piece of paper and runs back upstairs.
I read the note silently and hand it to Andee:
One girl,
two sad eyes.
Thanksgiving is coming
and I give thanks
to two girls,
my sisters in America.
I am sorry.
Andee’s mom comes into the living room. “We better get going. We have to pack up all of our skiing things tonight, and our plane leaves at six in the morning.” She doesn’t seem to notice her daughter’s red cheeks and watery eyes.
“Have a good time,” Mom says. “And be careful on the mountain.”
Andee opens the door, and a blast of cold air hits my face.
“I think winter’s coming early,” her mom says. She grabs Andee’s arm and they hurry to their car.
When I go upstairs, Fan is lying on the very edge of my bed, sound asleep. I get my pajamas on in the dark and slip into bed.
In the middle of the night, I
hear a sound. Is it the wind? Or Ken coming in to spend the night? Then I feel the bed move and I see that it is Fan, trying to muffle her sobs in her pillow.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper.
She doesn’t answer.
“Are you worried about your grandfather?”
She looks at me in the near dark. “Everything. Grandfather and Mama and Baba and Little Monkey.” She wipes her nose on her sleeve. “And you and Andee.”
“Me?”
She takes a deep breath. “Andee is your friend. When you were in China, she makes you good-luck fortunes. And now you fight. It is my fault.”
“It’s our fault,” I say.
“Andee is not happy with me,” Fan says.
“Maybe you should do more things with her family,” I say. “I think it will be fun.”
Fan sits up. “I come to America for success. Not for fun.”
“I know. But . . .” I don’t know how to explain myself in English or in Chinese. “I think you should try.”
“I am trying,” Fan says. “Every day I study so many new words.”
“I mean try to join Andee and her family,” I say.
“Andee does not listen when I talk.”
“Maybe you don’t listen to her, either.”
Fan lies back down and turns onto her stomach with her face in the pillow.
“Fan?”
She doesn’t answer.
I turn toward the window. Soon Andee will be on a ski slope in Vermont. I wish I could talk to her right now. Fan really is stubborn. She wants to do things the way she did in China, the way she was taught, and when you suggest a new way, she shuts down. Andee has her ideas too. I guess everyone is like that because the only person’s life you really know is your own.
