Making Friends with Billy Wong

by Augusta Scattergood

  Before long, it was so hot, prisspot Melinda was wiping sweat off her face with a lace hankie. She sat down and took off her tennis shoes. Admired her nail polish, then rolled her blue jeans up higher. Finally, she filled up a watering can and drenched the orange spider lilies and her red toenails. Willis stayed between his sister and Melinda, shielding Lizzie from that stuck-up girl. He shoveled a few dead stalks before he jerked his head in Billy’s direction. “I’m not doing this. You’ve got him to help. Everybody knows Chinamen love to work.”

  The back of my neck prickled up with heat and exasperation and I clenched what was left of my nails into my palms so hard they stung. “Why do you have to be so hateful?”

  Willis stuck his chin out, his face the exact color of Grandma Clark’s ripest tomato. Now he stood so close that his words were like spit bouncing off Billy’s forehead. “You think you’re smarter than anybody. Faster, too. Coming to our school to show off.”

  “What are you talking about?” Billy said.

  “You’re gonna hate it. Don’t belong here. Won’t have friends. Too skinny and scared of your own shadow. All you can do is work at that dumb grocery store and run fast.”

  All I could do right now was remember how much I hated

  talking

  talking to boys like Willis

  being in charge of my grandmother’s garden and these blasted helpers.

  But Billy Wong was my friend.

  “Why do you care if Billy runs fast?”

  “None of your beeswax, Miss Goody Two-shoes. But everybody knows I was going to be the junior high track star. Till he came along.”

  “It’s called a track team, Willis. For a reason,” Billy said. Then he did what my daddy tells me is the best solution to hatefulness. “Tell Mrs. Clark I hope she feels better. I’ll be back to help later.” He stood up taller, turned the other cheek, and headed toward his bike.

  Lizzie scooted up to her brother. Her lip quivered and snot was running out of her nose and I didn’t even care. Willis was nothing but mean. Glancing toward the kitchen, I prayed my grandmother would perk up, march outside, and tell these helpers to go away. I wanted her standing by my side, blessing Willis out.

  But there wasn’t a sound coming from the house because Grandma Clark was still asleep. I took two very deep breaths to make my heart slow down. “Go home, Willis,” I hollered. “Don’t come back. I mean it!”

  Willis grabbed his sister’s hand and marched her toward the back alley. Before he left, he took out his big wad of chewed-up Bazooka and jammed it right on the side of the garden shed.

  Wait till I tell Grandma Clark all the bad things that boy did. Being hateful to Billy. Not working in her garden like the judge said. Breaking into our shed. She and that Miss Partridge lady would haul Willis DeLoach off to jail and hide the key.

  But I couldn’t blab to my grandmother. She’d know I hadn’t told her the truth last night.

  After everybody cleared out and I put away the tools and garden hose, I needed peace and quiet. Before I made it to my room, I fixed a sandwich for Grandma Clark and poked my head in to see how she was feeling.

  She was struggling to sit up in bed, asking a million questions. Get me some iced tea with this sandwich, Azalea. Can you prop up my pillows better? Did those helpers trample all over my rosebushes? Did you ever figure out why my shed light was left on?

  I told her we’d watered her fig tree and the spider lilies. That Mrs. Wong had sent a chicken and Melinda made cookies. I did not tell her Willis was mean to Billy again or that Willis and his sister had trespassed. I especially didn’t confess that my stomach was tied up in knots tighter than her tomato stalks.

  By the afternoon, Grandma Clark had dozed off listening to her radio show. I carefully wrote a note in my best script and left it on the table next to her reading glasses.

  Gone to Lucky Foods.

  Be back soon.

  Azalea

  The vacant lot across from the grocery was full of boys and baseballs. And a whole lot of whooping and hollering.

  Guess who was standing next to the tallest boy, running around like crazy catching fly balls. My friend Billy, that’s who. I watched from the other side of the street till Mrs. Wong motioned from the door.

  “Thanks for letting me play!” Billy called out, and he disappeared inside. By the time I walked through the front door of Lucky Foods, he was behind the counter, reading the scraps of paper under the glass.

  “Hey, Billy. What’re you doing?” Even when I squinted hard, I couldn’t make out the squiggly writing.

  “Notes from my great-uncle.” Stepping around the cash register, he tapped the counter with a pencil. “You here to shop?”

  His huge smile and him not staying mad at me made me whisper a confession. “Escaping Grandma Clark. I’m fed up with her.”

  “Really?” Billy pushed the pencil behind his ear and looked me straight in the eye. “She counts on you now.”

  “I’m sick and tired of people counting on me. I’m ready to go home to Texas and stop worrying about her falling in the garden.” I was also sick and tired of worrying about Willis and Lizzie in the shed. But nobody could know that. So I changed the subject.

  “Saw you out there throwing balls with those boys.”

  “Since that lot’s so close to Lucky Foods, I catch with them when it’s slow in here. Great Aunt keeps an eye on me from her kitchen window.” He nodded toward the closed door at the back of the store and lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “Sometimes I think my great-aunt has Superman’s X-ray vision. She sees everything I do!” Then he laughed and said, “But you can cheer me on any time. Or come play with us.”

  I remembered Daddy teaching me to catch a ball. It was a disaster.

  “I’m better at watching. Far away from a baseball. From across the street, even.” Billy talking about his great-aunt’s superpower reminded me of what my grandmother had told me. “Superman’s showing at the movie theater outside of town. Grandma Clark promised she’ll treat us when she’s feeling good enough to drive. If that ever happens.”

  “Tell her no thanks. I can’t leave the store that long.”

  Was Billy still mad? I didn’t want him even a little bit mad. “Then you wanna ride bikes with me?”

  Billy’s head jerked straight up and his glasses slipped down on his nose. “Not to the DeLoaches’ pecan grove.”

  “Nope. Not a chance.”

  “Then maybe. But right now? I need to collect my school supplies.” Billy reached way under the counter. He held up a mimeographed list: Paris Junction School System. Seventh grade, 1952–53. “English, world history, PE.” He started reciting his class schedule by heart. “I can’t wait.”

  Oh, brother. I couldn’t help it. I rolled my eyes. “You’re excited about school. I’m hoping to get back to Texas before all the recess buddies have been decided and my best friend’s been dibbed by somebody else.”

  “Maybe you’re better than you think at making new friends.”

  “Not so sure about that.”

  “My sister, May Lin, says trust somebody first. Before you make them a friend for life. She’s worried I want to be friends with everybody.” Billy laughed again. His laugh always made me smile. “May Lin says they might not be the best kinds of friends.”

  “Your sister’s right.”

  “Paris Junction School has a party before the first day. For everybody to meet us new students.” Billy tucked his chin down. He didn’t look at me like he usually does. He wasn’t smiling now. “I don’t think I’ll go.”

  “I don’t like parties either. I’m better one person at a time.”

  Now his voice was so soft, I had to lean in to hear. But the grocery store got quiet, too, like it was listening for something important. “My sister worries some white students may not want me at the party. Or their school. People like Willis, maybe.”

  “Where does Willis think you should go to school? He doesn’t get to tell you what to do!”


  “The reason I moved here to live with my great-aunt and uncle was to go to a school like Paris Junction. In Shallowater, Chinese students aren’t allowed in schools for whites. The Negro schools I could go to had used textbooks and broken pencils.” Billy’s voice reminded me of my grandmother’s the day she told me about how my granddaddy never got to know me. So very sad.

  “Anyhow, Great Uncle’s glad I’m here, glad I’m at a great school. But he can’t let me off work for a party.” His voice got stronger. “I hope he’ll let me join the school newspaper.”

  When Billy grabbed a shopping basket, I followed him to the back corner. To the jars of bright yellow unsharpened pencils. Square erasers. Clean notebooks. He picked up a fat pen and a pot of black ink. He added a wooden ruler to his basket. “I’ll buy the rest at Jay’s Department Store in Shallowater,” he said.

  “If you stay here for school, won’t you miss your family?”

  “My parents come twice a week to bring things to Lucky Foods. Besides, this is my family. Great Aunt and Uncle. I even have cousins in Paris Junction.”

  I chewed on my lip, tossing around how a big family would feel. A sister and brother, aunts and uncles, cousins. Billy had them all.

  Before I put a question together, the door banged open and a man stepped inside. Billy put down his school supplies and stood behind the counter. But I didn’t want to talk to another complete stranger. Escaping to the back of the store, I counted pencils and notebooks till he slammed the door and left.

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “He owned the other food store across Main Street. Fancy candy and fancier writing paper than Lucky Foods. Great Uncle says it closed last month. His business comes here now.”

  “He wasn’t very friendly. Grandma Clark says everybody loves shopping at your store.”

  “Mrs. Clark even buys sewing patterns here. Gets advice from Great Aunt about making aprons. Maybe you’d like to learn?”

  I held up my bandaged finger. “Almost cut this off with a knife slicing tomatoes. Sewing? With a sharp needle? Me?”

  Before Billy could talk me into buying a Simplicity apron pattern, I said good-bye. Waving a stack of Big Chief notebooks, he held open the screen door. “See you around, Azalea!” he called.

  I took a deep sunshiny breath outside Lucky Foods. The smell of new paper had reminded me of doodling pictures on the side of my arithmetic homework.

  It also reminded me I’d be lucky to get back to Texas in time to buy my school supplies.

  Keeping Notes on Lucky Foods

  My Private File

  The screen door pushes open.

  The bell ting-a-lings.

  A white man steps inside, tall, frowning.

  Hat pulled close over his forehead.

  Eyes darting fast

  from Kay’s Cookies to Dum Dum suckers,

  cash register to cigar boxes.

  “Need me some garden fertilizer,” he snarls.

  “Near the fishing lures,” I answer, nicely.

  He draws his words out.

  “Bologna? Cheese? Bread?”

  “Right this way, sir,” I say.

  I reach into the cool case of cheese and lunch meat.

  Weigh a thick wedge of cheddar.

  Punch the cash register’s round buttons.

  Hand the man groceries.

  Watch him leave.

  He’ll go in my stories.

  Mixed together with

  track meets,

  Future Farmers,

  Student Council,

  dusting soup cans,

  pricing crushable cracker boxes.

  And new friends.

  Property of Billy Wong, Spy

  I’d pedaled my bike almost to Ruby Street when I heard Billy’s voice. “Wait up, Azalea! Great Uncle says if I’m not gone long, I can ride over to my new school. See the seventh-grade classrooms. Wanna come?”

  Since Grandma Clark was surely sound asleep, I followed him. We propped our bikes next to bright yellow flowers planted around the Paris Junction School sign. “This place is gigantic! I’d get lost in a minute.” But Billy walked right up to the front door. Even though anybody could see as plain as day it was locked tight, he rattled the handle. I reached out and put my hand on his. “It’s locked. If you keep banging, we’ll look like a couple of crooks!”

  Billy jiggled the door again. “I want to see inside,” he said.

  When a man taller than even my daddy appeared not two feet away, I looked for a bush to jump behind. Pushing his sunglasses off his eyes, he touched the lanyard hanging around his neck. Criminy! Was he about to blow that shiny whistle?

  I stepped around Billy, who isn’t hardly as tall as me and just as skinny. So smushing up behind him wasn’t making me disappear. I covered my ears, waiting for the blast that would bring Paris Junction’s policemen running.

  “You youngsters need something?” His voice wasn’t as scary as he looked.

  Billy answered, “I’m going to school here. Seventh grade.”

  The man leaned closer. “Are you the Wong boy?”

  “I’m Billy Wong.”

  “I’m Coach Walker. Heard you’re a runner, ready to break our track records. Once school starts, come by the gym. We’ll get you fitted out in shoes and a uniform. Okay?”

  Billy looked like he might sprint around the building right now! “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “Today the building’s locked up tight ’cept for folks getting things ready.” Coach Walker turned, then stopped and said, “Welcome to your school, Billy!”

  My friend stared and smiled at that coach’s back the entire way down the sidewalk.

  “Wow. You’re gonna be a track star. Like Willis said.”

  “Well, not exactly a star. At least not for a while.” He stuffed his hands in his back jeans pockets and smiled some more. “My brother, Peter, was fast. But the Chinese Mission School where he and May Lin went didn’t have a team. On the days Great Uncle could spare him at the store, the coach let him come here to run.”

  I remembered what Willis had said about running fast. “Is that the reason Willis is so mean to you? He’s jealous?”

  “Whether he likes it or not, it’s my school, too.” Billy pushed his bike toward a long row of windows, low enough to see through, then stopped. “Wonder which is my homeroom. I have the best teacher, Miss Jones.”

  “You do?”

  “My sister’s white friends from church told her about the teachers. Paris Junction’s got clubs and sports and harder classes than the school I would have gone to back home.” When he talked about his new school, Billy’s eyes lit up as bright as Coach Walker’s silver whistle.

  “You’re lucky to have a sister who tells you stuff like that.”

  Billy nodded, then pointed toward a window. “Hey, I think that’s the cafeteria.”

  “Back in Texas last year, fifth grade, we packed lunches and ate in our classrooms. Or went home to eat.” Remembering walking home, having Mama waiting with peanut butter and banana sandwiches? Made me wish I’d see her and Daddy soon.

  Billy rubbed a summer’s worth of dirt off a windowpane, then jumped back. “Hey, who’s that?”

  I cupped my hands around my eyes. “Willis? Willis DeLoach? What’s he doing?”

  Billy pressed his nose harder to the window. “Can’t really see.”

  “Holy crow! Is he cleaning tables? Didn’t think Willis did a lick of work unless somebody was holding a shovel over him.” Willis’s chin was almost dragging on the ground. “He looks like he’d rather have his fingernails pulled out one by one.”

  After a minute, Willis disappeared, then there he was again, with a bucket and a rag, scowling even more. I couldn’t help it. When he got to the long table in front of us, I tapped the window and waved. Willis turned his back quick and hustled toward the boxes labeled Mister Bee Potato Chips.

  Truthfully, my stomach twisted up thinking about Willis. He’d promised to clear out of my grandmothe
r’s shed. But if he’s here working all day? Tonight, Willis will be back sleeping where it’s safe.

  Maybe I should spill the beans to Billy about him and Lizzie.

  Before I could find the right words, Billy said, “That lady is his daddy’s sister. She comes into our grocery store. Great Aunt told me she runs the cafeteria.”

  “Willis doesn’t act like such a big shot wearing a white hairnet.” The minute I said that, almost like he’d heard, Willis ripped off the hairnet. He slammed his palm against the window and leaned in so close I could just about see his freckles popping out.

  Billy crossed his arms, staring back. “He can’t hurt us. He’s stuck inside. Can’t say one mean thing about this being his school.”

  I flipped my head around to get my ponytails off my hot neck and the picture of Willis out of my brain. “I should go. Grandma Clark might need me.”

  Billy turned, then stopped. “Almost forgot. My sister’s senior piano recital is the Sunday before school starts. Maybe you’d like to come? Mrs. Clark, too. My whole family will be there.”

  A piano recital. With lots of new people. But now that I was friends with Billy, it might not feel like a room full of hard-to-talk-to strangers. We jumped on our bikes and he whistled a song, kicking his feet off the pedals, acting crazy.

  “Hey, wait a minute. My daddy sings that to Mama, spinning around our kitchen after supper, pretending they’re on some island.”

  “My father does, too. But he just sings, no dancing.”

  Billy broke out into the funniest version of “Some Enchanted Evening,” and I joined in. “You may see a straaaannnngeeerrrr!” we warbled together.

  Both of us pedaled off, singing about enchanted evenings and crowded rooms like we were famous opera stars. When we got to Lucky Foods, I stopped my bike next to the phone booth.

  “Hey, Billy. I just remembered. When I first came to Paris Junction, I wanted to call Mama and beg her to come save me. Almost every day.”

  “See, it’s not so bad here.” Billy walked his bike behind Lucky Foods. I waved good-bye, trying to balance my bike with one hand.