by Susan Tan
Ms. Cotton turns the page. “Um, then.” She clears her throat. “‘Then the kitten woke up and decided to go for a walk.’” (Michael Lerner, purple cat, in a park.)
And then the most amazing thing happens.
“Was that your page?” a girl sitting close by leans toward you, whispering excitedly.
“Yes,” you whisper back nervously.
“WOW,” the girl says with a big smile. “I want to visit the magical princess of the moon!”
“I’m Cilla,” you say to your first-ever fan.
“I’m Colleen,” she says back. And for the first time, you’re glad to be in kindergarten.
* * *
After story time, Ms. Lynn came up to me and said, “Great story!” And Ms. Cotton said, “What an imagination, Cilla.”
So I smiled and said, “Yes. Thank you.”
Colleen and I went to recess together and sat on the swings, and I told her more about the magical princess of the moon, and she told me about her imaginary friend named Sheffield, who is a giant pink canary.
And I knew then that I’d found a best friend.
After that day, I had someone to sit with at snack time, and to play with on the playground. Colleen introduced me to Rosa and Sally. I even played with Sophie, and she wasn’t so bad anymore, now that I had Colleen to be my friend.
I liked kindergarten after that. As it turns out, you can learn a lot there. I learned that you don’t have to play kickball at recess, especially when a best friend is there to help you build little houses for the fairies you’ve imagined (and who you’re sure will come and live in them after dark). When you find a big stick buried in the dirt and want to pretend it’s a dinosaur bone and that you’ve just made the scientific discovery of a lifetime, your best friend will pretend along with you, even though you both know it’s probably just a stick. Your best friend will play with you on the bus, and you’ll pretend your hands are dinosaurs and put on a show for only yourselves and laugh so hard that it takes you a minute to realize the whole bus is looking at you. But your best friend won’t care.
And as I explained to my dad when I got off the bus today and he asked me how it had gone with Colleen, it turns out that when there’s a best friend involved, trouble with words isn’t all that big a deal. Because your best friend knows that there’s more to you than the words you accidentally say, or don’t say. And you know the same thing about her.
So when you’re feeling shy and quiet, or are just sitting there happy that she’s there too, like I was today, your best friend will sit with you, and it’s okay to feel like not saying anything.
Though this doesn’t happen much, I’ve found. Because when there’s a best friend involved, there are always things to talk about, and more than enough words to go around.
And I should know.
Words are my life’s work, after all.
7
QUESTIONS
Right now it’s spring break, which is when you get a week off from school and Ms. Bloom goes to Aruba. Colleen’s away too, though not in Aruba. She’s visiting her grandma and grandpa, and she’s going to be her grandma’s Special Helper while she gets better.
My spring break has been good. Colleen slept over at my house before she left, and we baked cookies and played in the yard and had an AMAZING time. I was happy that my mom suggested Colleen come over here, because the last time I had a sleepover at her house, it didn’t go so well. Specifically, I got scared and my dad had to come and take me home.
I’ve been spending a lot of time with my mom and dad, and with my Nai Nai and Ye Ye and Grandma and Grandpa Jenkins. In fact, yesterday, I got to go to work with Grandpa Jenkins, which is always A LOT of fun.
My Grandpa Jenkins is a lawyer, and he says I’ll be a lawyer too when I grow up. This is because I ask lots of questions, such as, why is your hair disappearing? Or, what’s antifungal cream and why is it in your bathroom?
Grandpa Jenkins also says I’m an excellent bargainer. For example, when my grandpa takes me to the toy store for a special treat and tells me I can get one thing, I sometimes say, “Look, I’ll tell you what. How about if I get the teddy bear and the stegosaurus, but not the sparkly cow stickers? Does that work for you?”
Even though this never actually works (and didn’t work when it came to The Blob), my Grandpa Jenkins always says, “Golly, the kid is perfect lawyer material.” (“Golly” is the Jenkins way of saying “wow!” or “really!” or “ay yah!”)
I went to work with Grandpa Jenkins because my mom and dad had to go to the doctor’s for the day. (Babies in stomachs need to be checked out A LOT, which isn’t fair, because The Blob isn’t even born yet, so I don’t see why my mom and dad need to spend SO MUCH time with it.) I spent the night before with my Nai Nai and Ye Ye, because my parents had to leave early for The Blob’s appointment. It was great, and Nai Nai cooked sausage in rice, which is delicious.
The next morning, Nai Nai drove me to my grandma and grandpa’s house and we sang in the car like we always do. Then I got to ride the train with Grandpa Jenkins, which is VERY exciting because I’m allowed to stand up as long as I hold on to the pole with both hands.
Grandpa Jenkins works in a tall, tall building with big windows, two elevators, and a man named Harold who always opens the door for us and says, “Silly Lee, give me five!” And I do, even though that’s not my name, because Harold is nice.
Lawyers sit in big offices and move paper around on their desks all day. My Grandpa Jenkins is especially good at this, and also at being on the telephone and saying, “Don, I’ll level with you. Fifty thousand, take it or leave it.” Grandpa Jenkins is the best lawyer out there—he told me so.
When he goes to work, my grandpa wears a dark gray suit with a bow tie instead of a regular tie. He always has a handkerchief in his pocket, and the handkerchief has his initials on it, which he puts there himself because he likes to do something called “embroidery” while he watches cowboy movies at night. On the way to work he wears a straw hat with a dip at the top and a black band around it. My grandma calls him “dapper,” my mom calls him “spiffy,” and my dad calls him “hilarious.”
After I sat in Grandpa Jenkins’s office all morning and drew new pictures for his walls (I’m his official decorator), we went to lunch. This is another big thing with lawyers. I had a grilled cheese sandwich with crispy, curly French fries, and when we were done we split a piece of cake on the condition that he won’t tell my mom and I won’t tell my grandma.
We went back to his office after lunch, and while he moved some more papers around, I spent some time with his secretary named Pam, who’s very nice and calls me “a treasure.” Pam’s desk is outside in the lobby, right next to a giant fish tank that’s fun to sit by. Pam wears very high heels, which is exciting because I love high heels. They make you tall, and you can use them to make homes for worms in your backyard. Also, when you hook high heels on your ears, they stay on. Unfortunately, I will never, ever, “Do you hear me, Young Lady?,” ever be allowed to wear high heels of my own until I’m twenty-five, which is my punishment for the time I accidentally used my mom’s special Prada heels to dig in the dirt. And then I got mud all over the rug when I came inside the house because the shoes were on my ears and the dirt kept falling and I didn’t realize it. My mom was Not Happy, to say the least.
Anyway, yesterday Pam let me help her bring around coffee and tea to the lawyers in the office. Which brings me back to questions. Because lawyers, as I’ve mentioned before, ask a lot of them.
Yesterday, when I went around visiting with the coffee, everyone wanted to know:
1. How are you?
2. Would you like some candy?
3. How’s school?
4. What grade are you in?
5. Wait, really? They grow up so fast! And that makes you how old?
6. Wow. Time flies when you get old, Cilla, did you know that?
Usually, the questions are the same. But today, there was a lawyer there wh
o I hadn’t met before, though Pam said he had been at the firm for a long time. His name is Mr. Lewis, and he was very nice and has hair that’s silver like the pieces of hair my Grandpa Jenkins has just on the sides of his head.
Mr. Lewis offered me candy from the bowl on his desk. And he asked me a new question.
“Lee-Jenkins?” he said. “Quite a special heritage.”
“Thank you,” I said. (Because being special is always a good thing, so it was definitely a compliment.)
“So,” he went on, smiling. “Where are you from?”
I had to think about this for a minute. I’m supposed to be on my Best Behavior at my Grandpa Jenkins’s office, which mostly means saying “please” and “thank you” a lot, but which also means that I need to give polite, grown-up answers to questions, even if I don’t quite understand what they’re asking. But I figured it out, and told him my address.
“Er, yes,” he said, offering me another piece of candy, which I took again, because even though it wasn’t chocolate, peppermint is still delicious. “I mean, where are you from originally?”
“Um.” I had to think about this. I knew there was something he wanted to know, but I didn’t think I understood the question.
So I decided to give him the most honest answer.
“My mom’s stomach,” I said.
I think this was an okay answer, because he didn’t ask anything else after that. He just said, “Oh,” and looked surprised (which was strange, because I’m pretty sure most adults are supposed to know all about babies and stomachs).
“Come on, Cilla,” Pam poked her head into the office, and she must have just heard a funny joke, because she was trying not to laugh. “Your grandpa’s looking for you, and Mr. Lewis probably needs to get back to work.”
“Okay,” I said. “Bye, Mr. Lewis. Thank you for the candy.” (I’m excellent at Best Behavior.)
“Erm, you’re welcome,” he said. He still looked confused, but I figured he’d catch up, eventually.
It’s funny, because even though Mr. Lewis didn’t ask me as many questions as everyone else, I was still thinking about his question later in the day, when we were getting ready to go.
I had just finished saying goodbye to Pam and the fish when my grandpa said, “You’re looking thoughtful, Cilla dear. Everything all right?”
“Yes,” I said, as we stepped into the elevator. And it was, mostly.
“Lawyers really do ask a lot of questions, don’t they?” I asked, after the elevator doors had closed behind us.
“Golly, Cilla.” He laughed. “You’re absolutely right. It’s exhausting, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said. “I don’t know how they get all their work done and lunches eaten with all the time they spend on questions. Golly and ay yah!”
Maybe I’ll look into being a lawyer as a backup job if I ever want a break from bestselling writing. I know it would make my grandpa happy. But I don’t think it will happen. Even though I like knowing things, I don’t think I like questions as much as lawyers do, no matter what Grandpa Jenkins says.
And even though Mr. Lewis said nice things about me, I still didn’t like his question. Because this has happened to me before. I get asked questions A LOT, like “Where are you from?” and “What are you?” (which is the only one I have a good answer to). I used to think these questions were because people could tell I was special (which I am, of course, because Destiny). But now, I’m not so sure if this kind of special is a good thing to be.
I wonder why people need to know these things. I wonder why they’re always so surprised to know the answers.
And I wonder if I’m doing something wrong that makes them need to ask.
* * *
Yesterday, when I got home from my grandpa’s office, my mom and I cuddled on the couch, and I looked at her stomach for a long time. I thought about how everyone will know who I am someday, because I’ll be famous. So no one will need to ask me questions about my family anymore, or what I am, or where I’m from. They’ll just know.
But they won’t know about The Blob. Because The Blob will be a normal, not-famous baby. And I wonder if The Blob will be asked where it’s from. And I wonder what its answer will be, and will people be able to tell that we’re sisters, or will they have to ask about that, too?
I put my ear on my mom’s stomach and listened. I almost patted it, and I almost asked if it would kick this much when it came out of her stomach, and if it was maybe a secret ninja (which would be GREAT). But then I remembered I’m not excited for it to come.
I didn’t talk about Mr. Lewis either, because my parents were smiling and happy. They put on music and danced, and my dad showed me something he calls the tango but my mom calls “embarrassing yourself” (but then she did it too, and seemed to be having a great time, so it can’t be that bad).
And I didn’t want to make them sad.
So I didn’t ask my questions. I’m not brave, or a lawyer. And sometimes, I even think that I don’t want to know the answers at all.
So I guess I never will.
8
FIRST GRADE, READING, AND OTHER STRUGGLES. ALSO, ALIENS
Tonight my mom read to me from Selena Moon and the Moonstone, which is my favorite book. It’s about a girl named Selena Moon who’s brave, and smart, and finds out that she can change the color of the sky with the powers of her mind. She and her best friend, Colin, and his pet chimera, Evelyn, have adventures together, and they foil the plans of the evil Sorcerer Lord, though he promises revenge (as evil Sorcerer Lords do). This is important in the second book, Selena Moon and the Prophecy of the Waxing Crescent, because Colin is kidnapped by the Sorcerer Lord, and Selena and Evelyn have to find him before it’s too late! There’s A LOT of Suspense and drama. Also dragon fire. And car chases.
My copy of Selena Moon has cracks on its cover and side. Its pages are wavy and soft at the edges, and some of them are a little wrinkled. This is because I read Selena Moon ALL THE TIME. I even keep it on my bedside table, and sometimes in my bed, just because I like to have it near me. And when I want to reread my favorite scene, or a moment when a character said something funny, or did something GREAT, I like to have it by me so I can open it right away.
Even though I can read Selena Moon by myself (of course), I still like it when my mom reads it to me, too. She does GREAT voices for all the characters. And The Blob kicked when my mom read, which means it at least has good taste in books.
Before she said good night, my mom asked me to write a story for her to read when she’s in the hospital, so she’ll have something from me close by. I like that idea, even if I don’t like the reason she’ll be there. I decided that my story would be about a penguin. But I changed my mind later and decided it would be about a moose, and then an elephant, and then maybe a toucan. There are so many options.
My mom also said that she’s sorry she’s been so tired lately. Her stomach is getting REALLY big now, and sometimes when she walks, she waddles like a duck. (Apparently, this is an opinion I should keep to myself. I know this because I didn’t, and then I got in trouble, and then my dad laughed and he got in trouble.)
But even though I was disappointed, and kind of mad, when we couldn’t go to the park yesterday because she needed to lie down, I said, “It’s okay, Mommy. I understand.” And my mom smiled and gave me a hug and said she loved me very much. Which was nice.
Now I’m in bed, but I don’t feel like reading anymore. And it’s funny, because even though I love Selena Moon more than any other book in the whole world, lying here next to it reminds me of a time when it didn’t always make me feel that great. In fact, there was a time when I’d look at my copy of Selena Moon and feel really, really bad, even though it was my favorite book. Which is a confusing way to feel.
This is a story I don’t talk about much, because it has a lot of Struggles and some bad feelings in it. But there are good parts too, and it’s an important story if you really want to know who the real Cilla (or Eliadora,
or Panzanella) was as a child.
Let me set the scene:
It was the first day of first grade. Mr. Ogden introduced himself, and we played a game where we said our names and shared two funny things that describe us. We had to sit in alphabetical order, which meant I wasn’t next to Colleen, but we were close enough that we could make silly faces at each other from across the aisle. And then Mr. Ogden wrote a few sentences on the board and asked everyone to copy them so he could see us practice our handwriting.
And suddenly, even though I was in a class with Colleen and Tims #1 and #2 and Valerie and lots of people I knew and liked, I didn’t feel like a part of them anymore (not even Colleen—my BEST friend!). Because they all looked at the board, and I knew that instead of letters they saw words, and maybe even instead of words, they saw a sentence, and instead of a sentence, maybe even a story.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
Because I had a secret.
I, Cilla Lee-Jenkins, future author extraordinaire, didn’t know how to read.
* * *
I don’t know why I had this problem. And I don’t know how it even happened. But sometime over summer break, Colleen had started reading parts of Selena Moon on her own, and now suddenly, all the other kids could read too. And even though I wanted to read more than ANYTHING, and even though I’d practiced every day over the summer with my mom and dad, I still couldn’t do it.
On that day in first grade, all I could do was look at the board and draw shapes. My face was hot, and every new line I drew with my pencil made my stomach feel tight, because what if I was copying a smudge instead of a part of an actual letter? And how was I supposed to know the difference, and how did everyone else already know the difference?
