by Susan Tan
On this particular day, Melvin ran over right behind Tim #2, so Colleen got up to talk to him. Melissa hopped down from her swing to talk to them too, and I decided I’d stay and keep swinging and wait for them to be done. I was imagining what it would feel like to be actually flying, just like Tilly, when I heard a voice from the tire swings where Mimi Donnelly and her friends had been sitting and, I realized, had overheard my story.
“Well, you make up Silly stories too, right, Mimi?” her friend Lisa said in a teasing voice.
“No way.” The familiar voice of Mimi Donnelly was loud and made it very clear that these “Silly” stories were bad things. “My stories are grown-up,” she said. “They’re not about made-up things like people growing wings. That’s immature.”
“Yeah,” Lisa said. “What a baby.”
My feet scraped the wood-chip-covered ground. Without meaning to, I’d stopped swinging, and my swing came to a stop with a small squeak.
Mimi turned and saw me.
Her face got red.
But then Lisa giggled, a not-very-nice giggle. And Mimi went on.
“No offense,” she said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “But … you should really stop telling stories like that when you get to middle school. My sister’s there now, and she says no one in middle school would ever talk that way.”
Lisa and Mimi’s other friends giggled some more.
“Yeah,” Lisa added. “But you’re the girl who always talks about the tuba, right? I don’t know why you play it. It’s a boy instrument. Right, Mimi?”
“Well…” Mimi looked at Lisa, then back at me. “I guess,” she said, the redness staying in her cheeks. “I mean, all the other girls play the flute, or clarinet, or sometimes the saxophone,” she added.
“Yeah.” Lisa nodded.
I didn’t know what to say.
I wanted to tell them that my story wasn’t Silly—it was a good one (which I know because of the whole Literary Greatness thing). And the tuba was AMAZING, and she was just jealous because she wasn’t playing it. Plus I wanted to tell Mimi Donnelly and Lisa and everyone on the tire swing that they were NOT very nice.
There were so many other things I could have said too, like, “Well, your sister in middle school sounds kind of boring,” or “Maybe no one in middle school would read a story about doorknobs either.”
But I couldn’t find the words. And Colleen and Melissa were standing over with Melvin and hadn’t heard, so I didn’t have any friends to be on my side.
So I just said, “Oh.”
The whistle blew, telling us that there were ten minutes left in recess, and I’d never been happier to hear it. I jumped up from the swing and walked away, trying not to imagine how Mimi and her friends were probably watching me go and giggling.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Colleen wave, and I knew she thought everything was fine. So I gave a small wave back and headed into the school building for what’s usually my favorite time of the day.
Because in fifth grade, during the last ten minutes of recess, we have Library Privileges.
“Cilla!” Ms. Clutter called as I walked in.
“Hi, Ms. Clutter,” I said, smiling in spite of Mimi Donnelly.
Ms. Clutter is our school librarian. She came to our school last year in fourth grade, and she’s been one of my favorite people ever since. Ms. Clutter knows EVERYTHING about books and stories. She always has a good book to recommend, and we both LOVE Adventures and Selena Moon and the Jenny Ojukwo: Pirate Queen series. Ms. Clutter also has the BEST style ever. That afternoon, she wore a purple dress with a silver belt and matching silver glasses. She always wears a scarf over her hair, and that day it was covered in a pattern of swirling galaxies that flowed around her head and down her back and fluttered behind her like a cape. This is also, incidentally, why I sometimes make up stories that Ms. Clutter is really a superhero. Because you can’t be that great, and know so much about books and libraries, and just be a normal person, now can you?
I go to the library almost every day. Sometimes it’s to get a new book. Sometimes, if I’m still in the middle of a book, it’s just to say hi to Ms. Clutter and to tell her about the story so far. Ms. Clutter is always really interested in what I’m reading, and she loves it when I act out the books, and she’ll always talk about parts that I don’t understand or didn’t like.
That day, I told Ms. Clutter my Zebulon 5 story, which she LOVED.
Then she suggested other science fiction books she thought I’d enjoy. She said they were some of her favorite books too.
So I felt better. And when she handed me a book with a winged centaur on the cover flying over a rainbow planet, I suddenly found myself asking, “Do you think this is a middle school–kind of story, Ms. Clutter?”
“Oh, absolutely,” she said. “This book is very popular up at the middle school.”
“Really?” I said. “WOW. So it’s a Serious story?”
“Yes,” she said. “Absolutely. It’s all about good triumphing over evil, and serious questions about how to stand up for what you know is right. It’s a real epic,” she said with a smile. “You might find some great inspiration there.”
“An Epic,” I whispered, looking down at the book in my hands.
And that’s how I knew.
In Adventures, heroes always have a Wise Guide who tells them what their Quest is, or how to start their Adventure, or that with power comes responsibility. Ms. Stauffer, my fourth-grade teacher, taught me this.
So I’m guessing Ms. Clutter is mine.
That day, I knew I had a problem, and a lot of Struggles to overcome. Because even though Mimi Donnelly and her friends are mean, and I know I shouldn’t listen to them, Mimi does have a sister in middle school. And even if Ms. Paradise is A Bit Much, she’s also a teacher, and she does know what middle school is like.
And if Ms. Paradise AND Mimi are saying I’m not ready for middle school, maybe it’s actually true. What if I’m not grown-up enough or mature enough for middle school?
Most people would despair in the face of these Struggles.
But Ms. Clutter helped me find the answer.
That day, I left the library filled with purpose, ready to begin my Quest.
I knew I had to write an Epic, a story that was about Serious questions, a story that would end in triumph, a story that would show everyone—especially Mimi Donnelly—how grown-up I am.
And no amount of trouble in paradise (or on Zebulon 5) can stop me.
2
FOURTH GRADE AND FAMILY: A YEAR IN HAIKU
Last year, in fourth grade, we studied poetry. I LOVE poetry, because it’s all about using words to get at the heart of what you want to say. Ms. Stauffer said good poetry “captures the essence,” which means poems are about the most important parts of a person or thing. And I think the best way to do this is through my favorite kind of poem: haikus.
Haikus are really short poems that have a certain number of syllables in each line (five in the first line, seven in the second, and five again in the third), which makes it like a puzzle to put them together. For example:
Things change, time passes.
I’m still destined for greatness,
though. What a relief!
Or:
He may be funny,
but Alien-Face McGee
is annoying too.
Or:
She tells the best jokes,
She is so Silly and fun,
Melissa, a star.
I’m really proud of this one because it really DOES get at the essence of things, because Melissa is actually very quiet most of the time (which I can definitely relate to). And it’s only when you get to know her that you realize how funny and Silly she can be, so this poem captures something not many people get to see.
I also wrote a poem for Colleen, which goes:
She’s brave and strong, a
whirlwind on the soccer field.
My best friend, Colleen.
; This poem got extra points from Ms. Stauffer because it has a Metaphor, which is when you use another object to describe something else, without saying “like” or “as.” I’m very proud of it because it REALLY gets at Colleen’s essence. She’s isn’t afraid to give class presentations, or say what she thinks, or even, as I’ve mentioned, to go to middle school. And she’s AMAZING at soccer, and I really like watching her games.
Colleen also got SUPER tall in fourth grade. I can’t wait to catch up with her, which I know will happen soon because my mom keeps saying that these are years of big and unexpected Changes. And getting taller is a BIG change. I’m excited, even if my mom does get weird when we talk about Changes and her voice gets funny and she says, “If you ever want to talk, I’m always here.” Which is nice, but I don’t know why she thinks I’ll need to talk about it. If anything, growing will make things easier, since I’ll finally be able to reach our top kitchen shelves.
In an Epic, Colleen, Melissa, and Alien-Face would be my Allies and Brave Companions (who are the friends who fight courageously by your side, and sometimes include elves, gnomes, or talking animals). I’m lucky to have so many Companions and friends, especially in the face of Foes like Mimi and Lisa.
And that’s not even all. I have a big family too, filled with Companions and Wise Guides and other kinds of Allies. In fact, last year it got even BIGGER.
The change in my family can be described like this:
New babies are loud.
Alas, I just want to sleep.
I still like her, though.
Because last winter, I got another little sister. Her name is Esther Lee-Jenkins, though we mostly call her Essie.
When my first little sister, Gwendolyn, was born, I was NOT happy. You might remember this, because I possibly wrote a book about how not happy I was. But once Gwendolyn came, I realized that I like having her around. In fact, she’s pretty great.
When I heard that I was getting another new sister, I wondered if I’d be upset or nervous again. But adding Essie to our family has actually been much easier than I’d expected. When she was born, I knew just what to do. I knew how to hold her, and how to feed her, and how to put my fingers in my ears so the crying wouldn’t be so loud. Plus it was fun to teach Gwendolyn these things, and to help her be an older sister, too.
Having two younger sisters is also convenient because every Epic Adventure needs some Comic Relief, no matter how Serious it is. And TRUST ME, they are excellent at this, plus the funny things they do are great inspiration for poems. Like:
Gwendolyn is fun,
Gwendolyn is nice,
Gwendolyn spilled all my juice to chew upon the ice.
Gwendolyn is sweet,
Gwendolyn is quick,
Gwendolyn ate all my candy, that’s why she was sick.
This is an example of a nonfiction poem, by the way, which means it’s true. And Gwendolyn really does want the ice in your glass because she likes to chew on it, and she’ll knock over your cup to get it. And let’s not speak about the Great Cilla-Left-Her-Bag-of-Halloween-Candy-on-the-Floor-Where-Gwen-Could-Get-It Disaster of Fourth Grade.
Gwen and Essie are also going to be an important part of my Epic, I’ve decided recently. Because I want everyone to know how grown-up I am, and they are just the way to do it.
I call my plan: Operation Babysitting.
Operation Babysitting is perfect because Babysitting is all about being responsible, and not only for yourself but for other people too. So once I’m a Babysitter, everyone in fifth grade (and then middle school) will know just how Grown-up and Serious I am. Plus, Babysitting also means you get money, which is important if you want to go to the movies or get ice cream with your friends by yourself (not that we’re allowed to do this yet, but it’s a BIG part of being grown-up, and we’re working on it).
Best of all, I knew my parents would say yes, because my dad has a new job and works from home now, which means he’s on the phone ALL THE TIME. Things are really busy, and my mom and dad have less time to do things like go out and have dinner together. So when I told them my plan today, I smiled and waited for them to say, “Wow, thank you so much. What a fabulous (and grown-up) offer, Cilla!”
Unfortunately, though, that’s not quite how it happened.
In fact, they said “no.” And then, “Maybe in a few years.”
These people.
Good thing I’m persistent. I KNOW I can change their minds. So instead of arguing (too much), I went to go sit and play with Gwen and Essie, to show my parents just how great I am at being an older sister.
Essie is eight months old, which means she can sit up, and she can wiggle around EVERYWHERE by pulling herself on her stomach. She has a lot of hair (which is an Injustice if I ever heard one, since I was bald when I was a baby).
But at least it’s fun, because her hair sticks straight up, and no amount of hair gel or water can make it lie flat. Also, cutting it makes it MUCH worse. My dad and I learned this the other day, when he said, “Don’t worry, Ellen, I’ll just trim an inch—it’ll fix the whole problem!” He was wrong, and now it looks like Essie has a permanent mohawk, and my mom laughed until she cried when she saw it, and so did I.
My sisters have their own Epic Destinies too, which I’ve helped them find, because I’m a great Big Sister that way. Gwen’s took a while to discover (a whole book in fact!). But now we know that she’s a future dance legend. And it’s DEFINITELY true because she NEVER stops moving and knocking things over, which, as I try to explain to my parents, just can’t be helped: You can’t fight Fate.
Essie’s Destiny, though, was much easier to find. In fact, we discovered her Destiny of greatness the day she tried her first bite of baby food. She took one bite of her mashed squash, smiled, grabbed the spoon from my hand, and drew a PICTURE with it. Specifically, what my art teacher (who should be our music teacher) Ms. Song would call abstract art.
Then she grabbed a Cheerio while I was trying to get the spoon back, crushed it, and sprinkled it on her masterpiece.
I knew, then and there, that she is a future painting prodigy (and “prodigy” is a fancy word for “legend” or “extraordinaire” that I learned in Ms. Stauffer’s fourth-grade class).
Gwen has changed a lot since my last book too:
She’s a toddler now, so she walks, talks, and says funny things. She wasn’t so sure about Essie when she first came along (which I can relate to). But I’m teaching her to be a great Big Sister (and making sure my parents notice what a good job I’m doing).
For example, my mom’s been a little worried recently, because Essie doesn’t really talk.
I think it’s because she’s too busy watching the world and taking in the sights and feelings to put in her art.
But my mom says it’s because there are so many people to talk for her (which doesn’t make sense, because, yes, we are good talkers, but shouldn’t that mean that we set a good example for her and she sees how to do it?).
But, in case my mom IS right, I’m trying to help by asking her more questions so she gets used to the idea of talking. Like tonight, when my mom asked, “Essie, do you want the mashed peas or squash?”
“Peas,” Gwen said.
“Well, maybe,” my mom said. “Let’s see. Peas or squash, Essie?”
“But peas are her favorite,” Gwen said.
My mom sighed. “Okay, but, Essie—”
Just then, Essie reached for the jar of peas (because Gwen was right—we all know she likes peas best).
My mom threw up her hands and then opened the jar of peas.
So I thought I’d help and ask another question, since they’re so important.
“Essie,” I asked, “do you want apple juice or water?
“She likes apple juice,” Gwen answered.
And even though Gwen wasn’t supposed to say anything, it was the right answer, and I wanted to support her (like a good Big Sister—and Babysitter—should).
“Very good, Gwen!” I said,
turning to her, beaming. “High five!”
So we did.
I was glad my parents could see me being so responsible. And Essie was happy, which I knew because she drank her juice and then painted with the peas, and smiled and made happy giggling noises when I told her it was a “masterpiece.”
So score one for Operation Babysitting.
* * *
I had a little setback after dinner, though, when I said I’d put Gwen to bed by myself, to show that I could.
It went something like this:
Me: Let’s go to bed, Gwen!
Gwen: No!
Me: But, Gwen, you love bedtime.
Gwen: NO. I HATE bedtime! (Hate is a big Theme with Gwen lately.)
Me: But look at your pajamas, Gwen. Aren’t they pretty?
Gwen: NO! (No is another big Theme with Gwen, too.)
Me: Come on, Gwen, just one foot?
Gwen: NO.
Me: Please?
Gwen: [Cries]
Me: Don’t cry! Here, have a truck! Vroom vroom!
Gwen: [Stops crying] Can the truck fly?
Me: Of course. I mean, it is a magic truck after all. And you know, it doesn’t just fly. It also can turn invisible, and …
[Twenty minutes later]
Mom: Young Lady, what is going on here? And look at this mess! Gwen is supposed to be in bed!
Me: Oops.
Gwen: Bed?! I LOVE bedtime!
Me: Sigh.
End scene.
But I will say it was a good story we made up. And later, while I was cleaning up the BIG mess we’d made, and my mom was putting Gwen to bed, I wrote a new haiku.
It goes:
I, Babysitter
So grown-up. Be impressed and
then give me money.
Which I think gets nicely at the essence of the issue.