It’s summertime, evening. I’m working alone washing dishes at the soup kitchen. I’ve been doing this three nights a week since school let out. I’ve also been volunteering at the library every weekday. Mildred hooked me up. And they’re even going to start paying me once school starts. Mom is pretty psyched.
Oh, I forgot to tell you: It’s Wednesday. I’m about a third of the way through the meal, and the trays are stacking up. I’ve gotten faster at this than I could have imagined, but still, some help would be nice. Out of the blue, Woody is next to me. She’s wearing jeans shorts and a gray shirt that matches her eyes. She’s beautiful. I mean, she’s still beautiful. She’s always beautiful.
For what seems like an hour, Woody looks at me and I look at her. I can’t read her expression at all. Is she furious? Ecstatic? Madly in love with me? I have no clue. I just know I want everything to be right again. No, not again—things were never truly right before, but I want to do everything right from now on.
Clang! The stalemate is broken by commotion as a tray full of silverware slams into the end of the conveyor belt. Woody says, “Move over,” and starts pulling on a pair of rubber gloves.
I say, “Listen, I didn’t mean to—”
“Shut up.”
“No, I mean, I never thought I’d—”
“Hush.”
“Emily,” I say. “Emily, I’m sorry.”
“I know. Now move over.”
And just like that we’re dish partners again.
When the last tray is drying and we’re up on our old counter, I turn to her and say, “I really am sorry. But I’ve changed. I swear.”
She slides sideways until our hips are touching. “Are you? Have you? Do you?”
“I am. I have. I do.”
“Good. Now, about those earthly attachments…”
having changed, you pass through
It’s the end of the summer, and I’m brushing my teeth before bed, looking in the mirror. High school starts tomorrow. Yikes! High school. I don’t know what classes I’ll like. I don’t know what clubs I’ll join (although I’m thinking I might go out for basketball). I only know one person I’ll be hanging out with. But maybe that’s enough. I really think I’ll be OK.
No, I know I’ll be OK.
Trust me.
a quick word from the author:
If you are interested in learning more about the theory and practice of Zen, you might want to start where I did, with a charming book called The Little Zen Companion, by David Schiller. Many of the quotations in my book may be found collected in Mr. Schiller’s fascinating work. Of course you can’t really become a Zen practitioner by reading a book, but reading up on the subject will certainly give you a lot of food for thought.
—J.S.
Copyright
Copyright © 2007 by Jordan Sonnenblick.
Jacket photo-illustration © 2007 by Marc Tauss
Jacket design by Marijka Kostiw
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“I Ain’t Got No Home” by Woody Guthrie. Copyright © 1961 (renewed) by TRO-Ludlow Music, Inc. All rights reserved. Used by permission of Ludlow Music Inc. “Hard, Ain’t It Hard” by Woody Guthrie. Copyright 1944 (renewed) by TRO-Ludlow Music, Inc.
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Library of Congress cataloging-in-Publication Data
Sonnenblick, Jordan.
Zen and the art of faking it / by Jordan Sonnenblick.—1st ed. p. cm. Summary: When thirteen-year-old San Lee moves to a new town and school for the umpteenth time, he is looking for a way to stand out when his knowledge of Zen Buddhism, gained in his previous school, provides the answer—and the need to quickly become a convincing Zen master.
[1. Identity—Fiction. 2. Middle schools—Fiction. 3. Schools—Fiction. 4. Zen Buddhism—Fiction. 5. Asian Americans—Fiction. 6. Pennsylvania—Fiction.] I. Title. PZ7.S6984Ze 2007 [Fic]—dc22
2006028841
ISBN-13: 978-0-439-83707-1 (hardcover : alk. paper)
ISBN-10: 0-439-83707-3 (hardcover : alk. paper)
First edition, October 2007
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E-ISBN: 978-0-545-23218-0
Zen and the Art of Faking It Page 15