One!
Two! What happened? Somebody's screaming. It sounds like a baby. It's really screaming. I wonder if I hit a baby with the tennis ball. I didn't know there was a baby there.
“Hey, you! Come here.” It's the kid's dad with his long hairy beard running out from behind the garage. There's the kid too. The baby's still crying. The dad sounds so mad. I'm getting out of here.
I don't want these tennis balls anyway. My dad'll say I stole them too. I'll just dump them in the trash and go home.
“Better lock up your bike or Du Du will steal it,” yells Jorge at the bike rack.
I hate school. Veronica stands in front of the room to give her speech with big sad cow eyes. Her speech doesn't have an ending. She just stops after a while and sits down. Mrs. Dorfman calls on me. I just sit there staring back at her like an American kid. She stares back over her glasses for a second, then flicks her eyes away. She calls on Tiffany. I don't have to give a speech because I won't talk. It's fun to see how scared everybody is when they go up to speak. Even Anthony. Especially Anthony. I slouch back in my chair and stare at him with a little smile. He tries to look away but his eyes keep coming back to me. He forgets his speech. “That will be enough, Anthony,” says Mrs. Dorfman. I will have a bad report card but my dad doesn't expect me to have a good report card like Thuy and Lin and Vuong. He might not even look at mine. He'll just tell my mom to sign it like he did with the little practice report card Mrs. Dorfman sent home earlier. My grandma says it's because I'm new here. Thuy and Lin and Vuong started school when they were little. I'll be better later, maybe. Right now school is too boring.
“Boys and girls, this afternoon we're going to the auditorium,” announces Mrs. Dorfman. “Line up outside, please.” I push outside fast to get away from Veronica. “Du! Du!” Mrs. Dorfman calls from the front of the line. She snaps her fingers and points to my place behind Veronica. Anthony and Jorge laugh.
Everybody's talking as we walk in the auditorium. It smells like lunch. The teachers climb up on the stage. Anthony spits a wad of paper from his mouth on my chair. I flick it back at him like shooting marbles. Kids around yell and jump out of the way even though I aim it at Anthony. Mrs. Dorfman is on the stage with the other teachers. They have piles of stuff covered with red cloth up there too. With everybody watching she points at me, stabbing the air with her finger. She stabs toward the seat at the end of the aisle. I go because I don't want to go to the Counseling Center. I want to see what's under the red cloth. Kids giggle and stick out their legs while I push down the row. I'm glad I have to move. Now I don't have to sit next to Veronica. Everybody moves one seat over. Now Anthony sits next to her.
Mrs. Dorfman smiles her big fake smile. “You all know why we're here,” she announces. I don't, I say to myself just to show she's wrong. “It's that time of year. Time for gifts and goodies and the fifth-grade Christmas program.” The other teachers glance at her. “Er… the fifth-grade winter holiday program,” she adds. “We'll ask for volunteers for each of the holiday parts. The rest of you will be singing holiday songs at your seats, the angel chorus.” Everybody laughs at the way she says “angel chorus.” I glance down my row. Something's going on but the teachers don't notice. They're happy about the program.
Another fifth-grade teacher steps forward. Her kids all clap. “The first holiday is Hanukkah.” As she says it she pulls out a candle thing from under the red cloth. “This is a holiday for… people of the Jewish persuasion. Do we have any children who know about Hanukkah?” Everybody looks around. I guess we don't have any because no one raises a hand. “Remember,” she goes on. “Anyone may volunteer. Hanukkah lasts eight days and the children light a candle and receive a present each day.” Hands shoot up all over the auditorium. I raise my hand. Eight presents! She chooses five kids from her class. It's okay with me. When they go on the stage they don't get any presents at all. They just sing a little song about something. I don't know what it is. They have to wear dumb little hats and hold fake candles.
The next holiday is called Kwanzaa and it's for black kids. Ms. Whipple from the Counseling Center comes in to talk about it. She's nice so I raise my hand but I'm the only one. No one calls on me. They call on Damian, who's black and who didn't raise his hand. He's mad. “I don't do any Kwanzaa,” he says, and shrugs. “I do Christmas. We get a big tree.” Finally they get some black girls to do Kwanzaa. They stand with posters and talk. Boring.
I look down the row again. Something is going on. I see Anthony and Jorge slouched down in their chairs. They're throwing something to each other behind Veronica. She's flapping around trying to grab it. Anthony and Jorge look up at the stage while they throw it so the teachers won't know.
Mr. Unger, the smart kids' teacher, grabs a hammer thing and crashes it down on the stuff under the red cloth. Bong! Everybody jumps and laughs. “Chinese New Year!” His voice booms out. “Dragons! The beginning of a new year. A time for celebration, firecrackers, feasts …” I get excited as I figure out what he's talking about. It's the same as Vietnamese New Year, except we call it Tet. I was in the Philippines for the last one. I remember it was the Year of the Rat, 4681. We were way ahead there. They were only at 1984 here. Everybody shot off firecrackers. I asked my sister Lin what it's like here. She told me my mom and dad go to work as usual but when they come home some of my aunts and uncles come over and play cards. She says that's the only time all year that my dad gambles money and drinks whiskey. She said they give money to the kids in little red envelopes but I never got any in the Philippines. If I did I would give it to my grandma.
Mr. Unger hits the gong again. He pulls off the red cloth. There are a bunch of big cardboard boxes tied together and painted green and red and yellow to look like a dragon. The head has big teeth and fire from the nose and streamers like a lion's mane. He pulls out two gongs. Almost everybody raises their hand to be a dragon or hit the gongs. I raise mine too. “The dragon represents prowess, nobility and fortune to the Chinese,” announces Mr. Unger, “so be sure that fits you.” I don't know what those words mean but my grandma always says I'm a dragon. I wave my hand around. He chooses some kids. “And you…,” he calls, pointing at me. I go up on the stage with the other kids. I act like it's no big deal but I feel like kids in my class do when they give speeches. It's scary. I'm the last one up there. Mr. Unger points to the last box. I hear kids laugh. I have to bend over inside the box and I can't see anything. We jump around a little bit just to see how it works. I get pulled around behind the others. The box smells like gum. “A practice run,” says Mr. Unger.
We go back to our seats. I hear whispers down the row. “Dragon Butt Du Du” I hear. Kids laugh and pass it on. I hate school.
Another teacher steps forward. “And last but not least, Christmas!” Everyone already knows about that. Everyone's hand goes up before the teacher says anything else. Except mine. The teacher tells about the spirit of giving. It takes a long time. “Who wants to be Santa Claus?” she cries, sweeping up the Santa Claus suit from the last box. Everyone starts blurting. The teacher puts up her hands. “I'll pick someone who knows how to behave,” she says. It gets very quiet. “Of course, we all know this isn't the real Santa Claus,” she whispers. She picks Alex from our class because he's fat. Everyone laughs. Alex waves and says, “Ho ho ho.” I glance down the row. Veronica is blubbering in spite of the “ho ho ho.” Anthony and Jorge are slouched down looking up at the stage. They have mean little smiles.
I'm thinking about what the teacher said. “This isn't the real Santa Claus.” I can't get this figured out. “Is Santa Claus real?” I ask Jordan, the kid sitting next to me. He's a quiet kid who doesn't say much. This time he does.
He snorts with laughter. “Hey, everybody,” he whispers down the row. “Du thinks Santa Claus is real.” Kids laugh. They roll their eyes. I feel my face get hot. It was a stupid thing to ask. Why did I let myself talk? I want to tell them that in Tet the year is already over 4000. Everybody is way behind here.
“If that's your choice, Du,” she answers, with her lips tight together after she speaks. I don't want to walk up front with her. I wait for the end of the line. Blubbery Veronica passes by me. Rosaria's got her arm around her. Veronica's holding two parts of her dumb little pink bear with the stuffing coming out. I guess that was what Anthony and Jorge were throwing back and forth. She can't tell on them because she's not supposed to bring toys to school.
On the way home I think about Santa Claus. I've heard someone say on television that Santa Claus is real. The teacher said it too. All the kids, even in fifth grade, talk about Santa Claus. They say he doesn't give toys to bad kids. It wasn't so dumb to ask if he was real. They think I'm dumb no matter what I do.
I open the door to our house. Wonderful smells come from the kitchen. I know what it means. My grandma feels good enough to cook. In the kitchen there is a plate piled with round golden buns. I know they are filled with vegetables and pork chopped into tiny bits. Those are the kind we sold in the Philippines if we could get the stuff to make them. People bought them so fast. I reach out my hand. “Not that one,” my grandma says, coming into the kitchen. She hands me a bun that is not as round or golden. It tastes just as good. She is putting on her hat like she is going off to work in the sun. She covers the plate that has the perfect buns with a paper towel. “Come, Du,” she says. Where are we going with a plate of buns? She never goes out of the yard. I follow her down the front walk and out the gate.
We're going to the old spy man's house! I do not want to go. We paid him back with food already for telling about the bike. We don't have to feed him forever. “No, Grandma, no,” I plead. I grab her sleeve but she shakes my hand off. That old man's going to think we're crazy. He'll just throw the buns away because they're not from Burger King. He'll think he's better than us because we bother him all the time. I stand back with my head down. He comes to the door.
My grandma pushes the plate to him. I glance up. He looks bothered. He doesn't take the plate. “You… call… school.” Grandma talks in her English. “About Du.” I know just what he's going to say and I'm right.
“What?” he says. I know I'm there to help her with English but I can't. I can't ask him for help. I can only look down. I wish this was over.
“You call school about Du,” she repeats slowly. I know she's practiced this at home. It's all she can say. She pushes the plate at him.
“Du what?” he says.
She points at me. “Du,” she repeats. My grandma doesn't know I took apart his lawn mower and gave away his oranges.
“Oh, him.” The old man laughs. I want to run home. Everybody laughs as soon as they hear Du. “You want me to tell them at school that he didn't steal the bike?”
My grandma looks at me. “Du,” she says sharply. She wants to know what he says.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “That's what she wants but you don't have to.”
“Certainly, madam,” answers the old man. Who does he think he is, talking like that? I don't even know exactly what he said but I know it means yes. He takes the plate. She bows. I would like to disappear completely. Then the old man bows back. Finally we go home.
My grandma knows me. She knows I hated going over there but she made me go anyway. I throw myself down in front of the TV. “Why, Du?” she says in Vietnamese as she takes off her hat. “He is a nice man.”
“Everybody laughs at me.” I think about Dragon Butt Du Du and the thing about Santa Claus and the dumb reading group and being chosen last for teams.
“Everybody, Du?” she asks softly.
“Yeah, everybody,” I say. She smiles at me. I think, well, anyway Jorge and Anthony, and they make other kids laugh. And Jordan laughed today about Santa Claus. “The teacher thinks I'm a troublemaker,” I add.
“Do you make trouble for her?” asks my grandma. We both know the answer.
The principal comes to our class right when it's time to go out for PE. We wiggle around in our seats because we don't want to use up our PE time listening to him. “I have something very important to tell you,” he says. He waits for a long time until we all sit still and look at him. “I have something to warn you about,” he says. We settle back. This is going to take a while. I look out the window. PE isn't much fun but it's better than this. “Someone in your class has made a very serious accusation against another person in your class. A criminal accusation.”
Big words. Everybody knows who he means. Everybody looks sideways at me and Veronica, except the principal. Why doesn't he just say who it is? I get ready for more trouble. I stare straight ahead now.
“I have just found out from a very reliable source that this accusation is totally false. The person accused is entirely innocent.” He stops for a long time and everyone is quiet but eyeballs are moving. “From now on,” he continues, “I would like everyone to think very carefully before they take chances with the reputation of a fellow classmate. Defamation of character, which means telling bad, untrue things about people, such as accusing them of stealing, is a very serious charge.” He pauses with his finger tapping the air. He looks straight at Veronica. “I hope I'm understood.”
I don't understand all his big words but I know what he means. That old man must have come to school and told him about the bike. I bet he feels stupid making me write all those lines and calling my dad.
“I want you all to remember the Golden Rule of life and of our school,” he adds as he finally heads for the door. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”
I hear Anthony snicker, “Do, do, Du Du.” He's so stupid he can't think of any other joke.
At PE I feel pretty good because we play dodgeball. Nobody can ever get me out even when they team up and try to peg me. I'm too fast. I think about what the principal said and look at Veronica. Funny. Now she's in trouble because of me after all those times the other way. She looks like she's going to cry because everyone knows the principal was talking to her. She thinks she's Miss Goody-goody. When the ball rolls her way she just hands it to Rosaria. She's easy to get out anyway because she's so slow. The principal was blaming her in front of the whole class. She's not used to being in trouble. I wonder what it's like living in her house with all those big tough brothers.
Cat is going to like this. I got her two shrimps and a fish head. I wiped the sauce off the shrimps. She doesn't like hot sauce. I wonder where she is. She's usually back here or in the alley waiting for me. I hope that old man didn't see her and throw something at her. He thinks she has rabies.
I better look in the shed even though she doesn't usually go there in the day. She gets in through that cracked board in the back where there's a little hole. I'm surprised she can still squeeze in now that she's so fat. The board over the little window is starting to split from me dropping it all the time. I'll find a new one on Saturday.
There you are, Cat. Lying in here in the dark. Can I pet you today?
What are those? You've got kittens!
How little they are. With their faces all squished up and their eyes closed. Five I see. Two yellow, three gray like you. Your tail is twitching. You don't like me to touch them. Here, I'll watch them while you eat these shrimps. That old man just mowed his lawn. He won't mow it again for two weeks because it's winter. I'll help you hide them when he comes for the mower. We don't want him to find them. Now I've got six pets. I'll have to find a way to get more food.
Lin is nicer to me now because I helped her with her little plants. She still orders me around but she doesn't sound so bossy. I never do what she says anyway. When I come in from feeding Cat she's so nice that I start to wonder if she wants something. She does.
“Du, can you find me some dead bees?” she asks. This is funny. Why does Lin want dead bees? She doesn't even know it's funny.
“Sure,” I say but I
don't ask why because I can see she's so excited that she's going to tell me anyway.
“I tried to get some but I was afraid I'd get stung and I squished them with the flyswatter so they're no good and now I need them by tomorrow,” she says.
This time I can't stop myself. She's got me interested. “Why?” I ask.
“I need to make bee sticks,” she explains. “I glue the dead bee on a toothpick and rub it across the flowers, and then pollinate the glabrous ones and the hairy ones just with plants that are like them. I have to keep them apart now that they have flowers, and there are only two days when it will work. Dead dry bees are best.” She shows me her little plants with their new flowers.
“I'll be right back,” I say. I know where there's an empty building where I let my little skunk go and I know it has a bee nest because I've see the bees going in and out under the roof.
Here's a dead bee just where I thought there'd be some. I have to crawl around the side of the alley to spot others in the weeds and glass and trash.
I jump up like a cricket when a car honks right next to my head. It's my dad coming home down the alley in his car. “Get in,” he orders, leaning over to the window. I only have about five bees but I'd get in even if I didn't have any. “Why are you crawling around in the alley like a bum? You should be doing your homework like the others. Are you going to live in the alley picking up trash for a living?”
I know he's had another bad day with Mr. Vronsky and I know he doesn't want an answer to his questions so I keep quiet.
When we go in our house, he just says, “You go wash,” with his nose wrinkled up like I smell from the alley. I drop the paper towel with five dead bees in it on Lin's book when I walk by on my way to the bathroom. I'm angry because my dad finds something bad about everything I do and I'm sad too because I know he's disappointed in me. Now he doesn't even talk to me much like he does to the others. I don't know what to say to him either.
The Trouble Begins Page 10