Emily Out of Focus

by Miriam Spitzer Franklin

  For a minute, I stared out at the empty hallway, my hand still on the doorknob. It was completely quiet, except for the sounds of my heart beating loudly in my chest. I knew it was partly from excitement, since I was someone who usually followed the rules. But that wasn’t the only reason.

  I was about to go off by myself, in a foreign country where hardly anyone seemed to speak English. All kinds of scary possibilities raced through my mind.

  Nana’s voice echoed in my head. “Take chances. Don’t be afraid to fail. Break a few rules. That’s what you have to do if you want to chase after your dreams.”

  I was pretty sure my parents wouldn’t have approved if they’d heard her give me that advice. And I’m pretty sure Nana wasn’t suggesting I disobey my parents. But I was also pretty sure that a trip without adventure meant I’d never get the photos I’d need to prove myself as a photojournalist.

  And since no one was watching me, this was the perfect opportunity to snap some great pictures with Nana’s camera!

  So, I tried to block out my worries and what-ifs, walking straight to the elevator instead of stopping at the playroom at the end of the hall.

  When I stepped out in the lobby, I drew in my breath, taking in the bubbling fountain and the sparkling chandeliers. I’d already taken photos of the lobby with my digital, but I took a few with Nana’s before tossing a few coins into the fountain for good luck. Then I headed straight for the first gift shop to my right, Jai-lu’s Treasures.

  Tea sets, vases, fans, and artwork filled the shelves. Baskets sat on the floor full of little cloth bags, dolls, books, and hats of all colors. Red lanterns hung from the ceiling. I used Nana’s camera to snap some more pictures.

  As I headed over to watch an artist in the back of the shop, I heard my dad’s cell phone ring. My heart thumped. I pulled the cell phone out of my pocket quickly, the way you pull off a Band-Aid so it won’t hurt. Whew! It wasn’t Mom’s cell calling, just some number I didn’t recognize. I slipped the phone back in my pocket and turned to the artist.

  The man was sticking a paintbrush into a hole in a little glass ball. The writing showed up on the outside. “Wow! How do you do that?” I asked, not even stopping to wonder if he could understand what I had said.

  Luckily, the artist spoke English. He looked up at me and smiled. “Simple,” he said. “Just takes practice.”

  “That is so cool.” Gumball-sized spheres decorated with pictures of animals sat in a tray on the counter. “Did you paint the pictures too?”

  The man nodded. “You pick. You like a panda bear?” He held one up for me to take a closer look.

  “I love it,” I said. “What are you writing on the outside?”

  “Your name. Birthday. Whatever you want me to write.”

  “Ohh, that is so awesome.”

  “Is only 35 yuan. Is cheaper for a nice girl like you.”

  “I’ll have to come back later,” I said. “With my parents.”

  The man nodded and got back to work. “You come back. I give a good price.”

  “Okay,” I said. I didn’t want to push my luck, so I headed out of the store. As I reached the door, I felt someone pull my ponytail. I spun around quickly.

  A woman stood behind me, holding up her camera and smiling. A little boy of about five or six stood by her side. She pointed to me, then to the camera. She motioned for me to come closer.

  I shook my head and raced out of the store. The lady didn’t exactly look threatening. I mean, she was a mom and everything, but why would a total stranger want my photo?

  A little taste of adventure was probably enough for one afternoon. I ran to the elevator and mashed the button on the elevator. As I waited, I felt someone run a hand down my hair.

  I whipped around. There was the same lady, still holding up her camera!

  Shivers ran up and down my arms. I shook my head again, my cheeks heating up. She had followed me from the store to the elevator. Alarm bells set off in my head. This was one of those situations my parents had tried to warn me about! One of the reasons why I shouldn’t have been wandering off alone in a foreign country!

  I ran away from the elevator as the doors were opening and raced up seven flights of stairs, not stopping until I landed in front of my hotel room. I opened the door as quick as I could, shutting it hard behind me.

  Leaning against it, I closed my eyes tight and tried to catch my breath.

  “Emily?” came Dad’s voice from the bed. “Is that you?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Dad sat up and rubbed his eyes. “What was that noise?”

  I stepped away from the door, trying to make a quick recovery. “Noise?” I repeated. “What noise?”

  “It sounded like someone came in the door.”

  “Oh, that noise.” Think fast, Emily. I opened the door, then closed it again so it clicked. “Is that what you heard?”

  “Emily.” Dad no longer sounded half-asleep. “We told you not to leave the room, am I correct?”

  “Sure, Dad. I heard sounds in the hall. So, I opened the door to see what it was.”

  “And . . . what was it?”

  “Nothing. Just some people walking by.”

  “Hmph,” Dad said.

  “Are we going swimming now?” I asked. As I glanced around the room, I spied my note on the desk, clearly saying I’d stepped outside of the room for a few minutes. If Dad got up and saw it, I was dead. “Or do you want to sleep a few more minutes?” I said quickly.

  Dad gave me a suspicious look. He frowned and squinted, but that could have been because I looked blurry when he didn’t have his glasses on. “You’re not in a hurry to get to the pool?”

  I shook my head. “I need to work on my journalism entry for Day One. For the contest, remember?”

  Dad had a dazed expression on his face. I didn’t know if he’d forgotten about the contest or if he was still half-asleep. Last month I’d shown him the entry form I found in my Adventure Girls magazine, and I’d been talking about it ever since. But whenever I talked to him about it, I got the idea his mind was busy thinking about other things and he wasn’t really listening.

  “Ten more minutes,” he mumbled, rolling back over on the bed. I wished he’d sat up and asked me what I was going to write about, or what pictures I planned to include. Oh, well, I thought as I watched him fall back asleep in about two seconds. At least I knew he hadn’t paid much attention to the story I told him about opening and closing the door.

  I put the cell back where I’d found it. Then I picked up my note, tearing it into shreds before throwing it in the trashcan underneath some tissues. I would make a seriously good spy.

  Plugging in my laptop, I tried to decide what to write about. I pulled out the contest directions and read them over for the umpteenth time:

  Tell a story with photos and words. You may use up to 15 photos and 1000 words.

  Your entry will be judged on creativity, composition, and style. Your goal is to effectively combine photography and writing to make a powerful statement about your topic.

  Problem was, I had no idea what kind of statement I wanted to make. So far, all I knew was that China seemed different from what I had expected.

  MY TRIP TO CHINA

  By Emily Rose Saunders

  For over twenty hours, we flew on a plane that crossed over land and oceans. It would take me to a country that was very different from my own.

  I sat back and read my beginning. Not bad, though I needed a much catchier title. I twirled a strand of hair around my finger, thinking about what to write next. When nothing came to me, I decided instead to make a list of the photos I had so far:

  1) Clouds outside the airplane window

  2) Traffic in Changsha

  3) Changsha’s skyline

  4) Lobby of The Dolton Hotel

  5) The artist painting glass balls

  Hmmm. I didn’t see anything too exciting about my list and wasn’t sure how I could link them together to make a powerful sta
tement. Maybe I needed to wait until I printed the photos and an amazing idea would come to me. My mind was a complete blank about what to write, so I shut down the computer and woke up my dad.

  “You can’t sleep all day!” I said, shaking his shoulders.

  Mom made a sleepy noise and rolled over. Dad stretched and got to his feet. First thing he did was check his cell phone. “I must have been out cold. I didn’t even hear it ring.”

  “You were snoring away. I even turned on the TV and it didn’t wake you up,” I fibbed. “So, did they leave a message?”

  Dad held the phone to his ear. “It’s Lisa. She said all the families are meeting at the restaurant next door for dinner tonight.”

  “Katherine, too?”

  “Unless they’re too worn out from their trek to the Great Wall,” Dad said with a grin.

  “The Great Wall? I thought you said we couldn’t go because it was at the other end of the country.”

  “It is. I was just kidding.” Dad dug around in the suitcase for his swim trunks. “So, was anything on?”

  I stared at him, trying to figure out what he meant.

  “On TV. You said you were watching while we were asleep.”

  “Oh.” I shook my head. “It was all in Chinese,” I said. As soon as the words popped out of my mouth I wanted to turn on the TV to see if I was right. But I wasn’t too worried about Mom and Dad catching me in a lie. They could probably go for two weeks without even noticing the TV was in our room.

  Dad and I swam for a while in the hotel pool and soon it was time to meet the other families for dinner. Mom had wasted the whole afternoon napping and unpacking, but she looked happy as could be as we headed downstairs.

  Lisa Wu and the other families were already in the front of the restaurant, waiting for a table. Katherine wore a yellow sundress and sandals, her hair in a perfect French braid with a yellow ribbon woven throughout. I glanced down at my shorts and T-shirt and ran a hand over my lopsided ponytail. I’d changed into clean clothes after swimming, but after taking a look at Katherine, I felt underdressed.

  “How are you?” Lisa asked us. “Did you have a good and restful afternoon?”

  “Wonderful,” Mom said.

  “The Provincial Museum was fabulous,” Mrs. Bresner said. “We spent the whole afternoon there, but we didn’t see half of it.”

  “Yes, it’s a very good museum,” Lisa agreed. “You should visit, too, Emily. You will like it there.”

  I glanced over at Mom and Dad. “I told my parents I wanted to go—”

  “We had a lot to do,” Mom said quickly. “Getting settled after such a long trip.”

  “Oh, of course,” Lisa said. “Maybe on one of your other days in Changsha you will have more time.”

  “What did you do this afternoon?” Katherine asked me while the grown-ups chatted.

  “Went swimming,” I said.

  “Well, the museum was great,” Katherine said, and then she talked nonstop about it, telling me in great detail about every exhibit on every floor. Finally, the waitress led us to a large round table, and Katherine took the seat right next to me.

  I studied the menu. I couldn’t read the words, so I studied the large color photos instead. Which didn’t help one bit.

  “Don’t they have chow mein?” I whispered to my mother, not wanting Katherine to hear.

  Mom shook her head. “That’s more of an American dish,” she said. “I’ll ask Lisa to order something for us.”

  Lisa had a long conversation with the waiter, so I hoped that meant she was ordering something good. When the food arrived, I recognized the white rice. That’s about it. Lisa explained there were bowls of vegetables, chicken, seafood, fried bean curd, even snake. But what got me was that in the middle of it all sat a big plate of . . . DUCK. Peking Duck, to be exact.

  I gulped. It’s not that it looked like a real duck, with a head and feathers or anything. It just looked like roasted meat. But once Lisa told us what it was, I couldn’t help thinking about it. When I was little, ducks were my favorite animal in the world. Every weekend we used to go to the park so I could feed the ducks at the pond. I was trying to act very casual about that dead duck sitting smack in the middle of our table, but Dad saw right through me.

  “Just pretend it’s chicken,” Dad said with a grin. “That’s what I’m going to do with the snake.”

  I frowned. “But it’s not,” I said, thinking about the collection of duck stuffed animals sitting on my bed and the little china ducks on my dresser. I glanced over at Katherine, who was spooning a helping from each dish onto her plate. She even took some of the duck. Then she picked up her chopsticks and started to eat.

  “Where are the forks?” I whispered to my parents.

  Dad shrugged. “If it’s not broke, don’t fix it,” he said, picking up a pair of chopsticks.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked him.

  “It means this particular utensil has worked for the Chinese for thousands of years. So, you may as well give it a try. Here I’ll show you.”

  It didn’t look like I had a choice, so I picked up a pair, trying to slant the sticks and hold them between my fingers the way Dad was doing. Then I took a better look at the dishes that sat in the middle of the table on a spinning server. It didn’t look like any of the food I’d seen at Chinese restaurants at home. The sauces were different, and all of the dishes had green leafy vegetables that looked suspiciously like seaweed.

  I figured I could skip most of it and settle for rice, but I didn’t see any little red-capped bottles on the table like we always had at Wan Fu’s. “Where’s the soy sauce?” I asked Mom.

  She shook her head. “It’s different here. Just use some of the sauce from the dishes.”

  I made a face. Whoever heard of rice without soy sauce? My stomach rumbled, and that’s when I remembered my Fears About the China Trip. It was time to face the one I’d written about food, so I summoned my courage and took a helping of everything, except the snake and the duck, of course.

  The biggest thing on my plate was a chunk of fried bean curd. Wrinkling my nose, I grabbed a piece and squeezed tight enough to keep it between the chopsticks as I lifted it from the plate. But just as I opened my mouth, the sticks shifted and the tofu dropped out.

  I went for the soy sauce-less rice next. At least it was familiar. I scraped it between the sticks, squeezed them together, lifted it to my mouth . . . and the rice fell back onto the plate. I tried again, using my fingers to pick up a bigger scoop. But I couldn’t keep it between the sticks. I was about to grab a handful and plop it in my mouth when Katherine giggled.

  “Have you actually eaten anything yet?” she asked.

  “I’m doing just fine, thank you very much,” I told her. What I needed was a new strategy. I studied the chopsticks carefully. There had to be an easier way. I tuned out the snippets of conversation going on around the table, concentrating so hard I dropped a stick and it clanked against the plate. That’s when it came to me. A chopstick would make a very good spear! Everything could be stabbed with a stick, except for rice. I’d have to give up on that.

  I wasn’t crazy about the strange flavors—some spicy, some sweet, some hard to define, and I was having to pick around things I didn’t recognize—but at least I managed to get the food in my mouth. I was munching away, spearing the food and pulling it off the chopstick with my teeth, when Lisa noticed.

  “Here, let me help you.” She showed me the correct way to hold the sticks against my thumb, using my pointer finger to pick up the food.

  “Thanks,” I told her, “but my way works for me.” I speared another chunk of chicken and swallowed it down.

  Lisa Wu shook her head. “Never stab the food,” she told me. “And never hold the chopsticks straight up and down on your plate.”

  “Why not?”

  “Stabbing is not polite. Is disrespectful. If you hold the chopsticks up and down, people think it is a funeral pyre.”

  Katheri
ne snorted. I felt my cheeks flare. I had no idea what a pyre was, but I wasn’t about to ask. Funerals were high on my list of Things You Shouldn’t Think About. I immediately slanted my chopsticks in the right direction before anyone else at the table noticed.

  It wasn’t as easy as she’d made it look. My fingers were too clumsy or something. And for all that hard work, the food kept falling off the sticks and landing back on my plate, all squished out of shape.

  After a while, Mom nudged me in the side. “Here,” she said, pulling a plastic fork out of her purse. “It takes a while to learn to use chopsticks. By the time we leave here, you’ll be a real pro.”

  Katherine gave me a “You are so pitiful, using that fork” look and I shot her a dirty look back. I’d managed pretty well for my first time, after all. In about five minutes, I had finished off all my rice and had picked out a few other food morsels as well, which ended up tasting surprisingly good.

  I was slurping from a large slab of watermelon the server had passed out after the meal when Katherine leaned in close to me and whispered, “I have a secret.”

  At first, I thought I was hearing things, but when I looked over at her she smiled. “And I want you to help me with it.”

  I just stared at her. We hadn’t exactly become BFFs, but all anyone ever had to do is say the word “secret” and I was in. “You want me to help you?”

  She looked around the table at the grown-ups, then said, “I’ll tell you later, when we’re alone.”

  I raised my eyebrows, and she put a finger to her lips. Before I could try to find out anything else, Lisa began telling everyone what to pay. Soon after, we left the restaurant.

  When we returned to our room, I was feeling pretty happy about the fact that I’d eaten my first authentic Chinese meal and survived. In two weeks, I’d be able to check off something else on my list of fears. Then I started thinking about Katherine’s secret, wondering what she meant by needing my help, and that’s when I noticed the crib.