Year of the Rat

by Grace Lin

  “Noo, I was only saying that because you’re both Chinese,” Charlotte protested. “It’s hard to match you in a cute couple. You don’t fit anyone else.”

  Suddenly, I felt like a flower wilting. Was it true? Was the only boy I’d ever be a cute couple with Dun-Wei? Would nobody else ever like me because I was Chinese? And I wasn’t even really Chinese either! It wasn’t fair! I felt angry—angry at Charlotte for saying it, angry at Dun-Wei for being fresh off the boat, and angry at myself because I was Taiwanese. Suddenly, I didn’t want a party anymore; I just wanted everyone to go away.

  “Happy birthday!” Mom sang as she came through the door with my cake. It was all lit up and everyone joined the song. Even though everyone was smiling and laughing, I felt like crying. When it was time for me to make my wish, a hundred wishes filled my head and mixed into one. I wished for the party to be over, for Dun-Wei not to have come to my school, for Melody not to have moved, and for me not to be Chinese or Taiwanese. But most of all, I wished the Year of the Rat, with all its changes, had never come.

  Chapter 18

  Library Book

  AFTER MY BIRTHDAY, I STARTED USING MY LIBRARY option again. Library option was when you chose to read in the library instead of going out to the playground. I had used it all the time with Melody, but since she left I had gone out on the playground to be with Charlotte and Becky. Now I felt like not going to the playground was a good way to avoid Dun-Wei, as well as the uncomfortable feeling I had with Becky and Charlotte.

  Whenever I was with them I always felt like a shoe on the wrong foot, somehow not fitting. It was strange because I had never felt like that with them before Melody had come and gone. Before, nothing they talked about ever bothered me, and we all used to laugh together. But now, sometimes, especially when they talked about Kurt and Rich, they annoyed me—like mosquito bites on my back that I couldn’t reach. I wasn’t sure what had changed.

  So using my library option was a relief. Besides, I loved reading. Our class had a reading contest called “Shoot for the Moon!” There was a big bulletin board with everyone’s name on it on one side and a cutout of the moon on the other side. For every book you finished, Ms. Magon put a star with the book’s title and your book summary next to your name. The goal was to get so many stars lined up next to your name that it reached the moon. Everyone who reached the moon got a prize.

  Before, Melody and I had wanted to reach the moon together and would wait for each other before we put a star up. But since she wasn’t here anymore, I just read as fast as I could, so my line of stars grew and grew. It made me a little sad to see my line stretch out way past Melody’s. I guessed Melody would never reach the moon.

  The book I was reading now was Harriet the Spy. It was a good book; Harriet wanted to be an author like me. She wrote everything down in a notebook. I thought that was a good idea; maybe I’d get Mom to buy me a notebook so I could do the same. When the bell rang at the end of recess, I didn’t want to put the book away. How was it going to end? I decided to borrow it and take it home to finish.

  I couldn’t wait to finish it. I read it in the car when we took Ki-Ki to her violin recital, in the dressing room when Lissy was trying on her new jeans, and finally finished it on the way to the post office when I mailed the Cheerleaders book back to Melody. I really liked it, even though I thought Harriet was careless to lose her notebook. I wouldn’t have lost mine.

  But on Monday morning before school, I couldn’t find the book. Where had I put it? I checked everywhere: under the bed, on the sofa, in the kitchen. It wasn’t in any of those places. Where was it?

  The day passed, then a week, and then another, and I still couldn’t find it. And then one day, Ms. Magon handed me a pink slip of paper. It was an overdue notice! It said Harriet the Spy had to be returned IMMEDIATELY. What was I going to do? I was so worried; I stopped using my library option because I was afraid our librarian, Ms. McCurdy, would ask me about the book.

  When I showed Mom my overdue notice she shook her head.

  “I told you I won’t clean your room anymore,” she said. “You are old enough to take care of that yourself. I’m sure it’s in there somewhere. It’s a mess.”

  I didn’t think my room was a mess. I thought it was cozy, just like a mouse nest or squirrel’s hole before winter. But maybe Mom was right and it was in there somewhere. I spent the whole night cleaning and organizing it. By the time I was done I had found a box of pink, green, and blue colored erasers that smelled like candy, my glitter unicorn stickers, my silver star bicycle bell, and my socks with the dogs on them. But no book!

  After I got my second overdue notice, Mom said she would look for me. So all day when I was at school, Mom cleaned and searched the house. No luck!

  “You probably dropped it somewhere,” Mom said. “The only thing you can do is tell the library you lost it.”

  I didn’t want to do that! What if Ms. McCurdy yelled at me? Would Ms. Magon take down all my stars, saying that I didn’t deserve to reach the moon because I lost the book? I probably wouldn’t ever be allowed to take a book out of the library again.

  But I had to. The next morning I received my third overdue notice. And it said, “Please see Ms. McCurdy immediately” in red ink at the bottom. I gulped.

  At the library, Ms. McCurdy looked at me from behind her glasses.

  “Grace,” she said crisply, “Harriet the Spy is over a month overdue. Holly Honchell in Mrs. Robinson’s class has been waiting for it.”

  “Um,” I stammered. “I think I lost the book.”

  “Oh dear,” Ms. McCurdy said. “Are you sure?”

  I nodded.

  “Well,” she said, “I’m afraid you’ll have to pay the library to get a new one.”

  “How much will it cost?” I asked.

  “Hmm.” Ms. McCurdy started to type some letters on the computer. “Ten dollars and eighty-five cents.” $10.85! That was a lot of money. Two years ago I won fourth place in a book contest and won $400. I guessed I would have to take the money from that.

  When I got home, Mom counted my money for me. I only had $11.40 left from my prize.

  “I used to be rich!” I said. “What happened?”

  “You spent it,” Mom said, “remember? You bought a new bike, you and Melody went to the state fair, the bookstore, the art store. It all adds up.”

  I guess it did. The next day I paid for my book, and during library option, instead of reading I figured out how much money I had left. I only had $.55. That wasn’t a lot of money at all. I wasn’t rich anymore. Now I was poor. A sad feeling came over me, like gray rain on my birthday. I was so unlucky!

  When I got home, there was a package waiting for me. It was from Melody. That made me feel better. I opened it up and there was—

  MY LOST LIBRARY BOOK!

  I couldn’t believe it. That’s where the book was this whole time! I must have mailed it to her by mistake when I sent her the Cheerleaders books. And she had read it, too. I wondered if Ms. Magon would add a new star next to Melody’s name.

  Chapter 19

  Bad Grade

  EVEN THOUGH I HAD FOUND MY LIBRARY BOOK, I still felt like my tiger luck had left me, because when Ms. Magon handed Charlotte, Becky, and me our grades on the Viking project, we got a C+! That was the lowest grade I had ever gotten. What would Mom and Dad say? Ms. Magon wrote on our paper, “The candy boat was very cute, but it didn’t show me what you knew about the Vikings. Also, it didn’t look like there was enough work done for a three-person project.”

  “Are your parents going to get mad at you for not getting an A?” Charlotte asked when she saw my face. “You always get A’s. They shouldn’t get mad because you got a bad grade once.”

  That was true. And the more I thought about it, the more I began to think Charlotte was right. Mom and Dad were too picky. One bad grade was not a big deal.

  Unfortunately, Mom didn’t think that way at all. When I told her about my grade (Dad wasn’t home yet), she loo
ked at me very seriously. I knew I was in trouble.

  “You got a C!” Mom said. “That’s not very good. What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” I said defensively. “Ms. Magon just gave me one.”

  “There must be a reason,” Mom said. “You should have done much better.”

  “I don’t know why you think it’s such a big deal!” I burst out. “Everyone gets bad grades in my class. I don’t always have to get A’s!”

  “It’s not about the grade,” Mom said. “Tell the truth, did you do the best you could on the project?”

  I wanted to say yes, but I thought about all the times I went over to Becky’s house. We were supposed to be working on the project, but most of the time they just talked about Kurt and Rich while I ate candy. We didn’t really work that hard on the project at all.

  “I don’t care about the grade,” Mom said, “IF you worked your hardest and put all your effort into it.”

  “You do too care about the grade,” I argued. “What if I didn’t work at all and got an A? You wouldn’t say anything then.”

  “Pacy,” Mom said. “You are not looking at this the right way. I want you to get good grades and do well in school, not for me, but for you. I want you to grow up and be able to do whatever you want. Getting good grades and learning things is the key to any door you want to open in the future. If you don’t try your best, you are hurting yourself the most.”

  This made me think. Mom talking about doors reminded me about how being an author and illustrator was a “cold door.” Was getting good grades the key to opening it? Even though I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go through the cold door, I still wanted to be able to open it. I could always change my mind after the door was open. But if it was locked, I wouldn’t even get the choice. Still, I didn’t want to admit Mom was right.

  “Well, trying my best all the time is hard,” I said. “And if it’s for me, then I don’t mind if I get a bad grade once in a while.”

  “Well, then I mind for you,” Mom said. “Which is why I care about your grades. Maybe I care more about you than you care about yourself.”

  And, strangely, even though Mom said that in an angry voice, that made me feel kind of happy inside. I liked knowing that Mom was looking out for me. Suddenly, I realized, even if I was unlucky and my tiger luck left me, Mom never would. And that wouldn’t ever change.

  “Am I going be punished?” I asked.

  Mom gave me a funny smile and sighed. She sat down next to me. “Did I ever tell you about when I was punished for my bad grades?” Mom asked.

  THE PUNISHMENT

  When I was your age, I was punished for my grades all the time. Not by my parents, but by my teachers. Remember when I told you that schools in Taiwan were different from schools here? Well, they were very different, in some ways that were not nice.

  One of my teachers was especially strict and ruthless. Everything about her was mean. She was ugly, like a witch, and when she smiled it was like a dog baring its teeth to attack. Every morning, after test days, the teacher would call us up, one by one, and beat our hands with a stick. The number of questions we got wrong on the test was the number of times she’d beat us.

  One of my friends, Yan, lived in special fear of our teacher. Yan tried very hard, but whenever our tests came, she could not pass. Every day I studied with her, for hours, trying to help her. “I wish I were smart like you,” she would say to me, wistfully. “I would do anything to be smarter.” And she did try everything. She would sleep with her books and rewrite math problems over and over again, but it didn’t seem to help.

  One day, the teacher surprised us by handing our test papers back to us without a beating. Yan and I looked at each other, hopeful that perhaps we would escape punishment. But we should have known better.

  “Everyone who didn’t have a perfect score, stand up!” she barked after everyone received their papers. “I want you to slap your face and keep slapping.”

  We did as we were told. “Harder, Yi,” she ordered out to a student who wasn’t hitting herself with enough strength. “Faster, Jia Li!” she yelled at another. Only when our faces were as pink as lychee skins did she nod, grim and satisfied.

  “Okay,” she said, “those with only one wrong answer on their tests can stop and sit down.” And then she would wait another two excruciating minutes and then let those with only two wrong answers sit down. And then, after that, those with three answers wrong could sit down, and so on. When I was lucky enough to sit down, I watched in horror as Yan stood for what seemed like hours, beating herself. Her face throbbed blood red from soreness and embarrassment as she was singled out as the stupidest in the class. Yan’s eyes shone with tears, like a helpless dog about to be run over by a train. But when she looked at me, it wasn’t a look for help. It was a look of yearning. I knew she was wishing that she could be like me, smart enough to remember the answers after studying, smart enough to answer questions correctly, smart enough to sit down. Even today, I can remember poor Yan’s red face with her pathetic eyes burning.

  When I was promoted to the next grade with a different teacher, sometimes I would be tempted to not study as hard. But I would remember Yan and how hard she studied and how much she envied me, and I would feel ashamed.

  “That is why it’s very important that you always try your best,” Mom said. “Yan tried so hard, yet couldn’t pass the test. She would’ve done anything to be able to get a good grade. For you not to get a good grade because you are lazy is shameful. And that, if anything, is what deserves punishment.”

  “That’s horrible,” I said. “The police should’ve arrested that teacher!”

  “Things were different back then,” Mom said. “They’re better now, but the idea that you should work hard is still the same.”

  I guessed since things were different, not all changes were that bad. I was glad Ms. Magon wasn’t anything like Mom’s old teacher.

  “So, will you promise to work harder?” Mom said. “And no more bad grades because of laziness?”

  I agreed.

  Chapter 20

  Clifford’s American Wedding

  THE LEAVES AND LAWN SPARKLED GREEN LIKE emerald jewels, and our yellow school bus that dropped us off for the last time that year looked like a sunflower on the street. School was finally over, summer was here, and that meant we were going to Clifford’s wedding! He was going to get married in Boston, Massachusetts, where his other grandparents lived (our grandparents lived in Taiwan; it was the other side of the family). I had never been to Boston before. Everyone said it was a good place to eat beans; I didn‘t know why. But even though I didn’t like beans, I couldn’t wait to go.

  Ki-Ki was going to be a flower girl. I was jealous. Mom bought her a special white dress with lace that fluffed out, and she was going to carry a basket of flowers. It was almost as good as being the bride.

  The night before the wedding, we stayed at a hotel near Clifford’s grandparents’ house. It was fun staying at a hotel. The only bad thing about staying there was that I had to share a bed with Lissy. She kicked!

  In the morning, Mom rushed us to get ready for the wedding. We had to be there early since Ki-Ki was a flower girl. Ki-Ki got to wear her new flower-girl dress while Lissy and I had to wear our silk Chinese dresses with the tight collars. Lissy had grown so much that Mom bought her a new dress, too. It was deep sapphire blue and embroidered with silver-gold bamboo leaves.

  I didn’t like my dress. It was bright green, the color of steamed broccoli, with gold dragons all over it. It was Lissy’s old dress that she grew out of. She had picked it for the dragons especially, but I thought dragons should be on boys’ clothes, not a girl’s dress. And I didn’t think it was fair that I was the only one that had to wear an old dress to the wedding.

  “My dress is old, too,” Mom said, when I complained. Her dress was green-blue silk.

  “That’s not the same,” I said. “Yours doesn’t count.”

  “Why not?” Mom aske
d, laughing.

  “Because,” I said, “you’re Mom!”

  Lissy, Mom, Dad, and I went to go sit in the pews while Aunt Linda, Clifford’s mother, pinned flowers onto Mom and Dad and rushed Ki-Ki to the back for photographs. The church was full of people. Everyone was talking and laughing so fast that it sounded like hundreds of clicking chopsticks. I could barely hear the organ music playing.

  Suddenly, without warning, everyone quieted down. Clifford (who looked really funny in his tuxedo), his groomsmen, and the priest had walked out and were standing at the altar. The lively organ music changed to slow booming chords. The wedding was going to begin!

  First Clifford’s parents came down the aisle and then Lian’s mother. Then, Ki-Ki and the other flower girl, Ting Ting, walked down the aisle. Ki-Ki’s mouth made a straight line and she was clutching her basket so tightly that her knuckles were turning the same color as her dress. But she and Ting Ting made it to the altar without any problem. Of course, if there had been any problems, Older Cousin Hannah and the other bridesmaids (in their gleaming gold dresses) would have done something, because they were walking right behind them.

  And then the music changed to a stately march and everyone stood up. Here came the bride! Lian was so pretty. Her black hair was braided and curled on her head, and her dark eyes sparkled like the diamond ring on her hand. Her long veil covered her, and her dress was a waterfall of lace trailing behind her. I didn’t know why she was marrying goofy Clifford; she seemed much too pretty for him.

  When she got to the altar, Lian and Clifford faced each other with the priest in between them. They smiled at each other like they had just eaten a warm egg custard on a cold day. And suddenly I realized that once Clifford was married, he wouldn’t be just our favorite cousin anymore; he’d be grown-up—he’d be Lian’s husband, with a house and car like Uncle Leo. I sat straight up. Clifford was going to change right in front of me.