by Andrea Cheng
The door opens and Mom steps into the living room. She sees the broken glass and scattered candy on the floor. “What is going on here? Where is Dad?”
“He went to his class.”
“He left you three alone?” She shakes her head and mumbles something in Chinese that I don’t understand. Then she takes Kaylee from Ken and carries her up to her crib. I follow behind.
“I told Dad we could watch her for a few minutes,” I say, feeling my throat swell. “It was just an accident.”
“Go get the vacuum cleaner.” Mom’s voice is deep. Kaylee is standing up in her crib, watching us, but she doesn’t cry.
“I told Dad I could watch her because I can,” I say. My voice is getting louder as I talk. “I am almost eleven years old, and I know how to take care of a baby.” I swallow. “You always want me to help with Kaylee, and now that I did, you are mad.” My throat is scratchy but I will not let myself cry.
Mom hurries out of the room and I hear her footsteps go down to the basement to get the vacuum cleaner. I know she is thinking that I am a girl who does not listen to her parents, a disobedient American girl with a loud voice.
I hear Mom turn on the vacuum cleaner. She runs it forever until there can’t possibly be any slivers of glass. Kaylee lies down on her mattress and sucks her thumb. I lean over her crib and pat her head. “It’s okay, Bao Bao. It’s not your fault.” She is staring across the room. “You are the best Bao Bao in the whole world—did you know that?” I rub her back until her eyes close. Mom turns off the vacuum cleaner and our house is quiet.
I go into my room and sit down at my desk. I bet Mom is mopping the floor now, just to make sure there’s not a single speck of glass. She’s always so careful about everything, especially if it’s related to Kaylee.
I take a piece of scrap paper and start doodling. I could do my science fair project about parents and kids. Or I could do something about oldest kids, middle kids, and youngest kids. But it would take hundreds of kids to try to prove anything. And what about only children like Camille and my cousins in China? Or what about kids who are adopted? Would that make a difference?
I write WANG in all kinds of different letters, like shadow writing and block letters. Then I write the Chinese character for our name on the side of the page. It’s so simple, two lines across, one down, and one more on the bottom. It means “king” in Chinese and it looks sort of like a crown. Maybe I could do my science project about Chinese characters and how some of them resemble pictures. But that would be a history project, not a science one. Plus, I know people have studied that before.
I write my first name, Anna, in curlicue writing. I always notice how different people have different ways of writing. Laura’s handwriting is big and round and she dots her “i’s” with circles. Camille’s handwriting is small and perfect. But I cannot think of a hypothesis about handwriting.
At eight thirty, I go to bed and fall asleep without even reading. But in the middle of the night I hear voices coming from downstairs. I sit up to listen. Mom is shouting, then Dad, then Mom. I can hear some of what they’re saying but not every word. Something about responsibility and baby and thriving. I know Mom is blaming Dad because he left us alone with Kaylee. But it was my idea, not his. Maybe I should go downstairs and tell Mom that I wanted to take care of my baby sister. But she might be mad that I am awake.
Then I hear a sound coming from Kaylee’s room. She’s not crying or whimpering. I sit up so I can hear better. Her voice is going up and down. Could she be trying to sing?
Maybe Kaylee remembers a song from the orphanage. Or maybe her first mom sang it to her.
Later, I hear Mom get up and go into the bathroom to get ready for work. Nurses have to go to work at all kinds of odd times.
When my alarm rings in the morning, I feel like I could sleep forever.
Eleven
Science Fair
I’m standing on the curb, waiting for Ray the crossing guard to stop the cars. It’s starting to drizzle and the wind is strong. “Cold front’s coming,” Ray says, looking up at the clouds.
Allison runs up. “Hey, Anna, are you coming over after school?” She pulls her hat down over her ears.
“What for?”
“Did Lucy forget to tell you? To plan our experiment.”
Ray moves into the intersection and Ken rushes across. “Hurry, girls,” Ray says. “It’s cold this morning.”
Ray is right. I wish I had worn my warmer jacket.
“My mom said she’d pick us up,” Allison says. “I have all the books at my house.”
I really don’t want to do the experiment from the natural world book, but I don’t know what to tell Allison. “I’m not sure,” I say, hurrying into the school building.
Ms. Sylvester says she was not at all pleased with our last spelling tests. We have to remember that we are in fifth grade, which means we are ten or eleven years old and it’s time to buckle down if we want to be ready for middle school next year. Her face looks really disappointed. I got 100 on my test, so I know she’s not talking to me, but still I wish she was happy like she was last year. When fourth grade ended, I was so glad that Ms. Sylvester would loop with us, but now she is irritable a lot of the time.
“Write one sentence for each new spelling word,” she says.
“Can we write a story with the words?” I ask. “Or does it have to be separate sentences?”
“A story is fine,” she says.
“Can we change the words a little, like nourishment instead of nourish?”
“Yes, Anna,” she says. Her face looks annoyed, as if she is tired of my questions.
I look at the list again:plagiarism, nourish, strength, definitely, awkward, lifelong, situation, precocious, conscience. Then I start writing:
In China there was a baby girl whose parents were so poor that she didn’t get enough nourishment. Her strength wasn’t great, but she was a precocious baby. The parents had a lot of daughters and they definitely wanted a son, so they put their baby daughter in front of an office building where somebody would be sure to find her. This situation bothered their conscience lifelong, but there was nothing they could do. The other sisters asked about the baby, and the parents answered awkwardly. Finally when one of the sisters grew up, she decided to search for her lost sister.
This story is not plagiarism.
I wish I could throw my paper away and start over. I don’t want Ms. Sylvester to read it, because she might think it’s true. But I don’t have time to write new sentences, so I put my paper into the basket on her desk.
After we turn our papers in, we are supposed to work on our science fair projects in the back of the room. “Thanksgiving break is coming,” Ms. Sylvester says, “and by the time you come back, you should all have a solid start.”
Allison is sitting at the table with her notebook open. “Here’s the task list,” she says. “Everyone can pick what they want to do.”
Lucy and Laura join us. Laura says she’ll put in the food coloring. Allison takes a red marker and puts her name next to that task. Lucy says she thinks her mom will take her to get the dye and the containers, so Allison marks that down too.
“I think we’re supposed to do the observation part first,” I say.
“That’s not what the book said.” Allison is holding the marker. “So which part do you want, Anna?” She’s standing with one foot in front of the other, waiting. “You could get the bulbs.”
I take a deep breath. “I think I might do something else.”
“Like what?” Laura asks.
“I like animals better than plants,” I say.
“I like animals too,” Laura says. “But it’s hard to do an experiment with them.”
“You can’t hurt them or anything,” Lucy warns.
I know they are right. Plants are easier. And it’s nice of Allison to try to organize everything and to include me. But I don’t want to do this project about plants in dye that’s probably been done thousands of times. The pic
tures in the book show each step. You put the bulbs in the water with different food coloring and watch how it affects the blossoms. But we already know that the flowers turn colors from the dye in the water. The only thing for us to really observe is how dark or light the colors are.
“Well, the world can’t live without plants,” Allison says. “They’re the basis of all life.” She sighs. “So, are you going to do your own science fair project?”
I don’t know what to say. I really don’t want to do something all by myself, but I don’t want to use an experiment from a book. I want to do something where I don’t know how it will turn out ... something that really matters. “I’m not sure.”
“When are you going to decide?” Allison’s voice is sharp.
I glance around the room. Camille is the only one still working on her spelling word sentences. Her head is close to the paper and she is gripping her pencil really hard.
“You guys can go ahead without me,” I say.
Allison looks at Laura and Lucy. “Who wants to get the bulbs?”
Lucy says she will.
“And who wants to record the observations?”
“Camille has really nice handwriting,” Laura says. Allison takes a blue marker and writes “Camille” with a fancy C.
I can change my mind. I can tell them that I will get the bulbs or record observations. But all the tasks are already assigned. I open my notebook and write Science Fair in big cursive letters. I make designs all around the page.
Ms. Sylvester is walking around the room. When she gets to Allison’s group, she says “Sounds very colorful. Make sure you take pictures of the flowers.” For some reason, I feel a lump grow in my throat. Last year Ms. Sylvester liked me a lot. But now she is tired of me and sometimes I am tired of her, too. She comes around the side of my table.
“Any ideas?”
I shake my head.
Ms. Sylvester goes over to the shelf and pulls out a book. “Why don’t you take a look at this.” The title of the book is Maps of the Ancient World. “Maybe it’ll trigger something for you.”
The cover of the book looks interesting, but I don’t know how it could help me with my science fair project. The bell rings and it’s time for lunch.
Twelve
A Surprise
There’s lots of traffic because people are picking up their kids to go out of town for the holiday. Ken and Alan are up ahead, laughing and pretending to shoot baskets. I make my way around them. On Thanksgiving Day, we’ll have a big dinner at Camille’s house with all the other Chinese families like we do every year. Only this time, Kaylee will be with us. It will be fun to show her off to all the aunties. Auntie Linda will make my favorite roasted duck.
Laura comes up behind me. She’s kicking a soggy sweet gum ball and not saying much. “Are you going to Michigan?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she says. “My dad wants us to spend Thanksgiving at his house, and my mom wants us to go to Michigan, and Andrew and David want to go to a beach in Florida.” Laura kicks the sweet gum ball into the street.
“I was thinking that if you’re home, we could sew a dress for Kaylee.”
Laura’s face lights up. “I think my mom has some material with little cats all over it that would be perfect.”
A car slows down and it’s Laura’s dad. He stops and opens the window. “Hop in,” he says.
“Where are we going?” Laura asks.
Her brothers are in the back seat. “To my apartment,” he says. He smiles. “You guys are spending Thanksgiving with me.”
Laura looks at me. “I’ll call you as soon as I get home,” she says, getting into the car.
When I get home, Dad is holding Kaylee and stirring something on the stove. Ken is making faces to get her to laugh.
“Guess what?” he says. “Grandma is coming from San Francisco!”
“When?”
“Tonight!” Ken jumps and shouts so loud that Kaylee gets startled.
I can hardly believe it. Every year we hope Grandma will come from California for Thanksgiving, but she usually can’t because she has to take care of her sister. “What about Auntie Wendy?” I ask.
“She’s living in a retirement home now, so she’ll be well taken care of.” Dad turns off the stove. “It was a last-minute idea. We were able to get her a standby ticket.”
“How long can she stay?” I’m already thinking of how Grandma can help me sew Kaylee’s dress.
“We’re not sure. We’ll see how it goes.”
“How what goes?”
“How Kaylee does,” Dad says. “Mom took her back to the doctor, and she lost half a pound. The doctor was really concerned.”
“So is that why Grandma’s coming?” I ask.
Dad blows on the oatmeal. “Partly.” He puts Kaylee into her highchair and spoons a little bit of oatmeal into a pink plastic bowl.
“How can Grandma make Kaylee eat any more than we can?”
“We’ll just have to see, Anna,” Dad says.
Kaylee stares at the spoon with a stubborn look on her face. I get a spoon of my own and put some oatmeal into my mouth. “Mmm, good,” I say.
Kaylee watches me. Finally she opens her mouth and Dad gets a little in. Most of it comes out onto her bib. But maybe she swallows something.
When Mom and Dad went to China to get Kaylee, Grandma stayed with us for three weeks. She showed us how to crochet little worms to use as book markers and how to cut carrots into flower shapes. She made seaweed soup for dinner, which I loved, and in the evening we played gin rummy. I hope she’ll stay for a long time.
After our snack, I go up to my room and take the book from Ms. Sylvester out of my backpack. It’s full of ancient maps with intricate borders and words I cannot understand. It seems as if some of the mapmakers thought the world was flat. They had no idea where the continents really were or the oceans or anything. I like the pictures, but why does Ms. Sylvester think these maps could possibly help me come up with an idea for my science project?
I get a cup of water, open my small tray of watercolors, and start to copy one of the maps of China with the paintbrush. I add the mountains in brown and the rivers in blue. Our Chinese teacher tells us about different parts of China, and she shows us paintings and calligraphy. Maybe someday I can go with Kaylee and we can visit Wai Po and our aunts and uncles and cousins in Shanghai.
I blow on my painting, and on the top I write “To Grandma” in red paint. Then I take it up to the attic and put it on Grandma’s bed.
Thirteen
Grandma Arrives
Mom is at work at the hospital. Dad and Ken and I have a quick dinner of pot stickers from the package. Kaylee watches us eat, but when Dad tries to give her some, she bats it away.
Ken clears the table and I wash the dishes while Dad gets Kaylee ready. Grandma’s flight arrives at eight thirty, and it’s already eight. We’re about to leave for the airport when Kaylee poops. I don’t see how she can eat so little and poop so much. We have to take off her jacket and all her clothes and change her diaper. It’s almost eight fifteen, so Dad drives fast. Ken and I hold on to the handles above the windows and hope the police don’t stop us.
By the time we park and make our way inside, Grandma is already there. Ken and I run to hug her.
“You’ve both grown about a foot,” Grandma says, holding us close, so I can smell the anise that I love. “And I think I’ve shrunk a foot.”
“Sorry we’re late,” Dad says, hugging his mother and holding Kaylee at the same time.
“No problem at all.” Grandma touches Kaylee’s cheek. “How is our little one?”
“She lost a half a pound,” I say.
“Yes, Dad told me,” Grandma says. “But she still looks bigger than when I saw her in September.”
Kaylee holds up the little mouse.
“And who gave you this?” Grandma asks Kaylee.
“Laura and I made it,” I say.
“How is your new cat doing?” Grand
ma asks as we head to the baggage claim.
“She’s not what I’d call friendly,” Ken says.
“Cats always act like they don’t need us,” Grandma says. “When inside they do.”
“How do we know they need us?” Ken asks.
“Little things. Like they’ll bring you a dead bird.”
Then Ken tells Grandma about how he won the Lego contest at school, but she is talking to Dad about Kaylee and how she brought some special nutritional herbs from Chinatown. She doesn’t even know Ken is talking to her. When he notices, he gets quiet.
“Who got second place?” I ask Ken.
“Alan.”
“What did he build?”
“A robot. But it looked pretty much like the picture that came with the set.”
“What did you make?”
Ken smiles. “A multicolored cat!”
“Really? Do you still have it?”
“I had to take it apart after the contest. But Ms. Sylvester took a picture of it.”
Ken describes his Lego cat, how he made the ears pointed with the smallest pieces, and he used some wire that came with the robot set to make whiskers. I love the way he talks with his hands when he’s excited. Even if Dad and Grandma aren’t interested in Lego building, I am.
Dad pulls into our driveway, and the cat is sitting right on the front steps.
Grandma laughs. “She’s waiting for us.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “She has her eyes closed.”
“So does Kaylee,” Grandma says.
I pick Kaylee up gently so she won’t wake up, and carry her across the yard.