Flying the Dragon

by Natalie Dias Lorenzi

  That’s when Skye noticed the dragon’s wound was gone. “Oh! You can’t even see where it was.”

  Hiroshi turned, obviously surprised to see her there. “I painted over that part.” He turned back to the kite.

  Neither one said a word for a long minute.

  Then Skye took a breath. “Look, I’m sorry about the kite.” There. I said it. Again.

  Hiroshi still didn’t look at her. “It was an accident.”

  Skye folded her arms. “So are you accepting my apology or not?”

  “Yes, I accept your apology.” He wound up some of the line without looking her way.

  “And that’s it?”

  “What’s it?”

  Skye rolled her eyes. She was about to say that it was his turn to apologize for lying when he asked, “Did your parents tell you about the lessons?”

  Skye nodded. “My dad said they all think it’s this great idea.”

  “I am not needing help,” Hiroshi said, switching to English as if to prove his point.

  Skye bit her lip but said nothing.

  “What?” He looked mad, like this was her fault.

  “Nothing. Here.” She pulled the paper from her pocket and thrust it toward him.

  “What is it?” Hiroshi looked suspicious.

  “It’s another English tip.”

  He eyed the paper.

  “It’s not poison, you know.” Skye kept her hand out. “Here. Take it.”

  “I do not need English tips.”

  Oh, yes, you do.

  Skye heard the skidding of brakes behind her and turned to see Kevin Donovan getting off his bike. She stepped between Hiroshi and Kevin.

  “Hey, cool kite.” Kevin looked up.

  Is it possible that Kevin could actually be a decent human being?

  “So where’s the doctor’s mask?”

  Nope. Not possible.

  “Leave him alone, Kevin.” Skye took a step toward him. “Just go home.”

  “Hey, it’s a free hill. I can be here.”

  Hiroshi’s voice came from behind her. “What is he saying?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  Kevin raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth, but Skye cut him off before he could say anything.

  “Yes, Kevin, I was just speaking in Japanese. Get over it.”

  Kevin held up his hands like he was innocent.

  “And if you don’t leave us alone, I’ll tell Mrs. Garcia I saw you cheating on the science quiz.”

  Kevin’s face paled. “You wouldn’t do that.”

  “Oh, yes, I would.”

  “Fine. Hang out with your boyfriend. See if I care.” He picked up his bike and coasted down the hill. That had worked out nicely. Skye hadn’t even seen Kevin cheating. She’d have to remember that technique next time.

  She turned back to Hiroshi. “Trust me. You definitely need the English tips.”

  “What else was he saying?” Hiroshi asked in Japanese.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “But I want to know.”

  “No, you don’t. He was being a jerk.” Skye handed him the paper. “Just take it.”

  Hiroshi took the paper from Skye’s hand. “I can defend myself, you know.”

  Skye sighed. “I’m sure you can. But not in English. Not yet.”

  Hiroshi turned away from her. “I feel like being by myself.”

  Skye had defended him to Kevin Donovan, and now he was acting like she’d insulted him. She couldn’t do anything right. “Fine. I have to go to soccer practice anyway.” She took off down the hill on her bike, already imagining a Hiroshi-shaped target in the soccer goal.

  22

  Hiroshi

  Hiroshi watched Skye pedal off down the hill. He hated that he needed her to stick up for him.

  A tug on his line drew his gaze upward. The dragon’s eyes bore down on him, demanding to know where Grandfather was. “He should be here,” Hiroshi told the dragon.

  Grandfather wasn’t supposed to get sick. They weren’t supposed to move to America, and he wasn’t supposed to be stuck depending on Skye to teach him real English. But he needed English to make friends.

  Hiroshi reeled in the line, yanking the dragon lower and lower until he could snatch it from the air. With one last glance down the hill, Hiroshi spotted Ravi on the far side of the playground, facing his direction and waving. But Hiroshi was tired of struggling through English. He pretended not to see Ravi and turned and jogged down the hill toward home.

  Hiroshi slammed the door, kicked off his shoes, and stomped up to his room. He let the dragon kite fall to the floor, then remembered the paper in his pocket. He took it out and sank onto his bed. He unfolded the paper and smoothed out the creases. It read:

  What was gross about sushi? Hiroshi sighed. He’d never figure Americans out.

  “Hiroshi?” Father’s voice came from the other side of the door. Hiroshi slipped the paper behind him as Father entered the room. “You can’t slam doors. Grandfather is—”

  “I know—he’s sleeping.” Hiroshi flopped back onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. “As usual.”

  Father picked up the kite and set it on Hiroshi’s desk. “I know this is hard on you, Hiroshi.” The mattress creaked and leaned as Father sat down. Hiroshi rolled over and faced the wall, and Father rested a hand on Hiroshi’s shoulder. “We all hope Grandfather will feel better soon.”

  But Father’s voice didn’t sound anything like hope. Hiroshi tried to swallow.

  “We’ll just have to be patient and pray the treatment works.” Father patted his shoulder, but Hiroshi shrugged his hand off. Father didn’t speak for a full minute. “I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

  Who cares when dinner is ready? Hiroshi wasn’t hungry.

  The mattress creaked again when Father stood up. Hiroshi heard Father’s footsteps pause before he closed the door behind him. Tears burned behind his eyelids, and he squeezed his eyes shut. A few minutes later he heard a soft knock at his door.

  “I want to be alone.” Still facing the wall, he pulled his pillow over his head.

  “May I come in?” Grandfather’s voice sounded muffled.

  Hiroshi lifted the pillow an inch. “Yes.” When Grandfather sat down, the mattress didn’t creak; it barely leaned at all.

  “What’s this?” Grandfather asked.

  Hiroshi heard paper crinkle and he rolled over. Grandfather held Skye’s paper, but Hiroshi knew he couldn’t see the writing without his reading glasses.

  “Nothing.”

  When Grandfather handed the paper to Hiroshi, he balled it up and held it in his fist. “Nothing important.”

  “I am sorry I slept so long. How was the wind today?”

  Hiroshi waited until he was sure his voice would come out steady. “Fine, I guess.”

  “You told me you painted the new section of the kite—may I see it?”

  Hiroshi rolled over and shrugged. “Sure.” He lifted the dragon from the desk.

  Grandfather pulled his glasses from his shirt pocket. He switched on the nightstand lamp and trained the light on the section where the rip had been.

  “Well done, Hiroshi. I cannot tell where my painting stops and yours begins.” He nodded. “You have matched the dragon’s scales exactly from one side to the other.”

  Hiroshi sat up straighter. “Do you really think so? It took me a long time to do it.”

  Grandfather smiled. “It is a job well done. We will test it together tomorrow.”

  “I already tested it.” He snuck a glance at Grandfather, then pretended to pick lint off his bedspread.

  Grandfather nodded. “Of course.” He clicked off the desk lamp. “How did it do?”

  “Fine.”

  Grandfather smiled a tired smile. “I am glad.”

  Hiroshi sat up. “You were sleeping, you know.” He said it like an accusation.

  Grandfather nodded again. “We will go to the park tomorrow, if you’d like.”

  H
iroshi didn’t answer right away. He opened his hand far enough to see Skye’s paper peeking out. “I don’t want to go to the park anymore.” He paused. “I want to go back to Japan.” Where they had been happy. Where Grandfather wasn’t sick. His words became a rogue gust of wind, the kind that threatens to carry kites away against their will. He couldn’t stop them from coming.

  “I hate it here. I want to go home.”

  He felt the string snap, felt the greedy wind sweep his kite away. Angry tears streamed down Hiroshi’s cheeks, but he didn’t try to wipe them away. He hated the cancer. The cancer had forced them to leave Japan. And even after stealing Grandfather’s laughter and strength, the cancer still wouldn’t leave him alone.

  Hiroshi had never spoken to Grandfather with such disrespect. What would Grandfather do? Hiroshi tried breathing slowly, the way Grandfather had taught him to calm his nerves before kite battles. When Hiroshi dared to look, he expected to see anger on Grandfather’s face. But he saw only sadness.

  The last of the storm inside Hiroshi snuffed itself out. “I’m sorry, Grandfather.” The words burned his throat.

  Grandfather placed his hand over Hiroshi’s. “So am I, Hiroshi. So am I.”

  23

  Skye

  Shifting her bulging backpack, Skye lifted the brass knocker on Hiroshi’s door. Her shoulders already ached from carrying all those books from her bike to the door. She had seen pictures of Japanese school kids with backpacks like suitcases—and no wheels. She wondered how they did it without tipping over.

  The door swung open, and Aunt Naoko welcomed her in with a smile. “It is lovely to see you, Sorano. Thank you for offering to tutor Hiroshi.”

  Offering? Maybe the word meant something different in Japanese. Or maybe it had a double meaning: offer = bribe with the promise of the chance to play on the All-Star soccer team.

  “Would you like something to eat or drink? Maybe a warm cup of green tea?”

  Green tea? Ugh. But her aunt looked so pleased and sincere that Skye couldn’t say no. “Hai. Domo arigato gozaimasu. Thank you—green tea sounds … great.”

  Aunt Naoko beamed. “Hiroshi is in the dining room. Please.” She swept her arm past the foyer. As Skye headed through the front room, she looked for a plant that might be thirsty for green tea later.

  She spotted Hiroshi at the head of the table, scribbling in a notebook. He didn’t look up. Books were spread everywhere; the only clear spot was all the way across the table. Skye plopped her books down and sat. Hiroshi didn’t stop writing.

  Skye sighed. “Look, this wasn’t my idea. I don’t like this any more than you do.”

  Hiroshi looked up. “I know.”

  Aunt Naoko came in with two cups, a pot of green tea, and some kind of pastry on a plate.

  “Arigato, Okaa-san,” Hiroshi said, and he looked pleased.

  “Arigato gozaimasu,” Skye said, hoping maybe the pastries were stuffed with some kind of Japanese chocolate.

  Aunt Naoko offered the plate to Skye first. “Do you know this pastry?”

  “I don’t think so.” She took one. “Thank you.”

  Aunt Naoko beamed. “It is called yomogi mochi.” She looked at Hiroshi. “I am not sure how you would translate it into English.” Skye took a bite as Hiroshi flipped through a Japanese-English dictionary. The pastry was sweet and soft inside. Not bad.

  Hiroshi made some notes, then looked up. “It has a bean filling, tsubushi an, covered with a layer of sweet rice.” Skye looked at the half-eaten pastry in her hand. Her chewing slowed.

  “Oh, and yomogi—a kind of grass, and roasted soybean on top.” Hiroshi looked triumphant. “It is one of my favorites.”

  Aunt Naoko smiled. “I can give your mother the recipe, if you would like.”

  Skye commanded her tongue to swallow the bite of pastry, and then she washed it down with a gulp of green tea. “Thank you, Aunt Naoko. It’s delicious. But boy, am I full.” Skye set the rest of the bean paste–rice–grass concoction on her napkin. “I’ve got soccer practice later, so I better not fill up too much.”

  “Of course, Sorano-chan.” Aunt Naoko gathered up Hiroshi’s mess of books and papers, piling them next to him with a firm look. “Dozo. Please, come, Sorano.” She pointed to the chair next to Hiroshi. “I apologize for my disorganized son. You will need to sit closer if the two of you are to get any work done.” Hiroshi blushed, and Skye slid over one chair.

  Aunt Naoko left the room, and Skye unzipped her bag. “So what’s first? English or Japanese?” She hoped he’d say English, because she had a new English tip for him. The perfect one, actually. She pulled it out of her notebook.

  Hiroshi sighed. “It doesn’t matter.” He opened a folder and pulled out a piece of paper folded in half. “If you want to start with Japanese, here.” He gave her the paper.

  Skye frowned. She hadn’t even shown him her homework assignment or any of her Japanese books. How did he know what to start with? She eyed the paper, wary.

  “Go ahead. It’s not a yomogi mochi,” he said. She looked up, feeling the heat creep into her cheeks. If Hiroshi had seen right through her polite snack talk, had Aunt Naoko seen, too?

  She unfolded the paper and squinted at the Japanese writing. This was too hard—she didn’t know all of the characters. “I’m not sure I can read this.”

  He nodded once. “Try.”

  She took a breath and began. “Gomen nasai.” Okay, that part she knew; it meant “I’m sorry.” She scanned the other lines. “Something about Grandfather … and the kite?” It was probably something she’d understand if she heard it, but reading all those characters? Forget it.

  He took the paper and angled it so Skye could see it. He read it aloud, following the characters down the page with his finger as he spoke in Japanese: “I am sorry that I was not truthful before. I wanted to fly the kite alone with Grandfather. This was not fair to you. I apologize.”

  Skye felt like she should apologize all over again about stepping on the kite. But she wasn’t sorry that she wanted to spend time with Grandfather.

  Hiroshi broke into her thoughts. “What’s that?”

  Skye blinked. “What’s what?” She saw his eyes on her English Tip page, and slid it under her notebook. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

  Hiroshi’s face fell. “I thought maybe it was a new word. Your kind of word, not a school word.”

  Skye tapped her pencil on the table. Maybe she shouldn’t give him the tip, now that he’d apologized. Would he get mad? She looked at him sideways. It was a word he needed to know.

  “Well, I guess I could show you. Since you asked for something new. But it’s not about you, or anything.”

  “Okay.” Hiroshi looked doubtful.

  She put the paper in front of him. It read:

  Hiroshi read the paper, then nodded. “This is about my lie.”

  Skye shrugged. “I mean, it could be anyone’s lie. It’s for lies in general, I guess.”

  Now he looked confused. “How can a lie be fat?”

  “Well, it just means big; you know, a big lie.”

  Aunt Naoko’s voice came from the next room. “Do either of you need anything?” Skye closed Hiroshi’s note of apology and leaned her elbow on it. Hiroshi shoved Skye’s English Tip #4 under a notebook just as Aunt Naoko popped her head in the door.

  “Do you need more green tea?” She frowned at their closed books.

  Skye opened one of Hiroshi’s books and said, “We were just doing an English conversation exercise. As soon as we’re done, we’ll start on Japanese.”

  Hiroshi nodded.

  Aunt Naoko smiled, but it was one of those I’ve-got-my-eye-on-you smiles. “Let me know if you need anything.” Aunt Naoko left and Skye sighed.

  “What do you have for homework?” Hiroshi asked. Skye opened to the list of the next set of kanji she needed to memorize before Saturday and turned the book so Hiroshi could see it. He inspected the page and nodded. “This will be easy.”

  “Easy?
Maybe for you.”

  “I will show you—all you need are the right tricks, and you’ll know these by Saturday.”

  Skye raised an eyebrow. “You really think so?”

  Hiroshi nodded. “How do you usually study these?”

  “Like this.” Skye looked at the first kanji, then covered it up. “Isu,” she said. Then she lifted her hand and checked her answer.

  “Right, chair.” She covered up the next one, but before she could say the answer, Hiroshi stopped her.

  “That way is not the cool way. It will take forever.”

  Skye’s shoulders slumped. “I know. That’s the problem. And I don’t have until forever.” Skye paused.

  Hiroshi turned her book so it was facing her. “You have to find the ones that are related.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Hiroshi pointed to two kanji characters. “See? Tako, kite, is this one. Kaze, wind, is over here. They both begin with the same symbol. Only the centers of each are different.”

  “Oh!” Skye looked at them as if she were seeing them for the first time. “Why didn’t I ever notice that before?”

  “You mean your teacher never showed you?”

  Skye thought. “You know, maybe she did. I don’t always pay attention.” Hiroshi nodded, like he knew the feeling.

  “You two look like you are working hard.” Grandfather’s voice came from over Skye’s shoulder.

  “Konbanwa, Grandfather,” Skye and Hiroshi said.

  Grandfather peered at one of Hiroshi’s books. “This must be English.”

  Skye pointed to her name on her notebook. “English letters are like hiragana and katakana—there are sounds for each one. Sometimes they have more than one sound, and sometimes you can combine them to make other sounds.”

  Grandfather nodded. “You are a good teacher, Sorano-chan.”

  Skye grinned and opened her notebook to a clean page and wrote in large, clear letters. “Here. This says grandfather in English.”

  Grandfather took the notebook and placed his finger on the last letter, r. Then he moved his finger to the g and tapped it. “English begins on the left, I’ve heard.”