Suddenly, something clicked. Chinese school. Maybe this was my ticket out of the free-throw contest and more skirmishes with Sloane.
“Listen, I’ve been thinking … with Chinese school and all, I’m not going to be on the basketball team this season. So, maybe I shouldn’t go out for captain at school.” I said it quickly, to get it over with.
Madison looked surprised. “Really? You really think that? ’Cause, you know, most of the kids who will be playing don’t even play in a league. Look at Sloane.”
Exactly — look at Sloane. “Yeah, I know, but … I just wouldn’t have my best game if I wasn’t in practice with Coach Mike and you guys. I mean, sure, I can do the free throws, but as far as leading the team, I wouldn’t have my head in it.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. It could have been true. It could have been a good reason not to go out for captain. It just wasn’t the truth.
Madison thumped her pen against her lower lip, looking at the ceiling. “You would make a great captain.”
I thought about how proud I had felt when Madison had pointed at me and mouthed you. I wondered what she would think if she knew the truth. “I think it’s the right thing to do,” I said.
Madison looked so disappointed that I could hardly look at her.
“If something comes up and I can go to basketball, I’ll try out. Really,” I added lamely, trying to cheer her up. Yeah, like if Chinese school is destroyed by a meteor.
Madison nodded, not saying anything. She picked up the notebook where we had been writing down all our party plans. “Now be honest, Lucy …” she began. I froze, waiting to be called out on the real reason I didn’t want to go out for captain.
“Don’t you think we can do better than hot dogs this year?” Madison smiled.
“For the party?” I exhaled. “Definitely.” I didn’t care if Madison wanted to serve bologna sandwiches and, ugh, blueberries. I just wanted to get past this moment, and have everything, everything get back to normal.
On Saturday, Regina came home for the day to see Yi Po.
Regina already seemed more grown-up, even though she had only been gone a month. She was wearing jewelry I’d never seen before, and she talked about Econ and Poli-Sci. Regina also brought a present for Yi Po, a scarf with the Hamilton University logo on it.
Yi Po thanked her, and then the two of them were off and running, chatting in Chinese a mile a minute. It was like they’d known each other forever. I wondered if Regina felt like a relief to Yi Po after Kenny, who spent more time eating than talking, and me. Maybe she wished that Regina were her roommate instead.
We went out for a great big Chinese lunch. My parents ordered tons of food because Regina complained that there were no good Chinese restaurants around Hamilton, and we spent most of the afternoon in a food coma. Regina came upstairs to look at our bedroom.
“The new wall color is nice,” she said. “But a wall in the middle? Really, Lucy.”
“I like it this way,” I told her.
“If you kept your side a little neater, at least, the space wouldn’t seem so small,” said Regina. My side was currently decorated in a style I called, I Can’t Find My Math Homework.
I didn’t say anything as we walked back downstairs. We hung out some more, Dad gave Regina some money, and then at five o’clock, her ride picked her up to whisk her back to Hamilton.
“Why couldn’t you stay for the weekend?” asked Mom, as Regina got ready to leave.
“I have to study,” said Regina, “and besides, where would I sleep?”
After Regina left, the house felt funny. We had gotten used to Regina being away, and now we missed her all over again. Dad decided to go for a walk, and Yi Po went with him. I decided to go to my room while I had the chance to have it to myself.
My room is fifteen linoleum tiles wide by twenty tiles long, which means that my side of the room is seven and a half tiles wide. I can’t even get to the bottom of the bookshelf that is part of the wall because of all the stuff I have piled up.
Looking at the wall now, though, I realized that the wall was on my half of the room, taking up part of my seven and a half tiles. The wall should be in the exact middle, along the eighth row of tiles, just to be fair. That would give me a whole extra half row of tiles for space.
I knew that if I tried to bring this up with Yi Po, one of two things would happen. One would be that she would start looking confused halfway through my sentence and then whatever little bit of Chinese was in my mouth would shrivel up and die. The other would be that she would get my parents to explain and then it would become a great big deal. And I’d probably get yelled at in the process for being a bad host, having a bad attitude, blah blah blah.
It would just be easier to quietly sl-i-i-i-de the bookcase over the necessary few inches, wouldn’t it? Yi Po would never notice, and Mom wouldn’t hear me downstairs if I was very, very careful.
I grabbed one end of the bookcase and slid it over. Thump. A couple of books tipped over and fell out. I held my breath and waited a minute to see if Mom was going to yell something up the stairs. She didn’t.
I picked up the other end of the bookcase and slid it over so that it lined up neatly with the other end, along the eighth row of tiles. Oh, yeah — that was so much better.
Now for the desk. The desk was going to be kind of a problem because I didn’t technically use my desk as a desk since the wall went up. It was more like the place where I put my not-that-dirty clothes, homework, protein bars, games, and other stuff I wanted to keep track of. Moving that without causing an avalanche was going to be tough.
I pulled as carefully as I could on the desk, but it shuddered along the floor. Thud-a-thud-a-thud. A stack of slick magazines slid forward, right to the edge. A mug of old hot chocolate threatened to jump off the desk.
I pushed everything back toward the center of the desk, trying to leave a wide margin along all sides for spillage.
“Lucy!” Mom yelled from downstairs. “Come set the table for dinner.”
“Coming!” I yelled back.
I gave the last corner of the desk one hard pull, and the desk slid over into its new position without anything falling off. As I walked out the door, I gave the room one last look — seven tiles for my side, one tile for the wall, and seven tiles for Yi Po. Now that was fair.
I spent the next afternoon over at Madison’s house, shooting hoops and watching movies. Mrs. Jameson ordered a pizza for dinner and invited me to stay, so I didn’t get home until dark. Yi Po had already gone to bed — it was early, even for her.
But even in the dark, I could see that something was different. I pushed the door open a tiny bit wider, and counted the tiles. Sure enough.
Now there were six tiles on my side, one in the middle for the wall, and eight on Yi Po’s side.
Had I miscounted before? Missed a row? That seemed impossible. Which left just one other possibility: Yi Po had done it herself.
For a moment, I felt indignant. She moved the wall! But then, I couldn’t help smiling. I was busted, plain and simple.
I’d put the wall back in the middle tomorrow when no one was looking, and put it back to the old way, just so we’d have an understanding.
I hated to admit it, but the whole thing made me like her, just a little.
When Mom comes to school to pick me up, she always does something embarrassing, like talk too long to the teacher or wave to every single kid she knows. One time she parked in the bus line and held up all the buses until she moved her car.
This time, though, she broke all the records. Right as we were lining up to go to art, Mom appeared at the door. “Lucy! Time to see the dentist!” She made a motion like she was brushing her teeth with a giant toothbrush.
Mrs. Tibbs’s class was walking by when she did it. I heard Sloane laughing. “Time to see the dentist! Time to see the dentist!” she said, mimicking Mom. “Gotta brush my great big teeth!” She didn’t say it loudly, but it was like my ears had a special frequency just for Sloane. A
burst of Amazon giggles followed.
I grabbed my backpack and shoved my homework inside, hoping to keep Mom from doing anything else. “See ya,” I muttered to Madison.
“Three more days until Chinese school!” Talent trilled from her seat.
I gave Talent the instant-death stare. She shut up.
It should be three more days until basketball practice. That’s how things should be.
I trudged after Mom through the parking lot. Mom was either completely unaware of how annoyed I was, or she was trying to cheerfully chatter her way out of it. “Look at those gorgeous flowers!” She pointed at the patch of flowers in blue and yellow, our school colors. “I guess we have the PTA to thank for that.”
You can thank the president of the PTA for a lot more than that, I thought, like her precious daughter Sloane making my life miserable.
Mom didn’t notice that I wasn’t actually participating in the conversation. She went on and on about the new school sign, the upcoming gift-wrap fund-raiser, and the bake sale. It was like she had never been to my school before. She never mentioned anything about the sixth-grade basketball game.
Mom had no clue what was going on. Like Sloane. Like basketball. Like my birthday party. She hadn’t said anything about what would happen to my party with Yi Po being here.
“So where are you taking Yi Po on Halloween weekend?” I asked suddenly.
Mom was concentrating on backing out of the parking space. “What? Lucy, what are you talking about?”
“You know. Halloween — Madison and I are having our joint party that weekend, so Yi Po will have to go out, right?” I thought about the row of tiles in my room. “You could take her somewhere really nice. Like Belleview Gardens.”
“It’s not a great time to go away for the weekend,” said Mom. “But if you and Madison wanted to have a small party in the afternoon at our house on Halloween, that would be fine.”
I think Kenny gets his cluelessness from Mom, in addition to his math genes. Who wants a small afternoon party on Halloween? “It … won’t … be … the … same,” I said very slowly, like you would talk to a little kid. “The best parties on Halloween are at night, and they’re big.”
“Well, honey, that won’t work because Yi Po is here,” said Mom calmly.
“Of course it won’t work,” I snapped. I turned and stared out the window. “It’s just one more thing that this whole visit has ruined.” I felt tired, like everyone in the world was picking on me.
“Maybe we could …” she started, but I interrupted her.
“Never mind. We’ll just have it at Madison’s house.”
Mom took a deep breath. I was expecting her to start yelling at me any second, but instead, she surprised me.
“You know, Lucy, you’ve been walking around with a pretty big chip on your shoulder. You had all these expectations about what this year was going to be like, and now it’s turning out different.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
We were at a red light, and Mom turned and looked at me. It was weird to look at her whole face. It was as if we were so busy these days that I only saw her in profile as she drove the car or cooked dinner. Her eyes were large and thoughtful.
“I know this has been hard for you, but I think you might try to figure out what good things might come out of the situation as it is. Stop wishing for things to be different, and take them as they are.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I said. “Absolutely nothing has gone my way since Yi Po got here. I have to go to this stupid Chinese school instead of basketball. I barely got to enjoy my own room, and it smells now, and …”
I hesitated. I had almost said something about Sloane Connors, but then I replayed the image of Mom standing in the classroom doorway, pretending to brush her teeth. There was a very good chance that telling Mom about Sloane would only make things worse, not better.
“Everything is just messed up,” I said.
Mom didn’t say anything. Was she even listening?
Even with perfect teeth, I don’t exactly like going to see the dentist, but as far as dentists go, Dr. Espinoza is pretty nice. Her daughter Marilisa was on my team last year, and it was funny to see her at practices in her nondentist clothes. Dr. E. likes to put photographs and artwork on the walls and ceilings so that the patients have something to look at while she’s cleaning their teeth. It almost makes me forget about the weird back-of-the-nose antiseptic smell that all dentist offices seem to have.
This time, I noticed that she had long mobiles made of different colored silk leaves. When you look up at them, you feel like you are under a tree.
“’ice ’o-eel,” I said, pointing at the mobile.
“Thank you!” said Dr. E., reaching for a little mirror. “I got them at a craft fair.” They must have a class in dentist school on how to understand people when their mouths are wide open.
“Are you ready for basketball season?” she asked.
I shook my head, barely. “’o. I ha’ ’hi-ese s’ool.” I tilted my head back and raised my voice so Mom could hear me in the waiting room. “’y ’arents are ’aking ’e go!”
“Chinese school, huh?” Dr. E. shook her head sympathetically. “Yeah, it’s always something. We’re skipping basketball because the games conflict with Marilisa’s confirmation classes.”
“See, Lucy?” Mom called back from the waiting room. “Everyone’s got something.” I made a face. The reflection in Dr. E.’s glasses scowled back.
Dr. E. put her tools down and picked up some floss. “Hey, did you hear Coach Mike is having a baby?”
I raised my eyebrows to show happy surprise. Coach Mike and his wife, Jenny, had been trying to have a baby for a couple of years. No one had ever told us, of course, but at the games, the moms would gather around Jenny and you’d hear words like IVF and hormone injections.
Dr. E. nodded enthusiastically. “They’re quite excited, of course. And I just heard they’re moving up practice to eight-thirty so they can make birthing classes.” She laughed and reached for some floss. “That would be hard for Marilisa, let me tell you.”
I could barely breathe. Basketball practice was at eight-thirty? That meant I could go to basketball practice and still make Chinese school by ten. A few days ago, I would have leaped out of the dentist’s chair and done cartwheels down the hall. Now, my words to Madison came back to me. If something comes up and I can go to basketball, I’ll try out. Really.
“Are you in pain?” asked Dr. E. I suddenly remembered that I was in the dentist’s chair.
I shook my head and she handed me some water to rinse with. Pain? I thought. You have no idea.
When I got home from the dentist’s office, there was an excited message from Madison with the same news — Coach Mike’s wife is pregnant, and practice time was moved up! She was yelling so loud that you could hear the answering machine all over the house. My mind spun in a hundred different directions. I had gotten what I had wanted — a chance to play hoops in spite of Chinese school — and now I wasn’t so sure. Completing the sixth grade, pain-free, seemed like a much better idea.
Maybe my parents would still say that I couldn’t play basketball — that would take care of everything. Yes, now I was hoping that my parents would become strict and unsupportive.
Before I could even think of what to say, though, Mom walked in and put her hand on my arm.
“I heard, Lucy. Yes, you can go now since it doesn’t interfere with Chinese school. Why don’t you call Madison with the good news?” She grinned at me, waiting for me to jump up and down and thank her. I guess she had been listening to me in the car, after all.
What a rotten time for Mom to become an overly sympathetic parent.
I did my best to sound excited when I called Madison about basketball. The first part was easy — YES, I was definitely excited about getting to play for the team and Coach Mike again. The second part, the tryout for captain, was a little harder.
“Sh
ould I start calling you Captain now, or wait until it’s official?” teased Madison.
Um, why don’t you wait until Sloane is done kicking my butt?
I could hear the squeak of sneakers and the thump-thump of balls before I even reached the gymnasium. In spite of my doubts, a thrill rippled through me and I couldn’t help grinning. No matter what else happened, I felt like I belonged here more than any place on Earth.
Coach Mike blew the whistle. “Let’s warm up!”
For the first time in days, I forgot about Yi Po, Sloane, and messed-up birthday parties. Coach Mike worked us like dogs. “Come on, you have another set of sit-ups after these push-ups!” he said cheerfully, twirling his lanyard around his finger. “You guys have got to get in shape!”
After warm-ups, we ran drills. Passing drills, shooting drills, dribbling drills. It seemed like Coach Mike had spent his summer learning about a hundred new drills to run us through. I felt like my arms were about to fall off during a free-throw drill, when Coach Mike walked by.
“Nice free-throw technique, Lucy! I can see someone has been working this summer!” he bellowed, loud enough for the whole team to hear.
That gave me a burst of energy, though not enough for the last drill of the day. At that point, we were all panting and sweating. Half the girls were doubled over and the other half were gulping down water.
Coach Mike looked at us and rubbed his hands together. “Now for everyone’s favorite — suicides! Let’s go!”
They’re not called suicides because they’re pleasant. You start on one end of the court, and you run up to the near free-throw line and back. Then you run to half-court and back, the far free-throw line and back, and then the far end of the court and back. You don’t jog during suicides — you run like a maniac but with enough control that you can stop and turn when you’re supposed to.
The Great Wall of Lucy Wu Page 8