by Marty Chan
The bell rang to dismiss the French kids. I picked up the pace and used my chin to keep the top books from spilling out of my book bag, but I should have been more worried about the bottom. The bag burst open and the books rained to the ground.
I dropped to my knees. The cold bit into my legs. I ignored the pain and scooped up my books. I looked back for my French enemy. No sign of him. I piled my snow-covered books on top of each other and staggered to my feet. I trudged through the snow barely able to hold on to my books.
“Hey,” a voice called out. “You! Wait a minute.”
I looked back and saw my French foe marching after me. I kicked into high gear. I clutched my books tight to my chest as I ran to the gate in the chain link fence that marked the end of the schoolyard. I felt like Ichabod Crane, the character in my favourite cartoon. If I could just get to the fence, I would be safe. Then I remembered that Ichabod never got away. I decided to take the Legend of Sleepy Hollow off my list of favourites.
I reached the fence and leaned against the frosty links to catch my breath. I could barely hang on to my slippery books. My French enemy walked closer. He took his sweet time, because he knew he had me where he wanted me.
I pushed off the fence to run down the street, but my winter jacket was stuck. I leaned forward. The zipper of my jacket dug into my neck and pushed my Adam’s apple up my throat. I snapped back and tried to shake myself loose. Some books fell to the snow. I let out a wild howl and tried to yank myself free. I didn’t budge. I was doomed.
“Didn’t you hear me calling you?” my French enemy said.
I shook my head.
“Stupid,” he growled. He flicked his hand toward my head. I closed my eyes and waited for him to strike. Time crawled by. Why was he taking so long?
Then I felt him grab my jacket. I flinched. This was it, or was it? I peeked out of one eye. My French foe stood in front of me, but his arms hung down by his side. His unclenched hands suggested he meant me no harm.
“Your jacket was stuck on the fence,” he said. “Happens to me all the time.”
I took a step forward and came free of the fence.
“Why did you do that?” I asked.
“In the storeroom, you didn’t have to take the blame for me,” he said. “I can take care of myself.”
“Sorry. I won’t help you next time.”
“You aren’t really on the Anglais side, are you?”
“Why?” I said.
“No Anglais would ever do what you did.”
“So you’re not going to beat me up?” I asked.
“I could if you want me to.”
“No. No. It’s okay.”
My Hardy Boys detective novel began to slide off my pile of books. I caught it between my knees. I waddled through the gate. To the French boy, I must have looked like I really needed to pee.
“You need help?” he asked.
“I’m fine. I’m good. It’s alright.” Then the book fell to the ground along with the stuff in my arms. “Nuts!”
He bent down and helped me pick up the books. I looked back at the schoolyard. The French guys watched the tickle war, and paid no attention to us.
I nodded toward the schoolyard. “Aren’t you afraid of what your friends will think?”
He shrugged as if he didn’t care, but he stole a glance at his friends. No one looked our way. Then he said, “You aren’t like the Anglais. You’re something else.”
I froze. Had he figured out my secret?
“You read all these books?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“You’re still stupid,” he smiled. “You thought I was going to beat you up.”
He was nothing like the Boissonault brothers. He wasn’t like Trina or Eric, or all the kids who made fun of me.
“My name is Remi Boudreau,” he said.
“Marty. Marty Chan.”
“I heard about you. That little Anglais girl was getting people to follow you. She kept calling you a . . . a . . . what was it?
“Freak-a-zoid,” I muttered.
“Yeah. That’s it. Why did she call you that?”
“Because I can read fast and I know stuff.”
“You mean because you’re smart?”
“I guess.”
“What a bunch of dumb monkey butts.”
“You don’t think I’m a freak?” I asked.
“Well, it would be nice to have someone help me with my homework.”
“I can do that.”
“So how come you’re so smart?” Remi asked.
“I can’t tell anyone.”
“Come on. I bet your parents make you study all the time.”
“Yes, but it’s not that.”
“You can tell me, can’t you?”
“It’s a secret,” I whispered.
Remi’s eyes lit up. “What kind of secret?”
When you tell someone you have a secret, they want to know all about it. The more you tell them that they can’t know what you know, the more they want to know.
I remember last Christmas at my house. My mom had wrapped a present and stuck it under the kitchen table. We didn’t have a Christmas tree, because Dad couldn’t see the sense of having a tree around for just one month. Anyway, Mom told me not to open my present until Christmas. As soon as she said that, I had to know what was inside the colourful box. For three days I tried to sneak a peek at the present. I snuck under the table and pulled the wrapping paper off the box bit by bit, until the present looked like a mouse had been gnawing at it.
But I finally made enough of an opening in the wrapping paper to sneak a look inside the box. I was so disappointed. I went through all this work only to find a wool sweater.
I wondered if Remi would feel the same way about my secret. Maybe he would shrug off the truth with a “so what?” Maybe I had it all wrong. I wondered if I would have the same problems now if I had told everyone. But my secret was way bigger than a wool sweater.
“You can trust me,” Remi said. “I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
“How do I know that?”
“I always keep my promises.”
“You could be lying to me.”
“Hey, I guess you’re not that dumb after all.”
“Forget it,” I said. I started to walk up the street.
“Wait,” Remi called after me. “How about I tell you a secret? If you find out I blabbed your secret, you can tell everyone about mine. Then we’d be even.”
His offer sounded pretty good.
I said, “But it has to be a big secret. One that you don’t want anyone to know about.”
“Why else would it be a secret?” Remi said.
“I mean you would die if anyone else found out. That kind of secret.”
“Okay, okay. You can’t tell anyone else this. But I like the Toronto Maple Leafs.”
“That’s it?”
“What do you mean that’s it?” Remi was shocked that I didn’t think much of his secret. “If people at school found out, they’d kill me.”
“Why?”
“I’m French. We cheer for one hockey team, and that’s the Montreal Canadiens. They are supposed to be the only real hockey team. But I think the Maple Leafs are better.”
“Then why do you wear the Montreal Canadiens jersey?”
“Duh! So no one will suspect, monkey butt,” he said. “If you tell anyone, I’ll body check you into tomorrow.”
Remi’s glare reminded me of the time I broke Dad’s glasses, and he warned me to never play soccer inside ever again.
“I promise I won’t tell,” I said.
“You’d better not.”
“Do you swear you’ll keep my secret too?”
“I swear.”
“Okay. There’s a reason I look different from everyone else at school,” I said.
“Yeah, you’re Chinese.”
“It’s more than that.”
“What?”
I took a deep breath and let out my big sec
ret. “I am an alien.”
THREE
Remi didn’t believe me at first. He screwed up his face and tilted his head. He looked up and down me for some hint of alien.
“I know Santa Claus is real,” he said. “Because I saw him in the mall. I’ve never seen an alien, and I don’t think I see one now.”
“What about God? Do you believe in Him?”
“Duh. Everybody does.”
“But you can’t see Him,” I said.
“I see Him every day.”
“How?”
“He’s in my mom and dad. He’s in you. And He’s in the sky. He’s in everything. That’s what Father Sasseville says, and he’s never wrong.”
“Who’s Father Sasseville?”
“The priest. Don’t you go to church?”
I shook my head.
“What kind of person doesn’t go to church?”
“An alien.”
“Nice try,” Remi said. “But can you prove it?”
“Come with me and I will, but we have to be careful. It might be dangerous.”
“What kind of danger?”
“The dangerous kind.”
Remi nodded. He seemed to like the idea of danger. “Okay, let’s see this evidence.”
“It’s in my parents’ store,” I said.
“Sounds dangerous,” Remi smiled.
The store sat in the centre of the town. At one time, everyone shopped at my parents’ store, but since the IGA opened two blocks over, the centre of town shifted to the IGA, along with all my parents’ customers.
“Wow, the building totally looks like a flying saucer,” Remi joked.
I led Remi to a car parked across the street from my parents’ shop. Behind us stood the hardware store where cool dads bought lumber, nails, and paint to build tree houses or go-carts for their kids. My dad just got sawdust from there. He claimed it helped keep the floor clean, but covering the floor with curly wood-shavings seemed weird to me. Alien-from-outer-space kind of weird.
“We have to figure out a way to get you inside,” I said.
“Here’s a crazy idea. How about I just walk through the door?” Remi smirked.
“That’ll never work, Remi. My parents are suspicious of any kid who goes into the store. They’ll watch you as soon as you get in there.”
“I’ll say I’m your friend.”
“That’s a terrible idea,” I said. “It’ll make them watch you even more.”
“Your parents are crazy, and I’m not so sure about you.”
“If you were secret aliens, wouldn’t you be worried about people snooping around?”
Remi thought for a second, then nodded. “So how do I get past them?”
“Follow me.”
I snuck along the street away from the hardware store to the bakery which had the best cream puffs in the entire universe. Remi and I stayed low, peeking from behind parked cars in case my parents were looking out the store window. We took turns making sure the coast was clear. Mr. Halston, the baker, spotted us from his shop window. He wiped his hands on his white apron and gave us a strange look. I nudged Remi and straightened up. He followed my lead. We sauntered to the corner, acting normal. We looked both ways then crossed the street.
“Where are we going?” Remi asked. “To Uranus?”
“Har, har.”
“I love that planet,” he chuckled.
We passed the medical clinic and the bank. Instead of taking the direct route to my parents’ store, I led Remi the long way to the alley behind the store. The hard-packed snow squeaked under our boots as we walked through the snow to the double wooden doors at the back of my parents’ store.
“Wait here. I’ll open the doors from the inside,” I whispered.
“Why do we have to be so secret?” Remi asked.
“My parents don’t know that I know I’m an alien.”
“How’s that possible? Didn’t you always know you were an alien?”
“No, I just found out a few weeks ago.”
“Hold on. How can you not know that you’re an alien? You are an alien or you’re not.” Remi crossed his arms and stepped back.
I said, “I don’t have pointy ears or strange powers, if that’s what you’re wondering. But I do look different. I look Chinese.
“Duh. That’s because you are Chinese.”
“I used to think that too. I used to think that I was just going through a phase. When I got old enough, my hair would turn blond and I’d get blue eyes, and I’d look like everyone else.”
“You’re a monkey butt.”
“What?”
“If you think I’m going to believe — ”
“It’s true,” I interrupted. My skin is a disguise to cover up what I really look like. Just like my parents have a disguise.”
“A disguise?” Remi was curious again.
“I never felt right being Chinese. Well, now I have proof that I’m supposed to look like something else. Except my parents covered my true face.”
“Why would they do that?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I need your help. To find out the reason for all this.”
“Why wouldn’t your parents say you were an alien?”
“Maybe they’re waiting for the right time so I won’t be shocked.”
“Marty, this reeks of monkey butt. It sounds really dumb.”
“It’ll make sense when you see my proof. Do you want to help or not, Remi?”
“It’s still going to be dangerous, right?”
I nodded.
“Okay. But if you’re wasting my time, you’re gonna be sorry.”
“You’ll be amazed,” I promised. “I’ll be right back.”
He hugged himself. “Hurry up. It’s getting cold out here.”
I sprinted to the front of the building. As I got closer to the glass doors, I slowed down and caught my breath. I had to pretend that nothing was wrong. If my parents suspected anything, I would not be able to sneak Remi inside. I could get past my dad no problem, but Mom was a different story. She knew exactly what I was doing at any time, especially when I was doing something I wasn’t supposed to do. Her powers were different than Mrs. Connor’s super hearing. Mom could read people’s minds.
Last winter, I came down with a bad cold. I tried to hide it from Mom, but she detected my sniffles with her radar. She sat me down at the kitchen table, while she brewed a soup to cure my cold. Even with a stuffed up nose, I could smell the awful, thick, brown gunk. It tasted even worse. One sip nearly made me puke. Instead of swallowing, I sucked the awful liquid into my mouth until my cheeks puffed out. Then I pretended that I needed to pee. I ran from the kitchen into the bathroom, and spewed out the soup into the toilet. I kept loading up with soup and “peeing” it out, until the bowl was empty. But Mom knew what I had done. She told me to stop fooling around and poured more soup into the bowl. I had to gulp it down in front of her.
If I was going to sneak Remi into the store, I would have to block Mom’s mind-reading powers. I filled my mind with all sorts of useless information. I counted the number of tiles in the floor. I thought about why the Boissonault brothers always liked looking at the women’s underwear section of the Sears catalogue. I thought really hard about Trina getting a face wash so cold that it froze her jaw shut.
I headed past the counter where Dad read his newspaper as usual. These days, he had time to read all sorts of things, because the store was always quiet. I didn’t think he had mom’s mind-reading powers, or else he would have used them to figure out a way to attract customers.
“Hi, Dad. I’m home from school.” I made small talk to play it cool.
Dad grunted. “Hurry up. You have work to do.”
“Where’s Mom?”
“She making dinner.”
She worked in the home part of our store, out of mind-reading range. There, our family could hide from customers, if we had any. Although small, our home was comfortable. It had a kitchen, two bedrooms, and a bathr
oom, but no one ever saw this living area because it was hidden. By the same token, she couldn’t see what happened in the store. She would not see me sneaking Remi inside. I started to jog to the back of the building.
“Where you going?” Dad asked.
I froze. Did he suspect? Normally, Dad cared more about the store and his customers than me. Today of all days, he decided to speak to me after weeks and months of barely saying a word. I forced an innocent look on to my face.
“I’m going to do my chores,” I told my alien dad.
“With your jacket on?”
If I didn’t think fast, my mission would fail, and Remi would freeze to death outside waiting for me.
“Uh . . . I was going to take out the garbage first.” I hoped Dad wouldn’t ask more questions, like why hadn’t I taken out the garbage in the morning when I was supposed to.
“Don’t take too long. And no playing in the snow.”
I nodded. Then I rushed to the back of the store before he could ask any more questions. As I walked further away from Dad, I expected him to throw me another question. But he didn’t. Getting Remi inside was going to be a breeze.
When I reached the back, however, my heart sunk. The door to our living area was wide open. I looked down the hall and saw my mom in the kitchen. She stood in the line of sight of the back doors. If I let Remi in now, Mom would spot him right away and chase him out. I had to close the kitchen door before I let Remi in.
I slunk toward the doorway, sliding along the cement wall. My winter jacket crinkled, sounding like thunder. I froze and closed my eyes hoping that if I didn’t see Mom, she wouldn’t see me. A moment passed. I popped one eye open and saw no one. I heard Mom chopping on the wooden cutting board. I smelled onions and pictured her cleaver dicing the green stalks. She chopped so fast it sounded like machine-gun fire.
All I had to do was pull out the wooden doorstop, and the door would swing shut by itself. This happened all the time, so Mom wouldn’t think twice about it. As long as I could pull out the doorstop before she saw me, my plan would work. But I had to do it while I could still hear her chopping in the kitchen. No time to waste.
I pushed away from the wall and rushed to the door. I listened through the doorway. Mom had stopped chopping. I flattened myself against the wall. Footsteps clicked toward me. Mom was picking up my brain signals. I filled my mind with clutter: math problems, the intra-mural sports schedule, how I hated Trina but still wanted to smell her hair.