by Andrea Cheng
“Why didn’t you go with your mom today?” Laura asks.
“I have all these Chinese characters to learn. And I was too lazy to get dressed.” I pause. “Plus it’s not as fun at Mr. Shepherd’s without you.”
Laura smiles.
“Ms. Simmons was asking about you.”
“We had to stay away for a few days.”
I wait to see if Laura wants to tell me anything else.
“My mom was at her wits’ end” is all she says.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
“A little.”
We go into the kitchen and have some cereal. After that I show Laura all the rectangles of fabric on the floor. She kneels next to me. “I like this dark purple with the light purple, don’t you?”
I nod. “And this green with the black.”
“Or maybe the yellow.”
We mix and match the rectangles until they are just the way we want them. Then we take the thread out of the sewing basket and start sewing up the sides to make drawstring bags.
“This is hard,” Laura says, looking at her uneven stitches. Her face looks like mine when I’m trying to write in cursive.
“It takes practice,” I say.
We decide to make a production line. Laura cuts out more rectangles, I sew up the sides, she cuts the drawstrings, I make the casings. By the time Mom gets back, we have seven bags. Ray gets an orange one to match his vest. Mr. Shepherd’s is blue and yellow like the book. Ms. Simmons gets a print with little bicycles all over it. Laura’s mom gets bright blue to match her eyes. My mom gets pink polka dots. I pick turquoise velvet for Camille. There is one bag left.
“For you,” I say handing Laura the purple one.
“What about you?” “I already have one, remember?”
Laura plays with the drawstring. “We drove to my aunt’s in Michigan last week,” she says. She looks out the window. “We figured my dad might follow us to your house, but he wouldn’t follow us all the way to Michigan.”
Mom says she has something for Laura in her pocket.
“What is it?” I ask.
Mom shows us the blue silk.
“Where was it?” Laura is smiling so wide.
“Mr. Shepherd found it at the bus stop.”
“You mean he wheeled himself all the way there?” I ask.
Mom nods. “Once Mr. Shepherd has an idea, you can’t change his mind.”
Laura’s mom calls and says it’s time for her to come home. Outside it has started to rain, cold icy drops that hit the windowpanes.
“You can wear my jacket,” I say.
“What if you want to go out?”
“I have another one.”
“My aunt is going to mail mine back from Michigan,” Laura says. She puts my jacket on and winds the blue silk scarf around her neck. “Now I feel like you,” she says. “Hey, can you teach me the word for friend that you wrote on my card?”
“Peng you” I say.
“Peng you” she says, only instead of pung yo, it sounds like penguin. “Shee shee for being my penguin,” she says.
I watch Laura through the window. From the back, you can’t tell who it is. We’re both small and skinny. I wonder what it would be like if we really switched places like in The Prince and the Pauper.
I sit at my desk and copy the Chinese characters into the squares in the notebook. For some reason, learning to write in Chinese is easier than in English. It’s more like drawing than writing to me. Teacher Zhen showed us how some characters actually come from pictures of real things. Like the one for cow really looks like a cow, if you look at it right. We’re learning animals to go with the Chinese zodiac. Dog, cat, cow, horse, rooster, and rat. I copy them over and over again. This afternoon we’ll learn six more animals, and then we’re making Chinese zodiac calendars.
As soon as we get to Chinese class, Camille runs over to me with her arms in the air. “I got an A!” she says. “My first one ever.”
“That’s great,” I say, looking at her report. “Are you still going to come to my school next year?”
Camille nods. “Fifth grade,” she says, grinning.
The bell rings. Teacher Zhen is teaching us Chinese exercises. At first I feel kind of stupid touching my toes, but the exercises get more and more complicated. We mix up left and right and Camille bumps my head. We land in a heap on the floor laughing so hard, we can’t stand up.
Sixteen
Persuasive Writing
The word of the week is persuade, and we’re supposed to write persuasive paragraphs. “It’s like convince,” Ms. Simmons says. “What would you like to convince your parents of?”
Laura thinks for a minute. Then she writes the title in fancy script: Bedtime.
Allison shows us a little picture of her new puppy. “I’m trying to persuade my mom to let my puppy sleep in my bed, but she says dogs are dirty,” she whispers.
“Girls, no talking,” Ms. Simmons says.
I can’t think of anything to write about. I already get to read until after ten o’clock and even later on weekends. I don’t wish I had a puppy that slept in my bed. Ms. Simmons is walking around, looking at our work.
“Your paper is blank,” she whispers.
“I can’t think of anything.”
“You will,” Ms. Simmons says.
“Do we have to persuade our parents?” I ask.
“You can persuade anyone,” she says.
I keep repeating that persuasive word and rolling it around in my mouth. I like the sound of it. Persuade, persuasive, persuasively. Finally I decide to write a letter to the principal of our school.
Dear Mrs. Robinson,
I know that sometimes teachers at our school loop so that they teach the same class for two years. Please let Ms. Simmons loop so that she will be cur fifth grade teacher next year. There are many reasons. First, she is a really, really good teacher. Third, she lets us read whatever books we want. Those are my reasons.
Sincerely yours,
Anna Wang
I fold the letter into a small square and write Mrs. Robinson on the outside. “Is it okay if I give my persuasive writing to Mrs. Robinson?” I ask. “Because it’s about something very important.”
“You’ve persuaded me,” Ms. Simmons says.
At lunchtime, I deliver the note to Mrs. Robinson’s mailbox.
In the afternoon, Ms. Simmons gives us each a long roll of paper to make timelines of our lives. We draw a line on the side of the roll with all the dates from the time we were born until now. For 1998 I write, I was born in Central Hospital on September 19, Year of the Dog.
Allison looks at my paper. “Year of the Dog?”
“In the Chinese zodiac,” I say.
“Cool. That must be why I like dogs.” She draws two puppies on her timeline and writes Year of the Dog, too. Most everyone in our class was born in 1998 so they all write Year of the Dog except for Richard and Lucy, who are Year of the Rooster.
I’m not sure what to write for the rest of the years. Not that much happened. For 2004 I draw a picture of a book because that’s when I learned to read. For 2005, I draw Ray’s crossing guard stop sign. For 2008, I write the word China in characters to show that I am learning Chinese.
Then I draw a bunch of small book covers because this year I read a whole lot.
Laura brings her timeline over to show me. 2005, the year I met Anna, it says with a smiley face. 2008, my parents split up She draws a sad face.
Then I add something else to my timeline: a dot of blue and a dot of yellow with the touching part green. “To remember our Halloween costume,” I say grabbing Laura’s hand.
Seventeen
Spring Break
On March 22, we have a party to celebrate the first day of spring and the equinox, which means that the night and the day are equal. Ms. Simmons asks us to push all the desks and chairs to the back of the room, and then we play a game where you’re supposed to get everyone to guess your word without saying it.
My word is sidewalk. At first I try just walking around, but everyone just says walk, not sidewalk. Suddenly I have an idea. On the board, I write: Where the——Ends.
Laura waves her hand. “Sidewalk!” she says
We each get two points, and at the end, my team wins. Then we eat green Rice Krispies treats that Lucy’s mom made, and chocolate eggs. Laura and I give Ms. Simmons the drawstring bag and she loves it. “This will be perfect for my lunch when I go on bike rides,” she says, hugging us both at once.
Ms. Simmons gives each of us an envelope. “Inside is your room assignment for next year,” Ms. Simmons says, “and your third-quarter report cards. Please look it over at home with your parents and bring it back after the break with a signature.”
I’m not worried about the report card because I know I got all A’s except for handwriting, but what about my teacher for next year? The principal never wrote me back. Maybe my letter didn’t persuade her of anything.
I really want to know who my teacher will be, so I lift the flap and peek inside the envelope. Sylvester, it says, whoever that is. Ms. Sylvester? Mr. Sylvester? Could Sylvester be the first name? Maybe she’s a young new teacher with puffy hair. I might not like that Ms. Sylvester at all. Maybe Mrs. Robinson never even had time to read my letter, or maybe my ideas were not persuasive enough.
“We’re not supposed to open the envelopes until we get home,” Lucy says.
I look up. Laura is peeking at hers, too. “Who’d you get?” I whisper.
“Sylvester,” she whispers. “Who’s that?”
“Mine says Sylvester, too. I never heard of her,” I say.
“Me either.”
My stomach is starting to hurt, so I put my head down on my desk. Ms. Simmons slips me a note.
Dear Anna,
Thank you for the beautiful bag. Maybe Mr. Sylvester and I will use it to keep our special things. So far we have a seashell that we found in Florida and a fossil from a creek in Indiana. I hope you have a nice spring break.
Ms. Simmons
P.S. My mother thanks you for the card you made her. She is feeling much better now.
There is that name Sylvester again. Ms. Simmons looks at me and winks. “This summer I’m getting married,” she whispers.
“To Mr. Sylvester?” I can hardly believe it. “Who’s he?”
“Well, he’s got his own ideas, Anna, like someone else I know. And he loves to read. I think you two would get along well.”
“Does that mean you are looping?”
Ms. Simmons smiles. “You got it,” she whispers.
Ray holds his arms out to stop the traffic like he does every day. But instead of saying have a nice afternoon, he says, “Have a nice spring break.”
“We’ll come visit you,” I say, looking at Laura.
Ray smiles. “I sure hope so.”
Ray limps as he walks to the curb. Then he reaches into his pocket and takes out the orange drawstring bag. “The misses uses it, too,” he says. “We both thank you.”
***
Laura and I are kicking a sweet gum ball back and forth. When we get to the corner, she says, “David and Andrew finally finished the tennis ball launcher. Want to come over and try it out?”
I have a new library book I was planning to read this afternoon. The cover shows a girl in a shipwreck. But I can keep the book for three weeks. No need to finish it now.
“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
I walk up the hill to our house. When I go into the kitchen, Mom has made bao zi to celebrate our spring break. While I eat one, I tell Mom how Ms. Simmons is getting married to a Mr. Sylvester this summer.
“How nice,” Mom says. “We’ll have to think of a wedding gift.” Mom considers. “We could get her a good skillet.”
Bao Zi
“I’m not sure if she likes to cook,” I say.
“How about a picture frame?”
“I’m going down to Laura’s,” I say. “Can I take some bao zi over?”
“Does Laura like Chinese food?” Mom asks.
“I think she’d like to try it.”
Mom puts the four nicest bao zi into a plastic container. I stuff it into my fabric lunch bag, and run out the door. The air smells damp, like spring.
When I get to the corner, I see Laura standing in her driveway, waiting for me.
“Hey, I brought you something,” I say, catching my breath.
“What is it?”
“You’ll see,” I say, taking out the container and opening the lid.
Laura sniffs. “Smells good,” she says. “What is it?”
“Bao zi," I say. “A kind of bun with bean paste inside.”
“Bao zi," she repeats, trying to make the sounds right. She takes a bite. “I like it,” she says. “Shee shee for the bowtsee.”
“Hey, guess who our next year’s teacher is,” I say.
“Sylvester, whoever that is.” Laura looks down.
“I know who it is,” I say.
“You do?”
“Twenty questions.”
“A lady?” Laura guesses.
“Yes,” I answer.
“Does she teach at our school right now?”
“Yes.”
“Fifth grade?”
“No.”
“Do we know her?”
“Yes.”
Laura sticks the rest of the bao zi in her mouth. “Do we know her well?”
I smile. “Very well.”
“I give up.”
“I’ll give you a hint. She likes to ride bicycles.”
Laura pulls her eyebrows together.
“And her mother’s name is Olga.”
“Ms. Simmons?!” Laura asks, grabbing my hand.
“She’s getting married!” I say.
“To Mr. Sylvester!” Laura says.
“And I thought of a great wedding present,” I say. “Mini cereal boxes!”
We go into Laura’s house to get a piece of paper and some markers. Then we lie down on the floor to make a card for Mrs. Simmons. I fold the paper in half, and Laura writes Congratulations in fancy letters on the front.
“Do you know how to write that in Chinese?” she asks.
“My mom can show us.” I say.
We decorate the inside of the card and then in big cursive letters, Laura writes Love, and we sign our names.