Stanford Wong Flunks Big-Time

by Lisa Yee

  What to do?

  My mother gives me a funny look at breakfast and tucks my good-luck charm under my sweater. She knows I don’t like it to show.

  “You look nice. Very preppy. Going to see Millicent Min today?”

  I just grunt as I shovel down my Swamp Marsh cereal. I wish there were more marshmallow bits in it. Even though it has turned the milk green, it tastes kind of plain.

  “How’s Mr. Glick’s class going?”

  “Fine,” I mumble. Why is she always asking me so many questions? “I gotta go.”

  I grab my backpack and make sure I’ve got my book report. I worked really hard on it. I hope Mr. Glick appreciates all that I am doing for him.

  9:10 A.M.

  I am so stinking hot in this stupid sweater. Mr. Glick is collecting our book reports. When I hand him mine he smiles at me. I start to smile back, then remember I have a reputation to uphold. Maybe after Mr. Glick grades my book report, I’ll stay after class to talk to him about the book. Did you know that people were killed just for being Jewish? Stretch is Jewish, and so is Emily. I wonder if they know about this.

  I didn’t like reading Number the Stars. It made me uncomfortable. It made me nervous wondering if that girl was going to be sent to the death camp. It made me think about things I didn’t want to think about. By the end of the book, I was a wreck. Millicent claims that’s a good thing.

  Mr. Glick announces, “We are about two-thirds of the way through this class. Two book reports down and one to go. Most of you have shown a lot of improvement. I look forward to reading these.” He motions to the pile on his desk.

  The rest of the class goes by quickly. We break up into teams and write stories. My team comes up with a story about a swimmer who can swim across the ocean but is scared of going down the drain in his bathtub. Mr. Glick congratulates us and says that we have very active imaginations.

  As I walk across campus I notice that it isn’t nearly as crowded as during the school year. Oh no! There’s Digger. Then I look again and he’s gone. Then I see Gus, but it can’t be him because he’s mowing lawns. I must just be paranoid, or maybe I’ve forgotten to turn off my imagination from our swimmer story. To be safe, I duck back into Mr. Glick’s class.

  “Stanford?”

  “Oh hey! I, uh, I forgot to give you something.”

  He watches as I fumble through my backpack. I take as long as I can. Finally I say, “Here. I want you to have this.”

  “Thank you.” He peers in the Cheetos bag. It is empty except for a few crumbs.

  “No problem!” I reply. Mr. Glick looks perplexed as I pull my Celtics cap down and my sweater up over my face. “Well, nice talking to you. See you around!”

  2 P.M.

  I’m at Stretch’s house. Bert and Ernie are on TV arguing over how they are going to split three cookies. Stretch is staring at the television and eating cheddar cheese–flavored potato chips.

  “Hey, can we talk?” I ask.

  He grunts, which means “yes.”

  “Well,” I begin, “you aren’t going to believe this when I tell you, but first you have to swear you won’t tell anyone.”

  Stretch stops chewing.

  “Okay, good,” I tell him. “It’s just that, it’s, well, I met this girl. You can’t tell anyone though because, um, because her family’s in the witness-protection program. So I’m not even going to tell you her name or how we met or anything, to protect her identity. Not that I’m her boyfriend boyfriend. I’m just a boy who’s her friend, but I wouldn’t mind being boyfriend/girlfriend with her, if you know what I mean.”

  Stretch nods.

  “It’s just that I wanted to tell someone about her, and you’re the only one I can really talk to, and I know that you’d understand. It is so great when …” I try to think of a code name for Emily. “When Ms. X and I are together I can’t believe how great I feel. She makes me feel like I’m some sort of hero or something. Just thinking about her makes me all spazzed out, but in the good way.”

  I take a breath. I didn’t mean to say so much, but I just had to tell someone about Emily or else I would have burst.

  Stretch tilts his head, the way he does when he is thinking. I’m fairly certain he is reviewing what I have just told him and agreeing with me that I am right to feel the way I do about Emily. That I did the right thing by telling him and that he is my best friend and would never betray my secret. He is happy for me.

  Stretch is back to eating his chips and watching television. Now Oscar is angry because someone cleaned his garbage pail. Without taking his eyes off of Sesame Street, Stretch tips the bag of chips toward me, and I grab a handful. I feel so much better now that Stretch and I have had this talk.

  AUGUST 9, 1:45 P.M.

  It’s just three of us on the court today. Gus froze all of his sister’s underwear and is grounded for three days. Stretch left for vacation today with his family. Every year they rent a Don Ronster Monster RV with a kitchen and bathroom and everything and hit the road like the pioneers. To figure out where they’re going, Stretch’s stepdad throws a dart at a map of the United States. He really wanted to see the London Bridge in Arizona and had to throw the dart five times to get there.

  Digger and Tico are practicing free throws. Neither looks natural doing them.

  “Hey,” I call out. “Loosen up when you shoot. Flick your wrist, then push with your arm and follow through, like this.” I bounce the ball twice and then execute a smooth shot, leaving my arms extended as the ball sails smoothly through the net.

  Tico nods and gives it a try. He makes a basket. Digger looks at me and says, “Oh, now you’re a coach too? Don’t you have enough to do this summer?”

  “Forget you,” I say to Digger, half-joking.

  He smiles, so I know something’s up. “Mr. A-Team,” Digger sings. “I need a moment alone with you.”

  Tico looks hurt. The last thing I want is a moment alone with Digger. “Sorry, but I just stopped by to say hi. I gotta get back to work. My dad’s lost without me.”

  “Can’t you shoot with us for just a while?” Tico begs. “I need you to help me with my layups.”

  Digger is still grinning. He looks like the Joker from Batman. “Oooh no, Stanford’s got to get back to the office. He’s quite a hard worker, aren’t you, Stanford? Did you go to school to learn how to be such a hard worker? Did you go to hard-worker school?”

  I take off without answering. Digger knows! Digger knows! Digger knows! I run all the way home and start knitting slowly, then fast, then faster. After a while I stop and gawk at what I have made. It doesn’t look like anything. It just looks like a mess. A big mess. A big ugly mess. A big ugly Stress Mess.

  I grab the ball of yarn and fling it hard across the room. It unravels as it flies through the air, almost hitting the black spider. I pick up the yarn and throw it again and again until my room looks like it’s blanketed in a colorful web.

  I try to untangle myself but finally give up and collapse onto my bed. I remember Yin-Yin used to say that when bad thoughts get you down, think of something happy. I shut my eyes.

  Emily, Emily, Emily, Emily Ebers … Before I know what’s happening, I’m digging through my backpack. When Millicent was giving Mrs. Martinez tips on alphabetizing, I found Emily’s number in her organizer.

  I dial quickly so I don’t chicken out.

  “Hello?”

  “Uh …”

  “Stanford? Is that you?”

  Is it too late to hang up?

  “Stanford?”

  “Hi, Emily, it’s me, Stanford Wong, Millicent Min’s tutor. The boy who gave you the book.”

  “I thought it was you! I was hoping it was.”

  My heart is racing so fast I’m about to pass out.

  “What are you doing?” Emily asks.

  How can she sound so natural when I can barely talk? I hope my voice doesn’t crack. What am I doing? What am I doing? I look at the ya
rn draped all over my room. There is no way on earth I can tell Emily I was knitting, so instead I hear myself say, “I was just lifting weights. A lot of them. Really heavy ones.”

  “That’s cool. My dad lifts weights too.”

  I am glad she can’t see me biting my nails. “All this weight lifting has made me hungry,” I tell her. “Um, want to meet me for something to eat?”

  I screw my eyes shut and wait for her answer.

  “We’d love to!” Emily says.

  3 P.M.

  Emily is waiting for me in front of Pizza Wheels. She smiles when she sees me. I smile back; then, uh-oh, my smile slides off my face. Millicent Min is standing behind Emily, like her shadow. I forgot she was going to be here too.

  “Hi, Emily! Hello, Millicent.”

  After getting pizza, the three of us, Emily in the middle, walk around and around the mall. Somehow Emily manages to talk to both of us at the same time. She is so amazing. At one point the three of us are debating whether it would look better to have three nostrils or three ears.

  “Can you cover up the third ear?” I want to know.

  “No,” declares Emily. “It would be on your forehead.”

  “Would the nostril be on your nose?” Millie asks. She looks really intense.

  “That would be on your forehead too,” Emily states. “And when you sneeze or have to blow your nose, then stuff would come out of there.”

  Millicent and I look at each other and cringe. Emily looks pleased with herself.

  “All things considered, I’d go for the extra nostril,” Millicent declares. “The ear on the forehead would just look too funny.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “At least with the nostril, you could say it was a bullet hole.”

  “Well, I’d go for the extra ear,” Emily says, laughing. She has a deep laugh.

  “No way!” shouts Millie.

  “Sure.” Emily winks at me. “That way, I can wear more earrings.”

  “Let’s go in here,” Millicent says, making a sharp left into the bookstore.

  When she turns, Emily and I bump into each other. It feels like I have been hit by a billion-volt electrical shock. I say, “Sorry” to Emily and then silently freak out.

  Millicent heads straight toward the adult section. I clear my throat. “This way, Millie.”

  “Huh? Oh!” She spins around and together we make our way to the kids’ department. As we pass the sci-fi section I do a double take. Marley is eyeing me from behind a Star Trek comic book. He is wearing his Mr. Spock ears. I pick up speed. When I look back, the comic book is on the ground and Marley is gone, as if he’s vaporized.

  I shake it off and point to a display of Holes and a real shovel on the table. “Excellent book,” I tell Emily.

  Emily takes the book from me and looks at the back cover. “Aren’t you reading this, Millie?”

  Millicent sputters, “Well, yes, I —”

  “We’re reading it together,” I jump in. “You won’t believe what the boys at this horrible detention camp have to go through. Right, Millie?”

  “Right, Stanford,” Millie says, giving me a small smile.

  In a strange way, our lie has bound Millicent Min and me together. Who would have ever guessed that we’d be cruising the mall and agreeing about third nostrils and books about delinquents?

  “We have to talk later,” Millie whispers to me while Emily is looking at magazines.

  “About what?”

  “About Emily.”

  Millicent looks worried. Whatever she has to say, I am certain I don’t want to hear it.

  AUGUST 10, 7:15 P.M.

  Millie and I are at McDonald’s. We’re eating near the play area so no one will see us. A little kid and his mother look startled when I shout, “She can’t find out you’re tutoring me. Emily will think I’m stupid. You swore on your mother’s life that you wouldn’t tell, remember?”

  “Well, what about me?” Millicent whispers loudly. “If she finds out I am a genius then she’ll know I’ve lied and think I’m a total nerd.”

  “That’s true,” I confirm.

  “We have to tell her,” she insists. “She deserves to know.”

  “I know,” I mutter. “It’s so hard pretending to be smart. Sometimes I even bore myself when I talk about books.” I take a bite out of my Big Mac and then shove a bunch of French fries in my mouth. “Emily thinks I’m smart. No one’s ever thought that I was smart before.”

  “Please don’t talk with your mouth full.”

  “Sorry.” I swallow my food and continue. “Emily’s different. Not like a weirdo or anything, she’s different in a good way.” I lower my voice. “When I’m around Emily, I feel important.”

  Millie nods and takes a sip of her milk shake. “You know, when school starts you’ll be seeing her on campus and she’s bound to find out. Stanford,” she says, channeling my father, “you have to think ahead, otherwise things might turn into a big mess.”

  Oh god! She’s right. I hate it that Millicent is right all the time. It is so annoying.

  Just then I spot Joey and some other seventh graders. They can’t see me here with Millicent Min!

  “C’mon.” I grab Millie’s arm. “Follow me. Hurry!”

  “Stanford,” Millicent whines. “Why are we sitting in the ball pit? This is so unhygienic. How often do you think they clean this area?”

  “No one can see us here,” I whisper. “Some kids from school just came in.”

  Millie sighs. She looks very uncomfortable. I’ll bet it’s the first time she’s ever been in a PlayPlace.

  “You’re not going to say anything to Emily, are you?” I ask. Millicent is examining a red plastic ball like it’s some sort of alien object. “Please don’t say anything,” I beg. “If she finds out I flunked, she won’t like me anymore. No one can know about this. The Roadrunners think I’m working for my dad this summer.”

  Millie makes a lame attempt at tossing the ball. “Stop acting like a baby,” she snaps. “You’re not going to flunk. You can pass if you want to. I can understand wanting to keep it from Emily, but I thought those Road Runt boys were your friends.”

  “Yeah, well, they like me because I’m good at basketball.”

  “I had a friend who only liked me because I could help her with her homework,” Millie muses. “Emily doesn’t even know I’m in high school.” She picks up a green ball and throws it. It hits the wall, then bounces off my head. “What we’re doing is wrong, Stanford. I don’t want Emily to know. But at the same time, I feel like I’m living a lie.”

  “It’s not like we’re lying about murdering someone,” I insist. “We’re just not telling the exact whole truth right now. Besides, you want to keep Emily as a friend, right?”

  Millicent looks sad as she nods.

  “Well, if she finds out you’re some sort of freak genius it might scare her off.”

  Now Millicent looks like she’s going to cry.

  “Awww, don’t do that. You’ll get the balls all slimy.”

  “Okay,” she says, sniffing. “I won’t say anything for now. But we have to tell her sometime soon, promise?”

  “Promise.” I don’t ask her what “sometime soon” means. I don’t want to know. “I’ll even shake on it,” I say, spitting into my hand.

  “Uh, no thank you, you’re good for your word.”

  A little girl jumps into the ball pit and freezes when she sees us. I toss a ball to her and she throws it back. Millicent watches. Then a little boy joins us. He starts pelting the girl with balls. I’m afraid she’s going to cry, but instead she starts throwing balls back at him so fast he starts sobbing.

  Just then Joey and his friends start walking in our direction. “Duck!” I hiss.

  Millie and I dive under the balls just as the guys pass.

  “I thought you said Stanford Wong was over here?” one guy says.

  “I was sure I saw him eating with some girl,”
Joey remarks.

  “Hey, maybe he’s in the ball pit,” the other boy jokes.

  “Right,” says Joey. “Like Stanford Wong would ever do something like that. Did you hear? He got an A out of Glick!”

  “Wow,” says the first guy. “It’s like he’s the luckiest person on the planet. I wish my life was half as good as Stanford Wong’s.”

  AUGUST 11, 4:53 P.M.

  Digger called and asked me to meet him at the soccer field. My stomach is queasy.

  “What’s up?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

  Digger doesn’t answer right away. Instead we watch the players run up and down the field. They’re all starters on the school soccer team. When the striker scores a goal, Digger comments, “I wonder if he’s kept up his grades. Can’t play for Rancho Rosetta if you’ve flunked a class, you know.”

  Digger knows. I know he knows. And he knows that I know he knows.

  “I have it on good authority that you’ve been seen at school.”

  Without taking my eyes off the soccer players, I say, “Maybe I just like to hang around there.”

  Digger laughs. “Right. Everyone knows you hate school and teachers like Glick.”

  That’s not true! I don’t hate Mr. Glick, not anymore.

  “So what if I’ve been seen at school,” I shoot back. “It’s a free country.” I lower my voice. “What do you want, Digger?”

  “I’m guessing you didn’t get an A in English like you told us. You flunked,” he says, sounding smug. “You have to go to summer school, and if you don’t pass you don’t play basketball next year. And that girl who interrupted our game, I saw her hand you some books. She’s your little study buddy, isn’t she?”

  When I don’t answer, he goes on. “Listen, I’m not stupid. I didn’t buy your ‘I’m working for my daddy’ story like the other Roadrunners. So I asked around. One of the guys from the football team told me he sees you at school all the time, so I dropped by the other day.” He plants himself in front of my face. “Guess who I saw coming out of Mr. Glick’s room?”

  “What do you want, Digger?”

  “In exchange for not telling the Roadrunners that you are a regular bookworm, you have to let me beat you at basketball whenever we play.”