by Andrea Cheng
Andee tosses her backpack onto the floor and joins me at the back table. “All through geometry, I couldn’t stop thinking about migrants in China. The whole thing seems so unfair. Fan was telling me that if you don’t have an identity card from the city, you’re basically illegal.”
I don’t think I have ever heard Andee say Fan was telling me before. I nod. “I think it’s like people here who come across the border from Mexico without a visa.”
“Except the Chinese migrants don’t come from a different country. Fan and I spent a long time looking through all the pictures in the book. There’s so much I never knew.”
I imagine Andee and Fan sitting next to each other on the bed with the book open between them.
“Fan told me migrants feel like everyone else is better than they are,” Andee says.
“It’s so unfair. I think people should be able to live wherever they want.”
“That’s exactly what I told Fan,” Andee says. “But she said that in China, the cities are too crowded. They have to try to limit the number of people somehow.”
“Do you think Fan wishes she weren’t a migrant girl?”
Andee looks out the window. “Fan usually doesn’t think about what she wishes. She accepts things the way they are.”
I reach for the CAT notebook in my backpack. “Do you think we could do something to help migrants in China?”
Andee takes a piece of paper out of a folder. “Last night I asked Fan to list the problems of migrant kids.” Andee hands me the notebook. In Fan’s handwriting it says:
No hukou (identity card)
Cannot use public school
Migrant schools are bad
Not enough money
Homesick
Funny accent in Chinese
People stare at migrants in the street
“People look at us all the time here too,” I say.
Andee nods. “In some ways it’s similar but in some ways it’s not. When people look at us, they might think we look different, but they don’t usually think we’re stupid.”
“Is that what Chinese think of migrants?”
“That’s what Fan said.” Andee folds up the paper. “Now I see why she feels she has to study all the time. But I told her that she can learn more if she studies less.”
“Did she agree?”
“I don’t think so. But she listened.” Andee stands up. “There must be something we can do to help migrants. Maybe we can brainstorm at the next meeting.” Andee puts her backpack on her shoulder. “I better go. My mom’s coming at three thirty.” She walks to the door. “It feels strange to be back in middle school. Sometimes I wish I was still here.”
“I wish you were, too,” I say as we go into the hallway together.
Dad is late to pick me up. I wait by the flagpole, watching cars coming around the circle as parents pick up their kids. Even though my backpack is heavy and I have lots of homework, I feel lighter than I have in a long time. Fan and Andee are actually talking to each other!
Just before winter break, we have a surprise snowstorm and school is canceled. Andee’s mother drives an SUV with four-wheel drive, so after lunch she brings Fan and Andee over to my house.
Fan checks her email and her mother writes that her brother’s school was torn down. The academic level at that school was very low, she explains, so when she heard from one of her friends about a new migrant school in Changping, she decided to send Little Monkey there. He lives in a dormitory at the school during the week and comes home on weekends. The name of the school is Spring Bud Middle School.
Andee, Fan, and I look at the Dandelion website. The school is in an old factory building like most migrant schools, but inside the walls are painted with colorful murals. Some are made out of bits of colored glass. The text explains that the art teacher and her students collected broken pottery and bottles for over a year, sorted them by color, and then created the mosaic designs. Andee zooms in on a mural of a big yellow flower growing out of a green pot.
“I never see a school like this,” Fan says.
We spend the afternoon reading everything we can find online about Spring Bud Middle School. It turns out they have volunteers who come to help from American colleges, and some of them have written blogs about their experiences. One girl says, “Spring Bud Middle School changed my life. Now I want to be a teacher or maybe a school principal someday.”
“I wonder if they’d like CAT volunteers,” I say.
“I wonder if they like a Chinese migrant girl volunteer,” Fan says.
Chapter Thirteen
Holiday Break
Andee’s family invites Fan to go to Florida with them over the holiday break. They want to show Fan Disney World and Miami Beach. On the way back, they plan to stop to visit Andee’s grandparents in Alabama.
“I will stay with you,” Fan says.
“Andee’s family wants to take you,” I say.
“I have to prepare for third quarter,” Fan says. She takes the history book out of her backpack. “Eight chapters.” She shows me the table of contents. “More than half of the book.”
“If you don’t go, you will hurt Andee’s feelings.”
Fan looks down. “Okay, I will go,” she says. Then she sits on the sofa reading her book and won’t talk to me for the rest of the afternoon.
On the first day of the holiday break, Camille comes with me to babysit for Jing. Even though it’s cold out, we take her to the park. She wants to sit in the big-kid swings. “You’re too small,” I tell her.
She sticks her lower lip out like she is about to cry, then changes her mind when she sees another kid her size in the baby swing.
Camille gives her a push. “I can’t believe that I’m a little more than halfway through my year at Springer.”
“Are you still counting the days until you can go back to Fenwick?”
Camille nods. “I really miss it.”
“But are you glad you’re at Springer for now?”
Camille pulls her hat down over her ears. “It’s nice not to be the only kid in the class with a learning disability. But I can’t say I’m glad to be there.”
“Are your stomachaches gone?”
“Better,” she says. “But who knows—they might have gotten better anyway.” She pushes Jing again. “Do you like seventh grade?”
“It’s okay.” Jing wants to get out of the swing, so I take her out and set her on the ground. “But I don’t have any good friends at school.”
“Neither do I,” Camille says. “There’s a girl named Julie who’s nice. But she’s really different from me. At least you have Hideat and the other CAT kids.”
Camille is right. I am lucky to eat lunch with Hideat every day, and over time, I’m getting to know her better. And lately two other CAT kids have been joining us.
On Christmas Eve, snow flurries are blowing around. Ken and I are hoping for a white Christmas, but so far the snow isn’t sticking. Mom invites Camille’s family and Ken’s friend Alan’s family to have dinner with us. She fixes a big roast chicken that I love, and rice and vegetables, and Grandma and I bake an apple cake for dessert.
On Christmas morning, we open our presents. Grandma gives me green fabric with small yellow swirls and a pattern for exactly the kind of shirt I want. Even though the directions are complicated, she is sure that we can figure it out. We lay the pieces carefully out on the fabric. Kaylee wants to help, but she keeps pulling the fabric off the edge of the table.
“Stop,” I say.
She gets mad and throws the whole box of pins.
“No,” I say firmly, grabbing her wrist.
She starts crying as if it’s my fault that there are pins all over the floor. I feel myself get madder at my sister than I ever have. I know she threw the pins on purpose, and now she’s crying and blaming me.
Grandma takes Kaylee out of the room and I start picking the pins up off the floor. Suddenly I wish I had gone to Florida with Andee and Fan. It would be grea
t to sit on the beach in the sun without my pesky sister, and walk along the shore collecting seashells. I wonder if Fan and Andee are having fun together. They can both laugh a lot, but then they can both be stubborn and sullen. I know that Fan took all her textbooks so she could study. What if she insists on staying in the hotel room reading ancient and medieval history while Andee is alone on the beach?
Kaylee comes back into the room and plunks herself down in the beanbag chair while Grandma and I cut out all the pattern pieces. We’re almost done when the phone rings.
“This is Fan,” says the voice on the other end. My stomach flips over. Maybe something happened and Fan wants to come home. “I have a question,” she continues. “Do you like a bracelet better or a necklace better?”
“A bracelet,” I say.
“Do you like snail shell or clam shell?”
“Snail.”
“Okay,” she says.
I hear laughing in the background, and she hands the phone to Andee. “We had an argument,” Andee says. “I said you’d like a clam shell bracelet, and Fan said you’d like a snail shell necklace.”
“You’re both fifty percent right,” I say.
Laura stops over with a plate of cookies for us. Her hair is blonder than it used to be, and she is taller and thinner. But her smile is the same and I realize how much I’ve missed her.
“Where’s your exchange student?” she asks.
“Actually, she’s only with us on weekends. She stays with Andee most of the time.” I take a cookie. “They took her to Florida this week.”
I show Laura the shirt I’m sewing. “I love these kinds of tops that tie in the back,” she says, picking up a fabric scrap from the floor. “Remember our drawstring bags? I still use mine.”
“Really?” I’m surprised, because I have no idea what happened to mine.
She nods. “I take my lunch to school in it. And now our ecology club is selling them to avoid using so many plastic bags.” She smiles. “And each time I take my sandwich out of the bag, I think of you.”
“Sometimes I wish we were still at Pleasant Hill,” I say. “With Ms. Sylvester.”
“I loved Ms. Sylvester and all the stuff you and I did together. But it wasn’t a very easy year, with my parents and everything.” She pulls her hair back, then lets it go. “Thank goodness that’s all over.” For a second Laura has the same expression she had in fourth grade, kind of scared and unsure. Then she smiles. “Did I tell you, I’ll probably be going to Fenwick High in ninth grade?”
“Really?” Most kids from Our Lady of Angels go on to one of the Catholic high schools.
“My mom only planned to send me to OLA for middle school.”
“Would you be glad to come back to public school?”
Laura considers. “I’ll miss my friends. But it really is too expensive, and Fenwick is closer.” She smiles. “Plus, you’re there.”
“We could take the bus together,” I say.
“Or walk when the weather’s good.”
Chapter Fourteen
Sad News
Fan had a good time with Andee and her family, and when I see the pictures of the two of them exploring a tide pool, I wish I had been there too.
“What was your favorite part?” I ask Fan.
She thinks for a minute. “The best thing is now I can understand Andee’s fast talking most of the time. Oh, and also this.” She reaches into her pocket and gives me a bracelet made out of tiny snail shells.
I slip it easily over my hand. “It’s perfect!”
Fan smiles. “We made three. One for each. So we can match.”
“I wish I had gone with you,” I say.
“But there is one bad part. I did not finish all the chapters in the history book.” Fan looks really worried.
“You can read some more tonight. If you want, I’ll help you with the words you don’t know.”
I show Fan the blouse Grandma and I made.
“Try it,” she says, and I don’t feel strange taking my shirt off and slipping on the new one right in front of her. She ties the bow in back for me. “Very nice.” She looks at me in the mirror. “Now you look grown up.”
After dinner, Fan sits with the history book. “Two more chapters left.” She sighs. “Andee showed me how to skim when I read,” Fan says. “I think this is like cheating, but Andee says it’s fine.”
I should be reading The Incredible Journey for English class, but I already read it once, and I really don’t like Ms. Lewis, so I never feel like doing her assignments. I take out my planner. We have a big project second semester for history. Mr. Freeman wants us to apply what we’ve learned by researching the history of a specific thing, but I don’t know what to pick. I thought about silk or honey, but those are all things we’ve already talked about in class. I pick up the Factory Girls book and thumb through the pages. The migrant teenagers work in factories that make electronics, or clothes and shoes. Suddenly I know. I’ll research sneakers.
Fan stands up. “Andee says when I can’t pay attention, it’s better to take a break.” She stretches, goes over to the computer, and logs onto her email account.
I write Where Sneakers Come From at the top of my paper, but then I hear Fan suck in her breath. She has her hand over her mouth. I go over to her. She points to the message on the computer screen, but it is in Chinese. The only character that I recognize right away is Gong Gong, Grandfather.
Fan turns to face me and her eyes are full of tears. “I was on the beach. That time my grandpa died.” She runs up the stairs to my room and shuts the door.
What should I do? Mom and Dad are at work. Ken is at Alan’s. Grandma and Kaylee are in the kitchen. In some ways Fan is very private, but still I cannot leave her alone.
I stand outside the door of my room and knock. There is no answer. I peek in. Fan is sitting at my desk, writing furiously on a legal pad. She doesn’t turn toward me and I don’t know if she wants me to stay or to leave. Should I put my arm around her? But Fan is not the kind of person who hugs people a lot. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. Then I sit on the edge of my bed and pretend to read. Suddenly I really want to talk to Andee, and I tiptoe out of the room.
“Fan’s grandfather died,” I whisper into the phone.
“What?”
“She just got the news.”
“Did she call her mom?”
“She just ran up to my room and shut the door.”
“Is she crying?”
“She’s sitting at my desk, writing.”
“A letter?”
“I’m not sure.”
Andee says that as soon as her mom gets home, they’ll be over.
I go back to my room and stand by the bed, staring out the front window. I never met my grandfathers, but I cannot imagine life without Grandma. Whenever we need something, she’s the first person we ask, even though she lives so far away. When Kaylee wouldn’t eat, Grandma came all the way to Cincinnati to help us.
Fan writes for a long time, tearing off pages as she fills them with small Chinese characters. She stops sometimes to shake out her hand. Finally she puts down the pen and turns to me. “Gong Gong was just like sleeping.” Tears are running down her cheeks, but she is speaking clearly in English. “I didn’t say goodbye.” She swallows hard. “But Gong Gong knows. I am like the swallow. I will go home.”
“Do you want to go home now?” I whisper. “We can change your ticket. Maybe you should call your mom and talk to her.”
“Gong Gong is already gone,” Fan says.
“But if you want to be with your family, you can go.”
I hear the front door open—Mom is home. I hurry downstairs to tell her the news.
Andee and her mother are at our house in twenty minutes. “We can get Fan a ticket for tomorrow or the day after,” Mrs. Wu says.
“I’m not sure,” Mom says.
“What do people in China usually do when their relatives die?”
Mom considers. “Each family is differ
ent.”
“I think Fan should stay here with you tonight,” Andee says. Her face looks scared, like it did the day Fan arrived. “I don’t know what to say to her.”
Then we see Fan coming down the stairs, clutching the legal pad against her sweater.
“I’m so sorry,” Andee’s mom says.
Andee and I walk up to meet Fan, and we stand together on the landing. “What would help?” Andee whispers.
“I must make a fire,” Fan asks.
“In the fireplace?” I ask.
“Outside.” Fan goes to the closet to get her jacket, and Ken, Andee, and I follow her out to the backyard.
“I know where there are lots of sticks,” Ken says, going underneath the honeysuckle bushes behind the garage. Soon we have a whole pile of twigs. Ken gets some newspaper and rolls it into logs on the bottom of the grill, and we put the twigs on top. Mom gives me a box of matches and watches us through the back door.
“Do you want to light it?” I ask Fan.
She strikes a match and holds it to the edge of the newspaper. The orange flame sputters for a minute, then catches. Soon the twigs are burning. Then Fan takes the pages she has written and lays them on top.
We stand together around the fire, watching the flames burn first the edges of the yellow paper and then move quickly across until there is nothing left but ashes. I am in the middle between Andee and Fan. Ken is on the other side. As the fire burns down, we move closer, trying to catch the warmth.
When finally there is only smoke, we follow Fan into the house. “Do you want to spend the night?” I ask Andee.
Andee does not answer right away. “Do you want me to?”