by Mike Jung
“Because we actually have something to present. You can’t get an F if you can prove you actually tried to do some work, and our crappy project is proof.”
Gee whiz, that was comforting. I sank down in my chair.
“Welcome to the first annual Model United Nations summit!” Ms. Lee said with a big smile. “I want to thank everyone for all the hard work you’ve done over the past few weeks — I know it’s been demanding, but you’ve done some fantastic work. I’m proud of you. Let’s get started!”
As usual, the quality of the presentations was all over the map. Eric Flynn and Bill Castle made their entire project about sports, although they had to focus on soccer since they don’t play American football in Portugal and Switzerland. Lindsay Crisp was maybe a little too obvious about not looking at me or Shelley, but it was probably hard since we were literally six feet away from her during her whole presentation, and she and Allie Grossman actually did a decent project on India and Pakistan. I couldn’t decide between cutting Lindsay some slack for not being as dumb as I liked to say she was and throttling her for being mean to Shelley, but then it was our turn to present.
We got up there in front of the class with no video or sound, no props, not even any paper handouts. It was the least prepared I’d ever been for a project. It was the only time I’d ever been anything less than 125 percent prepared for a project! I gulped, wishing for a glass of water, and looked at Shelley. She looked back, totally confident, happy, not at all worried. My best friend. I relaxed a little bit.
“I am Christine de Talleyrand-Périgord, senior diplomat from France,” Shelley announced.
“I am Kyung-Wha Chung, senior diplomat from South Korea,” I said in almost my normal presenting-in-class voice.
We made it through all the way to the end. We talked, and talked some more, and read some stuff that we’d written and printed out, and it was okay. It was definitely the worst project I’d ever done in school, and I felt some creeping guilt that it was also the worst project Shelley had ever done in school, but it wasn’t the worst project ANYONE had ever done in school. It wasn’t even the worst project anyone did that day.
At the end of our presentation the class applauded. It was nice, polite applause, nothing like the shrieking and jumping around at a Tiger Rabbit concert. But no spitballs were fired, nobody booed, and some people even clapped like they meant it. Ms. Lee nodded and clapped too, although she didn’t look totally thrilled like she did when Joel Morrissey and Robbie Schumacher whipped out their 3-D animation showing the intensely messed-up history between Iraq and Kuwait. It had maybe five pieces of actual information in it, but it looked cool, and it seemed like they might actually be good at the animation thing, which was new. Robbie Schumacher’s only visible skill before then was being a bully, so yay, I guess.
So unfair that exceeding the teacher’s low expectations got such a HOORAY reaction, but whatever. Life’s unfair, right?
Ms. Lee gave Shelley and me a B- on our final Model UN presentation, and unlike my previous B-, I actually thought it was a fair grade. Not a FUN grade, but a fair one. We still needed something to wash the nasty B- taste out of our mouths, though, which was why it was perfect when Primrose Heights Public Library announced its first annual Graphic Novel Making Contest. Shelley and I had the perfect idea, and we started spending every Saturday afternoon working on it.
“MOOOOOOM! DAAAAAAAD! Do you know where my library card is?” I yelled as I swept my arm back and forth under the living room couch. There was all kinds of crap under there, but nothing that felt like a library card.
“Probably wherever you left it last time,” Dad said from the other side of the house, where he was repairing the toaster oven’s hyperdrive engine or something.
“Oh, har de har har, Dad. So funny. Hey, can I use yours?”
“Nope.”
“Aw come on, Dad, it’s for our graphic novel project!”
“Nope. I can’t go to the library right now, and part of the responsibility of having a library card is — ”
“Keeping track of where it is, blah blah, yeah, I know. MOM, CAN I — ”
“Don’t ask me,” Mom said. At least that’s what I think she said. Her voice was even more muffled than Dad’s — she was probably digging around in the closet.
“Look under the couch,” Dad said, briefly appearing in the hallway, then disappearing again.
“I just did! Gah! Where is it?” I said, scratching my head.
“Let’s just use mine,” Shelley said for the third time. She was sitting on the couch I’d just looked under and scribbling intently in a notepad.
“Check out books with YOUR card?” I gave her a look of horror that wasn’t entirely fake. “I’d only be able to get half as many books!”
“Oh, I wouldn’t let you use half of my limit,” Shelley said with a grin. “But you could totally check out, say, ten books.”
“Do you know how long it’d take me to read ten graphic novels?”
“Two weeks?”
“Oh, you’re so funny. I — hey, wait.” I’d stuffed my hands into the back pockets of my jeans as we were talking, and I slowly pulled my right hand out, holding my library card.
Shelley did a miniclap in front of her chin.
“Wow, it’s amazing that you found it!” she said in a superfake tone of surprise.
“Oh, shut up and let’s just go,” I grumbled.
Dad walked into the living room with a lightbulb in one hand and a screwdriver in the other.
“Oh hey, Mr. Cho, thanks for all of your help with the biology stuff,” Shelley said. “It’s so weird that the oceans on TC4 were so much like the oceans here.”
“You’re very welcome,” Dad said, replacing the burned-out bulb in the floor lamp. “It was one of the reasons we chose this planet.”
Would I ever get used to Mom and Dad just talking about their lives on Tau Ceti Four like that? So weird. Great, but weird.
“We’re totally gonna win,” I said. “We’ll have the only space alien graphic novel that’s based on a true story.”
“Your confidence is very reassuring,” Dad said.
“Hey, it’s not bragging if it’s true.”
“Can you girls do me a favor and get the mail before you leave?” Dad said as he headed for the kitchen.
“Sure,” I said. “Come on, Shelley.”
I grabbed Shelley by the elbow and pretty much dragged her down the front walk to the mailbox. It was stuffed with the usual pile of crap for Mom and Dad — lame magazines, bills, catalogs for places that sold dishes — but there was also an envelope with my name on it. It was from GeneGenie.
“I thought you didn’t send them another sample!” Shelley said as I held the envelope out so she could see the GeneGenie logo on it.
“I didn’t.” I stuck the pile of mail under my arm, dropping half of it on the ground in the process, and opened the envelope. “Maybe they decided I’m human after all.”
“Or maybe they found something new?”
Shelley leaned her head against mine as I read the letter inside. It was short and sweet, just three lines long. But they were three amazing lines, especially the first one.
Shelley and I looked at each other — her big, hazel, white-person eyes were open as wide as my brown, pseudo-Korean eyes.
“Does that mean what I think it means?” she said in a hushed voice.
“I think it does.” I gulped, then grabbed Shelley’s elbows and stood there trembling as it sank in.
“Are you gonna tell your folks?” she said.
“Right now,” I said in a wobbly voice. We locked eyes, squealed in excitement, jumped a couple of times, then finally let go of each other.
“I should probably, you know, tell them in private,” I said in a quiet voice.
“Well, duh,” Shelley said with a huge grin. “What if I just meet you at the library? I can probably read at least twenty graphic novels by the time you get there.”
“Oh, yo
u wish.”
There was a minute of silence then, because the old butterflies filled up my stomach again, plus that new butterfly. The sad, I’m-not-Korean-anymore butterfly that felt like it might be a permanent addition. I hoped not, though. Not a fan of the sad butterflies.
“It’s gonna be okay, Chloe,” Shelley said, gently shaking me by the shoulders.
“I know, I know.”
“I want to know EVERYTHING.”
“I’ll let you know exactly what they say!”
“You better,” Shelley said, just before we wrapped our arms around each other for a hug that was so hard it almost hurt. We let go of each other, and I watched as she turned and ran in the direction of the library, obviously too excited to just walk.
My best friend, forever and ever.
I burst into the living room just as Mom emerged from the bedroom in her yoga clothes.
“Well now, someone’s excited,” she said with a smile as I shoved the unimportant mail into her hands. “The graphic novel project must be going well!”
“It’s going super well,” I said. “Our drawings of Tau Ceti aren’t nearly as good as yours, though. Mom, I — ”
“Oh, thank you, honey,” Mom said, twisting her hair up into a ponytail. “But I can’t — ”
“Forget about that! Mom, you have to look at this,” I said, waving the GeneGenie.com letter over my head. “You’re not gonna BELIEVE this.”
“Chloe, did you get the mail — oh, I see, thank you!” Dad said as he reentered the living room. He gave Mom a really long, long hug and an equally long kiss. So rude to make me wait like that. Also, ew.
“Nice outfit,” he said. Mom laughed, then brought Dad’s hand to her lips and kissed it.
“Augh, I have something to show you guys!” I said, ignoring all the gross kissing and stuff and pulling on each of their sleeves.
“What, what, what?” Dad said as I grabbed his arm, grabbed Mom’s arm, and pulled them both right up next to each other. I looked at the letter, found the right paragraph, stuck my fingertip on it, then held it up for them to see.
“THIS.”
Mom and Dad stared at the paper in silence. I held it in front of their faces for a few seconds, then clapped it against my chest with both hands and grinned at them, bobbing up and down.
“What … is this, Chloe?” Mom said.
“It’s a genealogy test! You know, one of those DNA things?”
“Yes, I know what those are, but what is THIS? Is this from your DNA sample?”
I sighed and let my arms flop down to my sides.
“No, Mom, I sent in a python DNA sample. YES, IT’S MINE.”
They looked at each other with serious deer-in-the-headlights expressions on their faces, but then Mom gulped, and Dad quickly ran his hands through his hair a couple of times.
“You don’t think — ” Dad said.
“I was the best astrophysics student there, but I wasn’t the only one,” Mom said. She rubbed her temples with the heels of her palms.
“It’s someone from TC4, isn’t it? Someone else got away!” I said.
“There’s no way to know,” Mom said. “Unless …”
I’d never seen that expression on Dad’s face before — it was like he was feeling ALL of the feelings all at the same time, and his face could barely hold them all without bursting into flames.
“Unless,” he said, and smiled. Then they both looked at me, and for a second they had the old Operation-Keep-Chloe-in-the-Dark look on their faces, but then their faces changed. Mom looked … excited?
Yes, excited. So did Dad. They were both looking at me, REALLY looking at me, with big, big smiles, and OH MY GOD I WAS SO EXCITED.
“Is it a friend of yours? A family member?? WHO IS IT?”
Mom laughed, a real throw-your-head-back-and-laugh-up-at-the-sky laugh. Dad took a deep, deep breath, put his forehead against mine, then grabbed me and Mom in a crushing bear hug. When he spoke, his voice was like an entire orchestra hitting a crescendo.
“Let’s find out.”
I go on and on about Arthur Levine, but he’s a genius editor and a beloved friend, so what, you expect me to lob decomposing tomatoes at him? I also make a lot of jokes about Send Your Agent a Neurotic Email Day (news flash: not a real holiday), but I should really talk about Ammi-Joan Paquette Is All Kinds of Fabulous Day, because she truly is. I’m not stopping with the neurotic emails, though, SORRY, JOAN.
Thank you to my bandmates in Erin Murphy’s Dog: Ruth Barshaw, Arthur Levine, Jeannie Mobley, Kristin Nitz, Deborah Underwood, Carrie Watson, and Conrad Wesselhoeft. The Dawgs lift my spirits when they’re at a low ebb, shout to the rafters when I have reason to celebrate, and help me park my hindquarters in the chair and do the real work. On a related note, I’ve moved past humblebragging and on to plain old bragging about being a client of the Erin Murphy Literary Agency, which is jam-packed with people I both respect and adore.
My friends and colleagues on the We Need Diverse Books team are breathtakingly intelligent, supremely articulate, and powerful beyond measure. The work we do together gives meaning to my career on a level it previously lacked.
You know who’s awesome? The team at Arthur A. Levine Books/Scholastic: Antonio Gonzalez, Tracy van Straaten, Lizette Serrano, Emily Heddleson, Saraciea Fennell, Weslie Turner, Emily Clement, Carol Ly, Phil Falco, Kait Feldmann, Roz Hilden, Nikki Mutch, Elizabeth Krych, Annie McDonnell, Bess Braswell, Michael Strouse, and everyone I’m leaving out but planning to treat to a doughnut if they’re willing to meet me at Donut Savant in Oakland.
Nick Thomas and Eunice Kim are no longer with AAL, but I won’t forget their contributions to making U.S.O. a reality. The good people of Paper Dog Studio created a fabulous, evocative cover. Working with Kirsten Cappy and Curious City has been a big, glitter-coated, unicorn-shaped basket of good times. Thanks to Wendy Buck at Ancestry.com, who answered my very silly questions with cheerful professionalism, and Dr. Anthony Ferrante of Columbia University, who contributed a high-octane dose of scientific knowledge.
Last but not least are Miranda, Zoe, and Leo, my family. What do you say about the people who mean more to you than anyone else ever has or ever will? What do you say to the people who made your other, even bigger dreams come true just by existing? Kudos? Let’s go to In-N-Out Burger? Oh, I know: I love you.
MIKE JUNG is the author of Geeks, Girls, and Secret Identities and contributed to the anthologies Dear Teen Me, Break These Rules, and 59 Reasons to Write. He is a library professional by day, a writer by night, and a semi-competent ukulele player during all the times in between. Mike is proud to be a founding member of the #WeNeedDiverseBooks team. He lives in Oakland, California, with his wife and two young children. Find Mike at www.mikejung.com.
Copyright © 2016 by Mike Jung
All rights reserved. Published by Arthur A. Levine Books, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, the LANTERN LOGO, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Jung, Mike, author.
Title: Unidentified suburban object / Mike Jung.
Description: First edition. | New York : Arthur A. Levine Books, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., 2016. | © 2016 | Summary: Chloe Cho is a Korean American seventh-grader who would like to get in touch with many of the aspects of her heritage, but her parents are unwilling to talk about it — then when a class assignment forces Chloe to confront them directly, they finally tell her the truth about her family, which may just be too much
for one girl to handle.
Identifiers: LCCN 2015026296| ISBN 9780545782289 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Korean Americans — Juvenile fiction. | Identity (Psychology) — Juvenile fiction. | Extraterrestrial beings — Juvenile fiction. | Families — Juvenile fiction. | Best friends — Juvenile fiction. | Schools — Juvenile fiction. | CYAC: Korean Americans — Fiction. | Identity — Fiction. | Extraterrestrial beings — Fiction. | Family life — Fiction. | Best friends — Fiction. | Friendship — Fiction. | Schools — Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.J953 Un 2016 | DDC 813.6 — dc23 LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015026296
First edition, May 2016
Cover art © 2016 by Jennifer Taylor
Cover design by Carol Ly
e-ISBN 978-0-545-78228-9
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.