by Susan Tan
“Yes.” She nodded. “When I was little, I was very curious, just like you. I want to test everything. So, one day, I took all our shoes. I went to the tallest window, and—wah!”
“You threw them?!” I gasped.
“Yes!” She laughed. “To see if they would fly.”
“Did they?” I asked, feeling my eyes get wide at the idea of my Nai Nai doing something like that.
“No.” She smiled again, looking maybe a little embarrassed. “They fell in the mud.”
“Oh no!” I exclaimed.
“Yes,” she said.
I giggled. “I can’t believe it. I’m just like you!”
“A true Lee,” she said, giving me a kiss on the head.
“No,” I corrected her, softly. “And a Jenkins.”
On Monday, Ms. Bloom stood in front of the class and said, “Well, everyone. Did you get a chance to think about your colors this weekend?”
And I knew for once I wasn’t exaggerating or making anything up when I sighed and said, “Yes,” slumping back in my chair. “It was exhausting.”
* * *
A week later, we had our end-of-the-year party. My mom and dad came, and we took pictures, and ate cookies, and all the parents admired our drawings, and Colleen’s mom said I’d drawn my expression “just right,” which was a nice thing to hear. I could see the space between my mom’s eyes frown a little, though, when she saw my picture. But then she smiled, and said she loved it.
When all the celebrations were done, and she was tucking me into bed that night, my mom said, “We’ll have to keep in touch with Ms. Bloom.” She sat on the edge of my bed and smoothed the hair away from my face. “What a sharp woman. I like her a lot.”
“Me too,” I replied.
“Your classroom was so pretty,” she went on. “And I spotted your drawing the second we walked in. Do you want to put it up somewhere? How about on your wall, or on the fridge?”
“Maybe later.” I shrugged. I didn’t know if I really wanted to see it every day.
“It’s a lovely picture, sweetie,” she said. Then she paused. “I love the way you drew Horatio’s hat, you got the shape just right. And the red is so bright and cheery. Only … everyone’s so far apart.”
“Yes.” I sighed. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.” I was going to say something else, but then I saw that frowning, worried look again.
So I kept quiet.
And later, after she’d given me a hug and said good night, I lay in bed, thinking about what I hadn’t said to my mom.
Because I really didn’t mean for my family to be so far apart in my picture.
But I think it’s maybe just how they want to be.
11
STRUGGLES
School is over now, and Ms. Bloom promised to visit us in third grade, which made me feel better about saying goodbye. Also, Colleen and I are going to be in the same class next year (Alien-Face too), which I’m excited about.
Since school ended, I’ve been doing a lot of things. I went on vacation with my mom and dad, and we visited the beach every day. We had a great time, and even though I brought my notebook to write in, I didn’t because I was so busy making sand castles and eating ice cream. But then, when we were getting ready to come home, even though I told my mom I’d double-check that I’d packed everything, I didn’t because I was imagining that the squeaky wheels on my suitcase were mice with super-human (or mouse) strength. So I left my notebook in our hotel room, and it was TERRIBLE because what if someone else found it and pretended it was theirs and published it and became a bestselling author with MY stories?!
Luckily, this didn’t happen. And the hotel mailed it back to me, which was very nice of them. But it only just arrived, which means that I’m really behind with my writing.
After I got back from vacation, I started camp. Camp is A LOT of fun. Colleen’s there too, and we get to swim in the community pool and play games in a big field. We also do arts and crafts, and last week I learned how to make a picture frame and a friendship bracelet, which are two excellent skills to have.
But not even camp or getting my notebook back could make this week any better.
On Tuesday, I helped my mom pack her bag for the hospital, which was (just a little, only slightly) fun. I wanted my mom to pack her high heels because they’re great, and you can barely see where they got scratched in the dirt. Plus, if you’re going to insist on having a new baby, you might as well be fancy about it.
My mom didn’t agree with this, but she promised that she’d wear heels to The Blob’s one-month party. (When a baby is one month old, you have a big banquet in Chinatown to celebrate. I love banquets. Waiters bring out new plates of delicious food ALL THE TIME, and you eat at tables that have a big circle in the middle that spins. Spinning it really fast and trying to spear food with your chopsticks while it goes is an EXCELLENT game, though sometimes it makes a mess on your great-aunt’s party dress).
While we packed, we talked about what was going to happen later that weekend—a sleepover at Colleen’s house.
When Colleen invited me for a sleepover, it was hard to know what to say. She and I have been talking about me sleeping over for a loooong time, because even though sleepovers at my house are fun, Colleen’s parents have a machine that makes WAFFLES, and her mom said that if I stay over, she’ll make us some for breakfast. Also, Colleen has LOTS of board games, and we planned to stay up all night and play them. This has always sounded fun, and I really, really wanted to go.
But then I remembered the last time I tried to stay over, and how scared I was, and worse, how hard it was to explain to Colleen that I was scared of being in the dark. And even though Colleen said she was sorry for calling me a baby that day on the bus, I still think about it sometimes. And I want her to know that I’m not a baby—I’m her best friend.
That’s why, when Colleen sleeps over at my house, I do things like hide my nightlight and ask my mom to leave the hall light on and the door open a little, and to say it’s for Colleen so she’ll know where the bathroom is.
So I said yes to Colleen and the sleepover. And then I thought about asking my mom if she could tell Colleen’s parents that I couldn’t go after all (I invented an EXCELLENT story to use as an excuse, involving the chicken pox and a hot-air balloon with a bank robber inside). But when I got home that day, Colleen’s mom had already called my mom to schedule everything, and my mom told me how proud she was of me for saying yes (which was nice). And she gave me a hug and told me that she and my dad would always be there to come and get me if I needed them (which was nicer).
So, while my mom packed for the hospital, I started to plan what I would pack for Colleen’s. My dad had to work late that night, so my mom and I had a special evening all to ourselves. After we packed her suitcase, we ate pizza and played checkers (though we got bored and ended up making a game to see how many checker pieces we could balance on my mom’s stomach. The answer is A LOT.).
The next morning, my dad walked me to the camp bus stop and he and I sang all our favorite songs on the way, and then Colleen and I were paired together for a relay race. It was a fun day, even if I was still nervous about the sleepover later in the week, and wondering if I could bring my unicorn poster with me, because at least that would mean I wouldn’t have to worry about Colleen’s closet.
But I was trying to forget about these worries, and mostly I was doing a very good job and having an excellent time. Until, just as Colleen and I were getting in line for the bus to go home, and making up a story about how we were brave explorers on a jungle safari who could talk to lions, one of the counselors came over and said, “Cilla, there’s someone here for you.”
I looked around. There, by the door, was my Grandma Jenkins. And even though she was trying to smile, she had a worried look on her face.
Suddenly, I didn’t feel brave like an explorer anymore.
My Grandma Jenkins came over and gave me a big hug, and said, “Everything’s fine, Cilla. W
e’re going to go see your mom and dad in the hospital, and I’ll explain everything in the car.”
My mom hadn’t had The Blob (which at first I was relieved to hear, because I really don’t want it to come yet, even if it would be good timing, because my birthday isn’t for another two weeks). But she was on something called “bed rest,” which meant that she needed to lie down all the time. And she had to stay at the hospital so the doctors and nurses could check on her until the baby was born.
It took me a minute to understand what my grandma was saying, because I was busy feeling angry at The Blob.
But then what she said finally sank in.
“Wait,” I said as I realized what she meant, and my voice was the small one that comes out sometimes that I don’t like. “Mom’s not coming home?”
“Not until your sister is born,” my grandma said, in a voice that was different from her normal one too, like she was trying to be very soft and calm. “It shouldn’t be too long now. And while she’s gone, we’ll all be there to look after you.”
“Will Dad come home?” I asked, my voice still small. My grandma didn’t seem to mind, even though she hates mumbling and likes to say things like “Speak up, dear” or “Enunciate, please” whenever you’re too quiet.
“Your father’s going to spend most of his time at the hospital so he can keep your mother company,” she answered. “He’s already packed a bag with your things, and you’re going to spend tonight with your grandfather and me, and then tomorrow night with your other grandparents. He’s told me all about your sleepover plans too, for the night after. And you’ll get to visit your mother every afternoon in the hospital.”
I didn’t know what to say. So instead I just looked out the window.
“Cilla,” my grandma said, “are you all right? Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” I said. And I didn’t.
“It’s going to be fine,” she said.
But I didn’t say anything back.
I didn’t like the hospital. It was big and gray with lots of small windows, and inside everything was white and all the people wore funny outfits. It didn’t seem like a place that my mom would like, and I held my grandma’s hand very tight, especially when a man came by with a bed that was on wheels. Because even though this was a fun idea in theory (and I bet racing down a hill on a bed with wheels would be GREAT), I didn’t like the idea of my mom being in one of those beds instead of being home with me. So I hid my face in my grandma’s sweater until we were past him.
When we got to my mom’s hallway, I saw my dad and Grandpa Jenkins talking by a doorway. And I was maybe a little bit rude, because I didn’t say hi to Grandpa Jenkins right away. I was too busy running to my dad and getting picked up in a big hug. Grandpa Jenkins seemed okay with this, though.
My mom’s room wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be, and even though her bed had wheels, it also had a button that could make the end where her head was higher or lower, which was fun.
Grandpa Jenkins sat in one corner flipping through TV channels (there was a TV hanging from the ceiling, which was very impressive) and Grandma Jenkins sat in the other corner reorganizing my mom’s suitcase. (“It’s okay,” my mom whispered to my dad. “If she doesn’t have a project she’ll drive me up the wall.” I wondered how this would work, especially because my mom is VERY heavy because of The Blob right now, so probably she’d fall down from the wall. But it didn’t seem like the time to ask.)
My dad sat next to the bed and helped me up, and my mom and I cuddled.
So, I decided to feel better, especially because when I lay next to her, I didn’t have to look at the needles that were taped into her arm. She said they were good because they were giving her medicine, but I didn’t like them AT ALL.
“Do you still want to stay at Colleen’s?” my dad asked. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to—all your grandparents would love to have you.”
“Colleen’s is fine,” I said quietly. “But I wish I could be home with you.”
“The baby will be here before you know it,” my mom said, trying to make me smile. “Maybe even tomorrow. Then we’ll all be together!”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“I know it’s hard, sweetheart,” my mom said. “You’re being so brave.” This was nice to hear. But I didn’t think I believed it.
That night, Grandma and Grandpa Jenkins took me to their house, and my Grandma Jenkins cooked steak and spinach and mashed potatoes, and my Grandpa Jenkins went out to buy an ice cream cake as a special treat. I got to have a bubble bath, and my Grandma Jenkins read me stories for a whole hour, and then she plugged in my dinosaur nightlight, which my dad had packed for me (because he’s the best). It made green and blue patterns on the wall, just like it does in my room. But it wasn’t home.
The next day, my Ye Ye picked me up from camp, and we drove to the hospital to see my mom. Nai Nai was there (with almond cookies!), and she and Ye Ye and my dad sat by the window and talked in Chinese, while my mom and I cuddled, and I told her all about camp that day.
That night, I went home to my Nai Nai and Ye Ye’s house. Nai Nai cooked sausage in rice, and Ye Ye bought white buns and dried pork for breakfast the next day (another one of my favorite things).
I sang songs with my Nai Nai and I drew her a picture that made her say “Wah!” so I knew I’d done a great job. Then I helped her pull out the fold-up couch (which is a couch that turns into a bed, which is AMAZING, plus when the bed’s unfolded is the only time you’re allowed to make a fort out of couch pillows, since no one needs them for sitting). Ye Ye read to me, and Nai Nai sat by my bed and sang me my favorite Chinese lullaby. And my nightlight lit the living room, and I could hear Nai Nai and Ye Ye whispering in Chinese in the next room as I closed my eyes, and that’s a very nice sound to fall asleep to. But it wasn’t home, either.
The next morning, I helped Nai Nai pack a smaller bag with my pajamas, my toothbrush, and a change of clothes. Nai Nai reached over to my dinosaur nightlight, and was about to put it in the bag, when I said, “No. I’ll leave it here.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
I was.
I held my Nai Nai’s hand extra tight when she dropped me off at camp that morning, and I gave her a big hug goodbye. And that afternoon, I went home with Colleen for my first-ever sleepover.
I’ve spent lots of time at Colleen’s house before. But this was the first time I’d unpacked my toothbrush in her bathroom, or picked a towel from her closet (Colleen guessed rightly that I’d choose the towel with a rainbow-colored WHALE, which was very exciting).
Dinner was a lot of fun, and Colleen’s dad told us jokes, and Colleen and I told everyone all about the water balloon toss (it was even better than we’d hoped. We got to throw water balloons at Alien-Face McGee, and since it was part of a game, we didn’t even get in trouble.).
We played board games after dinner (though apparently, our plan to play board games all night long was Not Going to Happen, according to Colleen’s mom). And when it was my turn to shower, Colleen let me play with the plastic cap she sometimes wears, and I pretended it was an astronaut’s helmet.
But there was a nervous feeling in my stomach the whole time, because this wasn’t my house, and even though I’ve been to Colleen’s before, I still sometimes forget where things are and get lost.
Finally, the moment I’d been dreading came. Colleen’s mom told us that it was time for lights-out, and even though I’d talked with my mom and dad that night on the phone to say “hello” and “I miss you,” what if I got scared and wanted to go home? Colleen would think I was a baby, and then even if I did want to go, who would come and get me? And why did everything have to be so different?
Colleen’s mom gave us both hugs (which was very nice of her) and said good night. I closed my eyes and scrunched up my face as she flicked off the light.
“Are you okay, Cilla?” Colleen asked.
“Yes,” I said, trying to be brave. I took a
deep breath, and opened my eyes, preparing myself for the dark …
… but I saw STARS instead, bright and white, glowing in the dark from Colleen’s ceiling.
“Wow,” I gasped.
“Do you like them?” Colleen said, and it was funny, because her voice sounded a little nervous.
“I LOVE them,” I said.
“I thought…” Colleen hesitated. “I thought you might think they were silly. Or that they might bother you and keep you from falling asleep. The thing is, sometimes … I get a little scared of the dark.”
I turned to look at her, my eyes big.
“I’m getting better,” she said quickly. “I’m only scared sometimes, I swear. I don’t want you to think I’m a baby, it’s just that—”
“Colleen,” I said. “I’m scared of the dark.”
Her eyes were big now too. “But when I slept over—”
“I hid my nightlight,” I confessed. “In my sock drawer.”
Colleen thought this over for a minute. Then she giggled. And I giggled, too.
“What kind of nightlight?” she asked.
“A dinosaur,” I answered. “He’s blue with green polka dots. I named him Herman.”
“I can’t wait to meet him,” she said, lying back on her pillows. Then, “Also,” she said after another minute, “the stars are really fun for making up stories if you can’t sleep. Sometimes I look up at them and imagine I’m in outer space.”
We lay there for a little while. I turned to Colleen again, and I could just see her outline under the soft glow of the ceiling.
“I’m glad you’re my friend, Colleen,” I said, in a quiet voice.
“I’m glad you’re my friend too, Cilla,” she said back.
A few minutes later, I could tell she was asleep. (Colleen snores, which makes me giggle. But I giggled quietly, so I wouldn’t wake her up. I’m a good best friend that way.)
I felt a lot better. But I still missed home. And I was still worried about my mom. And this still wasn’t my house, and what if I had to go to the bathroom and couldn’t remember which room was Colleen’s, and then had to wander through the hallways for the rest of eternity?! (Or at least the rest of the night.)