by Susan Tan
I paused.
“I think,” I said after a long, long moment, “I think I’m fine, actually.”
The time traveler looked shocked.
“But I thought you wanted a new name. One that’s big and exciting and will look great in print.”
“I know,” I said. “And I did, for a long time. A Priscilla Lee-Jenkins isn’t an easy thing to be. But I’ve gotten used to it. And now that I have, I just don’t think I could be anything else.”
“Oh,” the time traveler said, looking disappointed. “Okay.” He ran his fingers through his hair.
“But there are lots of other things you can do,” I said gently, “now that you’ve invented time travel. This is just the beginning. Plus, I think this probably makes you famous. You might want to look into that, actually.”
“You may be on to something there.” The time traveler wiped his nose, but did look like he felt better. “Well, what about your little sister?” he asked suddenly. “I know you don’t like her name, and that you hate it so much you won’t even say it. I bet I could go back in time and make sure her name is a good one. Maybe Glimmerella…”
“Thank you. But that’s okay too,” I said firmly. “I think she should get a chance to figure it out for herself. It’ll probably be hard,” I admitted. “But I’m her older sister, so I’ll be there to help.”
The time traveler sighed. “I understand. I’m just disappointed. Though,” he said, smiling suddenly, “I guess I can do lots of other things, now that I’ve discovered time travel. Why, I could even go back in time and see a real-life velociraptor!”
“That’s the spirit,” I cheered.
“Well”—he walked back to his cardboard box and pulled the door open, the foil squeaking as he went—“I’m off. It’s been an honor, Priscilla Lee-Jenkins. You’re my favorite author. And I’ve seen you in the future, you know. You signed a book for me, and a copy for my pet flying pig.”
“Really?” I asked. “What am I like?”
“You’re very famous, of course. All your books are bestsellers, and there’s lots of cake.”
“I knew it.” I smiled. “Thank you.”
“And she looks a lot like you. Your little sister.”
“She”—I paused—“she does?”
“Why, yes,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “When she grows up, she doesn’t look like a blob at all. You two have lots of family resemblance.”
It was a long moment before I replied.
“Thank you, Mr. Time Traveler,” I said, finally. “I’m really glad I got to meet you.”
“You too,” he said with a smile and another tiny bow. “Well, wish me luck!”
“Good luck!” I waved. “Have fun. And maybe don’t get too close to the velociraptors.” (He was very nice and had discovered time travel and all, but he somehow didn’t seem too bright. At least when it came to common sense.)
“Right,” he nodded. Then he gave a small wave and disappeared, with a lot of clunking and shuffling, back into the box. The door swung shut behind him and the box rose with a wobble, first slowly, then faster and faster, back up, up, up into the sky. And then it was gone.
* * *
“What are you doing, sweetie?” My mom and dad had come across the yard—my mom holding The Blob, who was still asleep—and were standing next to me, trying to see what I was looking at off in the distance.
“Oh, nothing,” I replied. “Just imagining some things that needed to be taken care of. For me”—I put an arm around my mom’s waist, and rested my head on her still-kind-of-big stomach—“and…” I stopped and looked up at The Blob.
I looked at her scrunched-up face, and I thought about the name my parents had given her, the name I never said, the name I thought was so terrible I wouldn’t even write it down.
“And,” I said, “for Gwendolyn.”
I have to admit—it didn’t sound as bad as I’d thought it would.
“Silly,” my mom teased, putting an arm around me.
“Yes,” I said, taking my dad’s hand too. “But only sometimes.”
And together, we all walked back to the noise of the party, with the bright, bright orange of the setting sun in the sky behind us. And we all lived happily ever after, Lee and Jenkins alike.
The End
EPILOGUE: PLOT TWIST
Ha! I tricked you!
Tricking your reader is called a Plot Twist, and LOTS of bestselling novels have them. So I thought it would be a good idea to end my book with one too.
Also, while happily-ever-afters are okay for fairy tales, I don’t think they work for real life. Can you imagine how boring that would be? I mean, sure, I like it when things are happy, but when everything is perfect there’s very little room for drama.
Or car chases.
The Plot Twist is that my story isn’t over at all. There are so many good stories left, like how, a few weeks later, when she was bigger and awake and a bit less breakable, I got to help Gwendolyn dip her hands in paint and put her handprints on the drawer of my writing desk, right at the front. She did a great job, and I was a very careful helper (though some paint may have gotten on the floor. And the wall. Also my mom.).
And to top everything off, the day after my surprise birthday party, there WAS a car chase. It was on the way home from my Grandma and Grandpa Jenkins’s house. I think it was an evil villain, out to steal Gwendolyn (who looked GREAT in the excellent outfit I’d chosen for her, as always). Or maybe it was a bank robber who thought our car was filled with money and jewels instead of birthday presents and a (very) smelly diaper. My dad says it was just my Grandpa Jenkins, who doesn’t know the shortcut to our house, and had to follow our car in his because we couldn’t fit Gwendolyn’s stroller in with my new desk. But I kept watch the whole time. Just to be safe—like a responsible Big Sister. And when we turned corners, I yelled, “Faster, Dad, he’s gaining on us!” and “Lose him at the light!” which added EXCELLENT excitement to the ride home, so it was definitely worth the new gray hairs my dad says I gave him. Gwendolyn clearly thought it was fun too, because every time I yelled she also wanted to yell. And she was right to be happy—it made our story perfect.
Because you can’t get much better than a car chase.
* * *
Gwendolyn’s getting bigger and is growing even more hair (which isn’t fair). But she also smiles when she sees me and giggles when I blow air on her toes, which I like. And even though it’ll be a while before she can really and truly make up stories with me, I’ve discovered that making up stories about her is a lot of fun. So far she’s been an earthworm, a slug, a puppy, and a troll. Tomorrow, I’m going to make up a story where she goes to the moon, and my mom’s even said that I can push Gwendolyn’s stroller while I pretend that we’re astronauts, as long as I don’t let go and promise not to run. So, as you can see, Gwendolyn is much more exciting now than she was as a blob in my mom’s stomach.
And even though it will be a looooong time before she can read (though hopefully she’ll learn a bit faster than I did), that hasn’t stopped me from reading to her. In fact, just yesterday I started reading Gwendolyn what I hope will be her favorite book someday—this one.
I could only read a little before she started trying to roll away. But she wanted to eat my book, which I think means she likes it. And I know she’ll appreciate it A LOT later on, when she can read my life story, and hear about her family, and learn important lessons from my experiences. (Such as, Choco-Rex cereal is VERY disappointing, and NOT what the commercials say it is. The marshmallows don’t look ANYTHING like dinosaurs, and they just make the milk a gross, funny-tasting brown color.)
Which means that I’ll have a big influence on my little sister. She’ll grow up hearing my stories, after all.
I’m starting to see the problem with writing your life’s story between the ages of eight and a half and nine. There are just so many more exciting things that keep happening to me—tales of wonder and Str
uggles, cheese and stegosauruses, imaginary safaris with Colleen (we’re going on one next week—there will be polar bears), playing gnomes with Mrs. Tibbs, and of course, drama. Which sells.
And, to add to all this, my Nai Nai and Ye Ye have promised to get me another writing notebook once this one is all used up, because I’m such a good Big Sister, and because even though my first book wasn’t done in time for me to become world famous before Gwendolyn was born, I’m still destined for literary greatness, and need to practice for the day when I’ll be a bestselling author.
So it really doesn’t matter that this is the very last page in the journal my Grandma and Grandpa Jenkins gave me. My book is over, but my writing isn’t. Which means that I—Priscilla Lee-Jenkins, future author extraordinaire—will be here again soon, at the special writing desk made just for me, starting at a brand-new Chapter One.
And that, for now, really is The End.
GLOSSARY: CILLA’S GUIDE TO LIFE AND LITERARY TERMS
Ay yah:
A Chinese way of saying “Wow!” or “Goodness!” or “Oh no!” or “Ooooooh!” or pretty much anything else.
Best Behavior:
What you have to be on when you’re with lots of adults. Just say “thank you” a lot, and throw in some “pleases” while you’re at it. Adults are pretty easy to impress.
Bestseller:
This is a book that sells A LOT. When this happens, I’ll request covers in all my favorite colors—purple, green, yellow, and chartreuse. Also, maybe one will have a dragon on the cover. But they’ll DEFINITELY all have my picture on the back, and will say “From the bestselling author Priscilla Lee-Jenkins,” and I’ll be very famous. Also rich. And I’ll buy a lot of cake with my money but I’ll be sure to share it (and to eat it with lots of ice cream). Plus I’ve promised Colleen that I’ll buy her a penguin, which seems only fair because she was my first-ever fan.
Cheongsam:
A Chinese dress that has a high neck with buttons made of silk string tied in loops. Cheongsams are smooth and soft, and mine has designs made with gold thread all over it. When you say it, it sounds like “sheum sang,” which means even its name is pretty. So basically, a cheongsam is the most beautiful kind of dress there is.
Creative License:
What you can take when you’re an author. It means that you can change things in your story, like the words people used, or the colors they were wearing, or what kind of pet they had if you want to make a story more interesting. For example, a story about Mrs. Tibbs and her white pet cat isn’t very exciting, and you probably wouldn’t want to read it. But a story about Mrs. Tibbs and her neon pink triceratops would probably be a bestseller (see Bestseller).
Drama:
Something exciting, which usually involves explosions or fire or dragons. Every story needs drama, which is why every story is better when there’s a car chase.
Escargot:
Snails. These are delicious, no matter what preschoolers say. And it’s pronounced “ess car go,” which is fun to say.
Glossary:
This is a glossary. It helps me define my terms. My Grandpa Jenkins says that all serious books have them. And I’m serious about this book being a bestseller (see Bestseller), so it seemed like a good idea.
Golly:
This is the Jenkins way of saying “ay yah” (see Ay yah).
Literal:
This has something to do with taking things at their face value, which means understanding words just by what they mean. For example, when your mom says, “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse,” it just means that she’s very hungry, not that she’s actually going to find a horse and eat it. This was a BIG relief, because I love horses, even though I’ve never ridden one because they scare me. I’m getting better at literal things, though I still find it a bit confusing (and I still don’t think values can have faces).
Mood:
How a story feels. Another word for this is Atmosphere, and both are very important. Just be careful that you don’t make the Mood of your story too scary (because then you can’t sleep, and your mom isn’t as sympathetic as she could be when you explain that you’re afraid of the bathroom sink because you wanted to write a scary story, so you imagined a monster that lives in the drain, and now you don’t want to wash your hands).
Nai Nai:
This is the Chinese word for “Grandmother.” It’s pronounced “Nigh Nigh,” not “Nee Nee” or “Nay Nay.” If my Nai Nai heard you say it that way, she would say, “Ay yah!” (see Ay yah).
Not Acceptable & Not Going to Happen:
These are the parent words for “no.”
Plot Twist:
When you trick your reader. Lots of bestsellers have them, and my story does too, which means it will definitely sell the best, and then I’ll be famous.
Suspense:
How you add drama to a story. Suspense in a book is great, but it’s less great in real life, because I can get something called Impatient.
Theme:
Something that happens again and again and again. Like how my dad always tells me to put my hands in my pockets when we’re at a store where there are fragile things, because he’s worried I’ll touch them and break something. This is an unjust theme, actually, because I’m very careful. (Plus, that one time with the lamp in the antique store wasn’t my fault, because how could I have known that the little glass flowers would snap off so easily?) Anyway, you’ll know when something’s a theme when your dad says, “Cilla Lee-Jenkins, we’ve been over this a thousand times!”
Tzuck Sang:
Bamboo hearts. This is my Nai Nai’s favorite food and my favorite food, which is an EXCELLENT thing to have in common with someone (because if you can’t bond over food, then what else is there?). And it also has an excellent name. When you say it, it sounds like “jook-sang.”
Wah:
This is the Chinese way of saying “Ta-da!” or “Oh my!” or “Great!” or anything else “ay yah” doesn’t cover.
Ye Ye:
This is the Chinese word for “Grandfather.” It’s pronounced “Yeh Yeh,” not “Yee Yee” or “Yay Yay.” If my Ye Ye heard you say it that way, he would refer you to my Nai Nai (see Nai Nai), who would say, “Ay yah!” (see Ay yah). (This glossary business is very confusing.)
Young Lady:
What you are when you’re in trouble.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There are so many people who helped make this book possible.
Thank you first to my family: my mom and dad, who have believed in me every step of the way; Grandmom and Bobby; Catherine, who gave Cilla her full name, and Sarah, who told me unequivocally that I had to finish this book; Charles and Henry; Ethan, Dan, Courtney, and Aysun; Auntie Esther and Uncle Paul, who support me with their faith and enthusiasm; Jenn, Yvonne, Kimmy, Mike, Paul, Jeff, Jeremy, Rachel, Ellie, Emmett, and Noah; and Nai Nai, Ye Ye, Eh-Pah, and Dede, who I will never stop missing.
A huge thank-you to Dan Lazar, who started me on this publishing journey and has been an enthusiastic advocate and vital source of support every step of the way. Thank you to Connie Hsu for your brilliant and creative eye, and for pushing me to never shy away from complexity and hard, true moments. You’ve made every step of this process a joy, and taught me so much about writing along the way. Cilla wouldn’t be Cilla without you!
Thank you, too, to the teams at the Writers House and Roaring Brook: to Torie for fielding all my questions, to Megan for your insights and excitement about the book, to Andrew Arnold for a beautiful book design, and to all the publicity and marketing teams at Roaring Brook for your enthusiasm and support.
This book wouldn’t be complete without the beautiful artwork of Dana Wulfekotte. Thank you for bringing Cilla and her family to life, for your commitment to representation, for your patience with my endless suggestions, for the care and detail in every image and face you so beautifully sketch, and, of course, for the rainbow unicorn.
Thank you to my childhood friends: Colleen
, Annalee, Courtney, Ben, Laura H., Laura S., Arthur, Patrick from Gladstone, Kelly from Michigan, and the Brame, Mulhall, and Scott families. I can think of no greater gift for Cilla than friends and communities like you.
Thank you to the teachers and role models whose names and stories also fill this book: Ms. Stroud, Ms. Gatlin, Ms. Jill, Ms. Garfield, Ms. Shear, Mr. Winch, Lynn Bloom, Lynn Love, Maria, Morag, and Ms. Davies.
Thank you to my community at UMass Boston for your unflagging support even when my career goals took a slight turn. Thank you, Cheryl, Renata, Erin, Sarah, Hugh, Dan, Matt, Sam, and Susan T., and the students in my Children’s Writing Workshop, who energize and inspire me.
Thank you to the Writers’ Room of Boston: Debka, Alexander, Camille, Kate, and everyone else at WROB, you truly changed my life and made Boston home.
Thank you to my friends, who have cheered me on from both sides of the Atlantic: Olivia, Valerie, Emily Jaeger, Perri, Lauren, Emily Rockett, Erica, Zoe, Connor, Becky, and Rachel.
And finally, to the best of friends, Yanie, Hannah, and Ashley. I, and this book, would be nothing without you. You are my Colleens and Alien-Faces, my Ms. Lynns and Ms. Blooms; you infuse my book with your love and belief. Thank you, Yanie, for the writing talks that set me on my way; Hannah, for being my first-ever editor; and Ashley, for giving me the idea in the first place.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Susan Tan has lived many places in her life, but calls Concord, Massachusetts home. She grew up in a mixed-race family, and, like Cilla, was bald until the age of five. She earned degrees from Williams College and the University of Cambridge, where she studied children’s literature. She currently lives in Somerville, enjoys frequent trips to Chinatown to eat tzuck sang, and teaches at the University of Massachusetts, Boston. Cilla Lee-Jenkins: Future Author Extraordinaire is her first book. You can sign up for email updates here.