Just Like Me (5 page)

The arts-and-crafts room was in the basement of the mess hall, and it looked a lot like the park district craft room—wooden tables and metal folding chairs covered with different-colored drips of paint, wooden shelves with plastic bins full of glue, scissors, paint, and other supplies, and a big, ugly paint-and-plaster-splattered sink in the corner.

On the long tables at the front of the room lay six envelopes. Each with one of our names on it.

“I'm Jen,” said the counselor who was waiting for us when we got there. “Find your name and take a seat where your envelope is, and we'll get started.”

Gina's and my envelopes were at the same table, so we sat next to each other.

“Why don't you all open your envelopes and see what's inside?” Jen asked.

We all did and were surprised to see photos of ourselves.

“Ahhhh,” Vanessa said. “Look at how cute these are!”

“Here's me getting my first soccer trophy!” Becca said, holding up a picture of herself with a trophy bigger than she was.

“Look at this one!” Meredith said, showing us a photo of herself wearing shorts, snow boots, and a cowboy hat. It looked like she was about three.

“How about me pushing this doll stroller with our dog, Toodles, in it,” Avery said, smiling.

We all kept shuffling through our photos, reliving fun memories from when we were younger and showing off pictures of our past accomplishments.

But then Vanessa changed the mood in the room. “I can't believe it,” she said in a voice that didn't sound at all like her usual bossy one. She stared at a photo she held in her hand. “It's my tenth birthday. Of me with my dad. When we spent the whole day together.”

She didn't sound like Vanessa anymore, and her quietness made us all quiet. We looked at her while she stared at the photo. She seemed both happy and sad to see it.

“Check me out—getting MVP in a soccer tournament when I was only six!” Becca yelled, interrupting whatever touching moment Vanessa was having.

While Becca described in detail each goal she had scored to get that beloved MVP award, I kept watching Vanessa. As she continued to look at the photo, her happy-sad feeling seemed to harden into hurt.

“Look, Becca!” Avery said, pulling my attention away from Vanessa. “Here's you, me, and Julia at the Chinese New Year Parade. Look at the adorable Chinese outfits we have on,” she said, holding up the photo so I could see it. “I loved wearing those clothes. I wish they still fit me.”

I hated those clothes and was
glad
they didn't still fit me.

Those Chinese costumes always itched and smelled funny, and the collars always felt like they were choking me.

“You guys look
so
Chinese in that photo,” Vanessa said, peering across the aisle to look at the photo as Avery held it up.

“Of course we look Chinese!” Becca said. “We are!”

“I know, but you just look
more
Chinese in that picture,” Vanessa said.

“She's right,” Meredith said. “You do.”

Maybe I had been wrong about the arts-and-crafts room. Maybe it would've been better to be out in the field playing some game while Vanessa yelled at us instead of in here listening to everyone talk about how “Chinese” Avery, Becca, and I looked.

“These photos will give us lots of things to talk about for our Ms. Marcia article,” Avery said.

“What article?” Vanessa asked.

“Nothing,” I said quickly.

The last thing I needed was for Vanessa to know about the whole Ms. Marcia thing.

Thankfully, everyone went back to admiring their own photos—oohing and aahing over all the cute ones. And no one asked any more questions about the Ms. Marcia project.

Then Gina asked Jen, “How did you get these pictures?” And that's when I realized Gina hadn't held up any of her photos for us to see.

“We wanted every camper to make a life collage, so when you registered for camp, we asked your parents to send some photos.”

I looked at Gina's pile of pictures and noticed how small it was. From what I could see, most of the photos she had were really recent ones. I wondered why her mom hadn't included lots of baby pictures like all the other moms had.

“Are you ready to see what your collage could look like?” Jen asked.

We all looked up, and Jen flipped over a poster that had been lying facedown on the front table. She hung it on the wall. It was
her
life collage, which she'd made as an example. I had to admit that it looked pretty cool! Her photos were glued all around the poster board. She'd written something by each one. And she'd added a lot of cool doodles and fun decorations.

I looked down at my photos and started getting ideas right away about how I wanted to arrange my collage. I separated my pictures into piles. There were holiday photos, school photos, and lots of pictures of family vacations. A trip with my dad to Starved Rock. A day at the zoo for Mom and me. The three of us ice skating downtown at Christmastime. But then I saw a photo I
didn't
want to see.

It was of me in the orphanage in China. It was the photo the Chinese officials had sent my parents before they came to China to get me.

Bundled up in thick, puffy clothes, I sat outside a run-down building in a tattered and worn baby walker, holding a plastic ball. My short hair stuck straight up, and I had bug bites on my cheeks.

The photo looked like a police mug shot.

The thing about the picture was that I knew Avery and Becca had the
exact
same photo. Avery's photo sat in a frame on her dresser, and Becca's hung in a frame in the front hall of her house. Mine was in the life book my mom had made for me.

The caregivers at the orphanage in China must've put all the babies in the
same
clothes with the
same
plastic ball and sat them in the
same
secondhand walker to take the
same
photo. I wondered how many other Chinese girls had a photo exactly like mine. Probably a million.

This photo always gave my stomach a weird feeling.

I wondered if Avery's and Becca's moms had included this photo in their envelopes. If Avery and Becca put their photo on their collages, and I put mine on mine, everyone would see what we looked like when we were orphans. Everyone would see that we looked exactly alike.

“Oh, Becca, look at this!”

Avery had found it. Her orphanage picture. She held it up for Becca to see. “Look, Julia!” she said, turning it toward me.

It was too late. Now
everyone
would know.

Becca shuffled her photos around on the table, looking at the ones underneath those she'd already seen.

“Yeah, I've got mine too!” Becca yelled as she found the photo and held it up. “What about you, Julia?”

“No, my mom didn't send that one,” I said, sliding the photo facedown underneath a picture of me dressed up as a pumpkin for Halloween.

I thought Gina might have seen me hide the photo, but I didn't care. I was
not
going to admit to having this photo, and I was
not
going to include it on my life collage.

Thankfully, Jen told us we'd better get busy so we'd be able to finish our collage before morning activity ended. So with the orphanage photos forgotten, at least for the moment, we all got back to work on our projects.

When we got back to the cabin, we hung our posters on the wall outside the bathroom, and I was glad mine didn't look like anyone else's.

Does being adopted make you feel special?

Dear Ms. Marcia,

My mom always tells me how special that orphanage photo is because it was the first time she saw what I looked like. But that photo is NOT something I want to remember. Why would I want to remember being an orphan? Why would I want to remember that I was just like every other baby in that Chinese orphanage? That I was just like every other baby in any orphanage?

My mom often says, “God always knew you would be my daughter, so you were never really an orphan.”

But if I was never really an orphan, this picture doesn't really belong on my life collage.

So here's a question for you, Ms. Marcia. How can you feel special when there are a million other girls just like you?

Julia

PS I know Mom would want me to talk to her about all this, but how could she understand? She's not Asian. She's not adopted. And she was never ever an orphan.

“Watch out, Camp Little Big Woods!” Vanessa yelled. “Because White Oak is coming for you!”

We were at the volleyball courts on the far side of the grassy field, and Donnie had just announced the afternoon activity. A Newcomb tournament. While all of us campers got organized, he danced around and sang “Eye of the Tiger” as it blasted from the mess hall speakers.

Newcomb is a game like volleyball, except that instead of bumping, setting, and spiking the ball, players
throw
the ball over the net, and the opposing team tries to catch it.

“This is
killer
!” Becca yelled. “We're gonna be awesome at this!”

“Well, some of us are,” Meredith said, raising her eyebrows to Vanessa.

Vanessa didn't say anything, but she looked as determined as an Olympic athlete getting ready to play for the gold.

“I do have a feeling we're going to be earning some of those points back,” Avery said cheerfully.

I had a different feeling. A feeling that made me wish Newcomb wasn't this afternoon's activity. A feeling that made me wish I wasn't on
this
team. A team where Vanessa's need to win turned her into a screaming maniac. A team where people expected me to be good because of Avery and Becca. A team that made me wish I was back at home in the park district craft class with Madison.

“Let's get on the court,” Vanessa said. “Meredith, Julia, and I will take the front row. Avery, Becca, and Gina take the back.”

Becca was so excited about the game that she didn't even notice that Vanessa was bossing us around again.

We all got into our places, and Vanessa turned to us and said, “Look, you gotta throw hard! Every time. Make it impossible for them to catch that thing.”

While Vanessa bullied us into playing our best, the Silver Birch girls got situated on their side of the court.

As soon as both teams were ready, “Eye of the Tiger” faded, and the ref blew the whistle, starting the game.

It began with Gina throwing our team's first serve. But instead of throwing the ball high enough to go over the net, she tried to do what Vanessa said and throw it as hard as she could—but she threw the ball so hard that it was a line drive. Straight at my head. I tried to duck, but I wasn't fast enough. It hit me on the left ear, and I hit the dirt.

“Time-out!” Gina yelled. “Rumper bumper! Man, Julia, are you okay? I'm sorry.”

“What is
wrong
with you, Gina?” Vanessa yelled. “Can't you even throw a ball over a net?”

Gina reached out a hand to help me up.

“Watch yourself, White Oak,” the counselor reffing our game warned.

“Unbelievable,” Meredith mumbled.

Gina had only been a few feet behind me when she threw the ball, so it felt like someone had hit me in the head with a two-by-four. It made me wish I hadn't been the one standing in front of her.

Silver Birch served next, and of course they threw the ball straight at Gina. I guess they figured she was the weak link. The ball hit her in the stomach, and she fell down.

“Rumper bumper number two!” Gina yelled and brushed herself off as she got to her feet again.

“One, zero. Silver Birch in the lead,” the ref announced.

The next serve came at Gina even faster and with more force, but she didn't need to worry about it.

“I
got
it!” yelled Vanessa, who dove across the court to catch the ball.

She threw it back over the net, right into the back left corner of Silver Birch's court.

“White Oak's serve,” the ref announced, after the ball bounced.

After that, Becca served.

Silver Birch returned her serve, and even though this time the ball headed toward Gina and me, Meredith lunged across the court and yelled, “It's mine!”

“One to one,” the ref said.

Becca served again, and when the ball came back to our side, Becca yelled, “Take that!” as she hurled it back over to the Silver Birch side.

And so it went for the rest of the game with Vanessa, Meredith, and Becca diving and lunging in front of Gina and me, yelling, “Got it!” “It's mine!” and “Take that!”

White Oak racked up point after point after point until the game was over.

Our next game was against Red Maple, and Vanessa, Meredith, and Becca played exactly the same way—lunging, diving, and yelling.

So Gina yelled things too like, “
You
got it!”

“Here you go, Vanessa. Take that one!”

“Help yourself, Meredith!”

“Don't worry about us, Becca. You take this one!”

The Bermuda Triangle was so busy winning that they didn't realize what Gina was saying,
or
that I couldn't stop laughing about it.

Avery knew what was going on, and she looked annoyed. But what was she going to do? Stop White Oak from winning?

We played against three more teams to win the tournament. There were three more rumper bumpers—two for Gina and one for me. Besides that, Gina almost knocked the ref off her ladder stand with one of her serves, and there were more than a couple times when I was pretty sure Gina missed her serve on purpose just to be funny
and
to bug Vanessa.

At the end of the last game, Donnie announced, “White Oak wins the tournament!”

“
Sweet!
” Becca yelled.

Then he awarded our cabin ten points for winning, and Vanessa, Meredith, and Becca chanted, “White Oak rules! White Oak rules!”

Avery smiled but didn't chant.

And Gina shrugged her shoulders.

Then “We Are the Champions” blasted through the trees.

But this time Donnie wasn't singing or dancing. He was whispering something to Tori and looking over at us. I could tell he didn't think any of us in White Oak deserved even
one
of the ten points that we'd just been given, and he certainly wasn't acting as if he thought
we
were the champions of anything.

Dear Ms. Marcia,

I don't want to worry you, but your adoption story might be in trouble.

When Avery and Becca came to camp, they were pretty much best friends, but this afternoon I heard them arguing about the Newcomb tournament.

I know that red thread isn't supposed to break, but it might be stretching pretty thin.

Anyway, I don't think the three of us will be finding any time to get together today and “share” our feelings about our adoption stories.

What a relief, especially after our visit to the arts-and-crafts room earlier today.

Julia

PS I wonder why it doesn't seem to bother Avery and Becca when people talk about how “Chinese” we look. And I really wonder why they don't seem to mind having that orphanage photo smack-dab in the middle of their life collage.