The Trouble Begins (15 page)

“Oh Du, go to bed,” says Thuy, laughing.

“I'll go with you next year,” says Vuong.

I hear guys in my class talk about going to the park sometimes. Maybe I'll go over and see if anybody's there. It's somewhere over on the other side of school. I'll go through the alleys. If I had my bike I'd ride over there in a second.

It's a long way to come but the park's so big I have to run around all these little sidewalks to see the whole thing. Lots of families are here on Sunday. My dad works harder than anybody. He doesn't even take Sunday off. I don't see anybody from school.

Eight tennis courts and every one has people playing on
it and waiting to play on it when the others get off. The park must end here behind this tennis court. It looks like nobody ever comes to this steep canyon with no path. It's more fun to climb around here than look at baseball fields and tennis courts. I wonder if there's water in the bottom, maybe a little stream with frogs and fish. It's steep and slippery but I can get down.

A tennis ball. Practically new. I bet someone hit it over the fence and was too lazy to come down here looking for it. Here's another one, not as new but still good…. They're all over the place. I can't believe it. People just leave them here. I'll tie the ends of my jacket sleeves and use it for a bag.

I've got so many I'm only collecting really good ones now. I'll take them up and sell them to people waiting for a tennis court.

“Want to buy a tennis ball? It's like new. Only fifty cents.” The guy takes it and bounces it. It bounces fine.

“No way, kid. Where'd you get that?”

I nod my head toward the canyon. I ask a guy waiting for another court. “If you're grabbing those when they fly over the fence you better be careful not to grab any of mine,” he says. He turns to his friend and laughs. “The kid's stealing tennis balls and selling them back to us. Quite a business.”

Stealing again! I didn't steal them. I wish I was back in the Philippines. I'd give every kid their own tennis ball. I'll take them home and think of what to do with them.

I know that kid in the yard up ahead. I don't know his name but he's in the smart kids' class at school. He was with his dad in the market the day I tried to get the free chickens. I don't know if he knows me but I'll go see if he wants a tennis ball.

Too bad. He went in the backyard. He doesn't throw so good anyway. I've seen him at recess. Nobody wants him on a team, like me, only I can throw. They just don't know it. I'll go down the alley and see if he wants to have some fun.

This is his garage because it's the same color as the house. This'll be fun. I won't say anything. I'll just throw a tennis ball over his garage and see if he throws it back. I bet he will.

Right over. Dead center in his yard.

He's not throwing it back. Maybe he didn't see it or can't throw that far. I'll try again. I can hear voices. I'll try three more and if they don't come back I'll stroll around and let him know it was me. Maybe we can throw and catch out front for a while.

One!

Two! What happened? Somebody's screaming. It sounds like a baby. It's really screaming. I wonder if I hit a baby with the tennis ball. I didn't know there was a baby there.

“Hey, you! Come here.” It's the kid's dad with his long hairy beard running out from behind the garage. There's the kid too. The baby's still crying. The dad sounds so mad. I'm getting out of here.

I don't want these tennis balls anyway. My dad'll say I stole them too. I'll just dump them in the trash and go home.

“Better lock up your bike or Du Du will steal it,” yells Jorge at the bike rack.

I hate school. Veronica stands in front of the room to give her speech with big sad cow eyes. Her speech doesn't have an ending. She just stops after a while and sits down. Mrs. Dorfman calls on me. I just sit there staring back at her like an American kid. She stares back over her glasses for a second, then flicks her eyes away. She calls on Tiffany. I don't have to give a speech because I won't talk. It's fun to see how scared everybody is when they go up to speak. Even Anthony. Especially Anthony. I slouch back in my chair and stare at him with a little smile. He tries to look away but his eyes keep coming back to me. He forgets his speech. “That will be enough, Anthony,” says Mrs. Dorfman. I will have a bad report card but my dad doesn't expect me to have a good report card like Thuy and Lin and Vuong. He might not even look at mine. He'll just tell my mom to sign it like he did with the little practice report card Mrs. Dorfman sent home earlier. My grandma says it's because I'm new here. Thuy and Lin and Vuong started school when they were little. I'll be better later, maybe. Right now school is too boring.

“Boys and girls, this afternoon we're going to the auditorium,” announces Mrs. Dorfman. “Line up outside, please.”
I push outside fast to get away from Veronica. “Du! Du!” Mrs. Dorfman calls from the front of the line. She snaps her fingers and points to my place behind Veronica. Anthony and Jorge laugh.

Everybody's talking as we walk in the auditorium. It smells like lunch. The teachers climb up on the stage. Anthony spits a wad of paper from his mouth on my chair. I flick it back at him like shooting marbles. Kids around yell and jump out of the way even though I aim it at Anthony. Mrs. Dorfman is on the stage with the other teachers. They have piles of stuff covered with red cloth up there too. With everybody watching she points at me, stabbing the air with her finger. She stabs toward the seat at the end of the aisle. I go because I don't want to go to the Counseling Center. I want to see what's under the red cloth. Kids giggle and stick out their legs while I push down the row. I'm glad I have to move. Now I don't have to sit next to Veronica. Everybody moves one seat over. Now Anthony sits next to her.

Mrs. Dorfman smiles her big fake smile. “You all know why we're here,” she announces. I don't, I say to myself just to show she's wrong. “It's that time of year. Time for gifts and goodies and the fifth-grade Christmas program.” The other teachers glance at her. “Er… the fifth-grade winter holiday program,” she adds. “We'll ask for volunteers for each of the holiday parts. The rest of you will be singing holiday songs at your seats, the angel chorus.” Everybody laughs at the way she says “angel chorus.” I glance down my row. Something's going on but the teachers don't notice. They're happy about the program.

Another fifth-grade teacher steps forward. Her kids all clap. “The first holiday is Hanukkah.” As she says it she pulls out a candle thing from under the red cloth. “This is a holiday for… people of the Jewish persuasion. Do we have any children who know about Hanukkah?” Everybody looks around. I guess we don't have any because no one raises a hand. “Remember,” she goes on. “Anyone may volunteer. Hanukkah lasts eight days and the children light a candle and receive a present each day.” Hands shoot up all over the auditorium. I raise my hand. Eight presents! She chooses five kids from her class. It's okay with me. When they go on the stage they don't get any presents at all. They just sing a little song about something. I don't know what it is. They have to wear dumb little hats and hold fake candles.

The next holiday is called Kwanzaa and it's for black kids. Ms. Whipple from the Counseling Center comes in to talk about it. She's nice so I raise my hand but I'm the only one. No one calls on me. They call on Damian, who's black and who didn't raise his hand. He's mad. “I don't do any Kwanzaa,” he says, and shrugs. “I do Christmas. We get a big tree.” Finally they get some black girls to do Kwanzaa. They stand with posters and talk. Boring.

I look down the row again. Something is going on. I see Anthony and Jorge slouched down in their chairs. They're throwing something to each other behind Veronica. She's flapping around trying to grab it. Anthony and Jorge look up at the stage while they throw it so the teachers won't know.

Mr. Unger, the smart kids' teacher, grabs a hammer thing and crashes it down on the stuff under the red cloth.
Bong!
Everybody jumps and laughs. “Chinese New Year!” His voice booms out. “Dragons! The beginning of a new year. A time for celebration, firecrackers, feasts …” I get excited as I figure out what he's talking about. It's the same as Vietnamese New Year, except we call it Tet. I was in the Philippines for the last one. I remember it was the Year of the Rat, 4681. We were way ahead there. They were only at 1984 here. Everybody shot off firecrackers. I asked my sister Lin what it's like here. She told me my mom and dad go to work as usual but when they come home some of my aunts and uncles come over and play cards. She says that's the only time all year that my dad gambles money and drinks whiskey. She said they give money to the kids in little red envelopes but I never got any in the Philippines. If I did I would give it to my grandma.

Mr. Unger hits the gong again. He pulls off the red cloth. There are a bunch of big cardboard boxes tied together and painted green and red and yellow to look like a dragon. The head has big teeth and fire from the nose and streamers like a lion's mane. He pulls out two gongs. Almost everybody raises their hand to be a dragon or hit the gongs. I raise mine too. “The dragon represents prowess, nobility and fortune to the Chinese,” announces Mr. Unger, “so be sure that fits you.” I don't know what those words mean but my grandma always says I'm a dragon. I wave my hand around. He chooses some kids. “And you…,” he calls, pointing at me. I go up on the stage with the other kids. I act like it's no big deal but I feel like kids in my class do when they give speeches. It's scary. I'm the last one up there. Mr. Unger
points to the last box. I hear kids laugh. I have to bend over inside the box and I can't see anything. We jump around a little bit just to see how it works. I get pulled around behind the others. The box smells like gum. “A practice run,” says Mr. Unger.

We go back to our seats. I hear whispers down the row. “Dragon Butt Du Du” I hear. Kids laugh and pass it on. I hate school.

Another teacher steps forward. “And last but not least, Christmas!” Everyone already knows about that. Everyone's hand goes up before the teacher says anything else. Except mine. The teacher tells about the spirit of giving. It takes a long time. “Who wants to be Santa Claus?” she cries, sweeping up the Santa Claus suit from the last box. Everyone starts blurting. The teacher puts up her hands. “I'll pick someone who knows how to behave,” she says. It gets very quiet. “Of course, we all know this isn't the
real
Santa Claus,” she whispers. She picks Alex from our class because he's fat. Everyone laughs. Alex waves and says, “Ho ho ho.” I glance down the row. Veronica is blubbering in spite of the “ho ho ho.” Anthony and Jorge are slouched down looking up at the stage. They have mean little smiles.

I'm thinking about what the teacher said. “This isn't the
real
Santa Claus.” I can't get this figured out. “Is Santa Claus real?” I ask Jordan, the kid sitting next to me. He's a quiet kid who doesn't say much. This time he does.

He snorts with laughter. “Hey, everybody,” he whispers down the row. “Du thinks Santa Claus is real.” Kids laugh. They roll their eyes. I feel my face get hot. It was a stupid
thing to ask. Why did I let myself talk? I want to tell them that in Tet the year is already over 4000. Everybody is way behind here.