“I know,” I said. “We’ll share them. I’ll take half now and after I’m done reading them, I’ll mail them back to you.”
“That’s a good idea!” Melody said. “We’ll share all of them. That way they’ll be something we own together. And if we keep sending them, it’ll be like there’s something of me here all the time and something of you in California. They’ll make sure we don’t forget about each other.”
“Yeah!” I said, excited. “That’d be fun, and when I read the books, I’ll know they’ve been in California and I can imagine what they’ve seen.”
“And the books I get will remind me of New Hartford,” Melody said. “Which ones should go where first, do you think?”
We both looked at the big pile. There were so many books; I didn’t know how we would be able to choose.
“Why don’t we just close our eyes and point?” Melody said. “We’ll take turns.”
So, that was how we divided Melody’s books. It was still hard for her, though, especially when I got the Cheerleaders books first. We both loved the Cheerleaders books, even though our moms tried really hard to stop us from reading them. They thought the books were too old for us because they were about high school, boys, and cheerleading. But we didn’t read them for any of those reasons; we read them because one of the cheerleaders was Chinese.
“That’s the one where Hope wears velvet cranberry-colored pants to a party,” Melody told me as I stacked one of the books into my pile. “It’s the one that made me ask my Mom to get me those red fuzzy pants, so I could get an outfit just like Hope. So you HAVE to mail that to me later.”
“Okay,” I promised, as we brought down her boxes. “After a month I’ll mail them to you and after another month, you mail the books to me again.”
“That doesn’t sound like a very practical plan,” Mom said, overhearing our conversation. “Melody can just buy copies of the books in California, instead of paying for mailing again and again.”
“But it’s not the same,” I told Mom. “If Melody buys new copies, they won’t be OUR books.”
Mom shook her head and shrugged her shoulders at Melody’s mom. I could tell neither one of them understood.
Chapter 10
Lunch
“I’M GOING TO MAKE LUNCH,” MELODY’S MOM SAID. “We’ll eat and then we can finish packing afterward.”
I made a face at Ki-Ki. We didn’t like Melody’s mom’s cooking. She always cooked dry brown rice and colorless vegetables that you had to chew a lot. She said her food was very “healthy” but we thought it was very tasteless. Even Dad joked about it. “When I eat over at Melody’s house, I eat like a horse,” he said. “Because Melody’s mom makes me eat grass!”
Today’s lunch wasn’t going to be any different. I watched as Melody’s mom dumped brown rice grains into the rice cooker and prepared the vegetables in plain water. The water was just starting to bubble when Felix came into the room.
“Mom,” Felix said, “we need more boxes.”
“We ran out so soon?” Melody’s mom said. “And we still have so much to pack! I better get some more later.”
“Why don’t you go get some more now?” Mom said. “We’ll finish the lunch and it’ll be ready by the time you get back.”
“Oh, good idea,” Melody’s mom said. “It’s almost done; the vegetables just need to steam for another couple minutes.”
As soon as the door shut behind Melody’s mom, Mrs. Pan and Mom looked at each other.
“Kuai yi dian!” Mrs. Pan said. “Quickly, before she comes back!”
They raced to the kitchen.
“I’ll brown the garlic,” Mom said, grabbing the oil. “Let’s hurry!”
“Yes,” Mrs. Pan said, taking out the salt, soy sauce, and oyster sauce. “I’ll add the seasoning. Quickly, quickly!”
The rest of us laughed as we watched them cook the lunch with very unhealthy ingredients.
By the time Melody’s mom came back, the lunch was all done. Mom and Mrs. Pan had everything on the table, and we were all sitting and waiting. Melody’s mom came into the house and smelled the roasted garlic and oil and wrinkled her nose, but didn’t say anything.
Mom and Mrs. Pan tried to look very innocent as they served the stir-fried vegetables and fried rice. Melody’s mom didn’t say a word. She just sat down at her place and started eating. We all watched her take her first bite.
“Hmm,” she said, “pretty good.”
And then everyone burst into laughter.
Chapter 11
Resigned to Fate
EVEN THOUGH MELODY’S CLOTHES AND BOOKS and toys were packed away and the movers had been scheduled, it was hard being resigned to her fate. Winter softened into spring, and the cold, icy water dripped from our roof like a string of pearls. Every day we counted seemed to slip by, until finally it was Melody’s last day of school.
On her last day, we had art class, and Mr. Valente, our art teacher, finally gave each of us the special paper to use for our poem quilt square. Everyone was writing a poem and drawing a picture on the paper, and afterward, somehow (I think using the computer), Mr. Valente was going to take all the paper squares and make them into cloth squares. Then he was going to sew all the cloth squares together to make our class quilt. We’d hang it in the classroom for the rest of the year, and after that it would hang in the cafeteria in remembrance of us.
I thought it was a little funny that Mr. Valente was going to sew the quilt. I always thought quilts were sewn by old people with gray hair and glasses like the women we read about in the Revolutionary War. Mr. Valente had big shoulders like a football player and a fuzzy mustache that looked like a brown caterpillar. I didn’t think he looked like someone who should sew a quilt. Melody didn’t agree.
“Grandmothers and old ladies make quilts as blankets,” she said. “Our quilt is going to be art. So, anyone can sew that—especially an art teacher!”
Melody wrote the best poem ever for her quilt square. I wished I could write a poem as good as hers. Her square looked like this:
Mine looked like this:
I kind of copied how Melody rhymed “see” and “me,” but no one seemed to notice. Anyway, the project was taking a long time. It seemed like we had been working on the quilt squares for weeks and weeks. Ms. Magon made us fix our poems many times and Mr. Valente made us do two practice rounds before he finally gave us the special paper for the quilt.
“I’m not going to be able to finish my quilt square,” Melody said. Her face wrinkled and I could see her eyes shine with unhappiness. “Everyone else is going to keep working on the squares next week, but I won’t be here.”
“You can probably take it with you,” I said, though I felt like my words left stones in my throat. It was hard to think that Melody wouldn’t be there next week.
“No,” Melody said. “If I take it with me, then I won’t be a part of the quilt. And when they hang the quilt in the classroom and in the cafeteria, my square won’t be in it. I won’t be part of the class remembrance, and everyone will forget about me. It’d be like I never existed here!”
I hadn’t thought about that. What were we going to do?
“Is there a problem, ladies?” Mr. Valente asked as he stopped by our table.
“Melody’s not going to be able to finish her square by the end of class today,” I told him. “And she’s moving this weekend.”
“Oh dear,” Mr. Valente said. “Going to California, right?”
“Can I come in at recess and finish my square?” Melody asked in one breath. “I’ll even stay after school to finish it. Please?”
“Yes, can she?” I pleaded with her. “Please? Please?”
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Valente said. “Of course you can work on your square at recess. If you don’t finish, you can bring it home and work on it this weekend before you leave, and Grace can bring it in on Monday.”
After he said that, we were so happy and relieved that we felt like we had just won a prize. Me
lody grinned and I clapped my hands. Mr. Valente looked at us and shook his head. “You two,” he said. “What are you going to do without each other?”
Chapter 12
Saying Good-bye
ALL TOO SOON, MELODY’S LAST DAY OF SCHOOL ended. During recess, when Melody went to work on her quilt, Ms. Magon had all of us in class sign our names and write messages in a big good-bye card. And at the end of the day, Ms. Magon gave her the card and a bouquet of carnations. They were white with pink edges, and all bunched together, the blossoms looked like ribbon candy. Melody gave me some of the flowers and we both wore them in our hair on the way home.
And that weekend the movers came and took everything away, and Melody and her family got ready to get on an airplane to California.
We drove them to the airport. They had so many things that Mom and Dad had to use both cars to bring them. Melody and her mother drove with Mom and me, while the rest of her family drove with Dad.
“You’ll keep in touch, right?” Melody said. “You’ll call all the time, right? You won’t forget about me, will you? Promise?”
“No, I won’t forget,” I said. “I promise. I’ll add it to my New Year’s resolutions.”
“Good,” Melody said. “I’ll add not to forget about you to my resolutions, too.”
“Anyway, I have our books,” I said. “Those will make sure I don’t forget.”
“Yeah,” Melody said. “If we keep sending the books, it’ll almost be like we’re reading them together.”
“Almost,” I said. But as I watched her wave good-bye in the airport, I knew it wouldn’t be the same as if we were together. It wouldn’t even be almost the same. Everything would be different now.
“Are you sad Melody’s gone?” Mom asked as we drove back from the airport.
I shrugged. I didn’t want to say anything. I could feel the tears burning in my eyes, and I was afraid if I said anything they’d start falling. And I was too old to cry just because a friend moved away.
“It’s okay to cry,” Mom said. “I know you’ll miss her.”
“I’m not crying,” I said crossly, wishing Mom didn’t always know everything. “I’m not a baby.”
“Crying because you miss someone doesn’t have anything to do with how old you are,” Mom said. “When I left Taiwan, Amah cried so much that my sisters and I still talk about it.”
“Really?” I said. Even though I felt miserable, I was curious. “She must have cried a lot.”
AMAH WATERS THE ROSES
My Amah—your great grandmother—and I were very close. I was her first grandchild, so she spent a lot of time with me. She walked me to school every day, fed me and washed my clothes. When we had fish for dinner, she would save me the eyes (the best part), like glittering diamonds, to eat. Even when I grew older, I was her favorite. Whenever she won at mahjong, she would secretly beckon me to her room and give me a special treat of candy-covered berries or tea-colored cakes filled with soft, sweet bean paste. And when I decided that I wanted to grow flowers she encouraged me, even though everyone else thought it was a waste of time.
“It’s a lot of work to take care of plants,” my parents said. “Make sure you don’t neglect your studying.”
“Wouldn’t you rather go out and do fun things,” my sisters and brother asked, “than spend all your time taking care of plants?”
“Why don’t you grow some roses?” Amah said, slipping me some money. “I know you like those the best.”
Now, our house in Taiwan was an apartment building, a cardboard-colored rectangle with many levels. Cement surrounded the house, and instead of trees, buildings shadowed us. And instead of blades of grass, people and cars and signs crowded the ground.
So, since there was no place for me to grow anything around the house, I grew my flowers on the roof. I balanced pots in my arms and dragged bags of soil up the stairs. Every day, I watered and dug and planted. And in the summer, when everything was in full bloom, Amah would come up and admire the flowers.
When I left Taiwan to come to the United States, I was sad to leave my garden. Even though my brother and sisters said they would take care of it, I knew it was not important to them and they would soon forget.
But I hadn’t considered Amah’s devotion. My departure was heartbreaking for her. Whenever she saw an old shoe or a book I left behind, she would weep. And when she saw my siblings ignoring my garden, she decided to take care of it for me.
So even though Amah’s feet had been bound—the horrible and painful old tradition of deforming a girl’s feet to make them small—she climbed four flights of stairs to water and prune my garden. Her arms shook as she carried the pails of water, and her tiny, throbbing feet burned as red as the brightest rose. But those were small concerns to her. She cared for each plant, lovingly brushing the leaves and patting the soil. Sometimes as she poured water into their pots, she would remember our happy times together, and tears would fall from her face.
When I came back that summer to visit, Amah was so happy to see me.
“I took care of your garden,” she told me. “Come and see.”
And I was stunned. The roof seemed to be blazing with flowers. The blossoms were larger and brighter than they had ever been before. The roses were especially beautiful; they were so brilliant they seemed to almost glow. Everyone came up to admire them.
“Isn’t this amazing?” I exclaimed. “When I was here, the garden didn’t bloom like this. These flowers are so beautiful.”
“You know why?” my mother said. “It’s because Amah watered them with her tears.”
“So you see,” Mom said. “Even the oldest person cries when she misses someone.”
I nodded and looked out the window, as a tear rolled down my nose.
Chapter 13
School Without Melody
AFTER MELODY LEFT, I THOUGHT EVERYTHING would be over and life wouldn’t go on. But it did. I still took the school bus to school, Ms. Magon kept giving homework and spelling tests, Lissy kept complaining about her hair, Ki-Ki kept asking for Barbie dolls, Dad still went to work, and Mom still made dinner. But it was odd.
In school, Mr. Valente finally sewed our poem quilt and we hung it at the back of the room. He put Melody’s and my squares right next to each other. When I saw it, I felt happy and sad about that at the same time. Happy because I knew that we’d be remembered in school together forever, but sad because it reminded me that Melody was gone.
But I missed Melody the most when Ms. Magon told us about the last project of the year.
“Our last project is going to be a free project,” Ms. Magon said. “I want to finish our study of the Vikings by having you all choose your project.”
“What do you mean—choose your project?” Becky asked.
“I mean you can do whatever you want, as long as it is about the Vikings. You can build a model Viking ship, you can dress up like a Viking and tell us about them, anything you want,” Ms. Magon said. “You can have a partner or work by yourself, whichever you prefer. But remember, if you have a partner, I want to see double the work.”
When Ms. Magon said that, I felt myself drooping in my seat. Usually, I loved when we got partner projects because that meant Melody and I could work together. But now, as I looked at Melody’s empty desk, I felt lost.
“Hey, do you want to work with me and Charlotte?” Becky asked me. “We’re going to build a Viking ship out of candy. Ms. Magon would probably let us be three partners.”
I shook my head. I didn’t want to make a Viking ship out of candy and I didn’t want to be a third partner either.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m still thinking about what I’m going to do.”
“Aren’t you going to make a book?” Charlotte asked. “You always make a book.”
That was true. Ever since I had found my talent and decided that I wanted to be an author and illustrator, I made a book for every school project. No matter what the topic, I made a book. For the science fair,
I made a book about clouds. For geography class, I made a book about West Virginia. Even the salesperson at the local copy store where Mom got my book bound knew us. He always smiled when we walked through the door and said to me, “Another masterpiece?”
“I’m not sure,” I told Charlotte. “Maybe.”
“Really?” Becky said. “Well, if you don’t make a book, you should make a candy boat with us.”
I watched the two of them in their seats, planning their boat. I felt confused. Maybe I should be a third partner with Charlotte and Becky and make a candy boat. But it just didn’t feel right. But then, nothing felt right—not even making a book. Maybe wanting to be an author and illustrator was another thing that was going to change.
Chapter 14
Dun-Wei
“DID YOU KNOW,” BECKY TOLD ME THAT DAY AT recess, “there’s a new boy in Mrs. Sherman’s class. He’s Chinese, like you.”
Suddenly, I remembered. The Chinese family that took Melody’s house! The enemy! They were here! I tried to stay calm.
“Oh, really?” I said.
“Well,” Becky cocked her head, “he’s not exactly like you. He’s from China and he doesn’t speak any English. Everyone thinks he’s weird.”
“Weird how?” I asked.
“Audrey said that when Mrs. Sherman came into the room, he stood up like he was in the army. And he’s always bowing his head, like there’s something wrong with his neck,” Becky said. “His name is Dun-Wei Liu. Look, they’re already making fun of him.”