Full Cicada Moon (15 page)

Mama wanted to keep Shirley and Bobo,

but the other seven pardoned turkeys

went to good homes before Thanksgiving Day.

On Thanksgiving morning, she packs vegetables

and mashed potatoes, a pumpkin pie,

and a cooked chicken (because it was already roasted at the store)

in a cardboard box.

“Take this to Mr. Dell,” she tells Papa.

“He is all alone.”

This is how Mama will till the soil

with Mr. Dell.

“Come with me, Meems,” Papa says.

I shake my head. I don't want to see Mr. Dell.

“It will be easier to carry the food

in two boxes, so I need your help.”

“Well, okay,” I say, “as long as I don't have to talk to him.”

We carry the boxes across the yard

and over the fence to Mr. Dell's back door,

and knock

and knock again.

Just when I'm about to say “Let's leave them here,”

the door opens

a crack

and then wider.

Mr. Dell doesn't smile,

but he doesn't shut the door.

“Emiko made dinner for you,” Papa says,

and holds out his box.

Chicken-smelling steam seeps through the flaps of my box,

and then a miracle happens—

Mr. Dell opens the storm door all the way

and takes Papa's box.

I stack mine on top.

Mr. Dell looks at us

and says, “Thank you.”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Papa says.

We walk side by side

all the way home

before we look at each other

and smile.

I'm getting ready for another dance with Stacey,

and it feels the same as last time.

I wish Timothy was in Hillsborough

because, even though Stacey promised to stay with me,

I'm nervous

and want to see my friend

and laugh with him

and maybe even dance together.

Would he want to dance with me?

Papa gave me another dime before I left,

but I said I wouldn't need it this time.

He put it in my hand anyway

and said, “You never know.”

The dress Mama made for Stacey

is emerald-green velvet

with an empire waist and Juliet sleeves.

“You'll be the princess tonight,” I tell her,

and she asks, “You think Victor will notice?”

I shrug because I don't know what boys think,

and because a little part of me doesn't want Victor to notice,

because then I might lose a friend.

I'm wearing one of Stacey's dresses,

an A-line style made of garnet-colored silk brocade.

It shimmers in the light.

Stacey says, “You'll be the belle of the ball.”

We giggle. Secretly,

I think the dress Mama made is prettier.

This time, Stacey doesn't have to help me

put on blusher and eyeliner and shiny lips

because I've been reading the
Co-ed
magazines

in the home ec room. And I'm wearing

the happy moon pendant

from Timothy

to give me courage tonight.

“You ready, girls?” her mom says in the hall. “Time to go.”

Her dad takes pictures

and says we'll knock the socks right off the boys,

and her mom gives Stacey a bracelet to wear

just for tonight.

“All parents are the same,” I say,

and we giggle again

because it's true

and we're both nervous.

As her mom drives us to school,

the streetlights seem to bow

to the princess and the belle.

This dance will be different, I tell myself,

because I am older and wiser than last spring.

This time, I don't swallow giggles,

and I don't expect something brand new to happen.

As soon as Stacey and I hang up our coats

and go into the gym, she begins to dance

to “Love Child,” and looks around for Victor,

her eyes glittering.

“Do you see him?” she asks.

As I look,

some girls and even some guys

smile at me or wave, and I know

this dance will be different.

“Don't worry,” Stacey shouts close to me

over the music, “I won't leave you,”

and just then, Victor comes behind her,

catches my eye,

and taps her shoulder.

She twirls around and looks surprised—

but who else was she expecting?

“Hi,” she says shyly.

“You just get here?” he asks.

We nod because yelling hurts our throats.

The music switches to “I Heard It Through the Grapevine,”

and the three of us start wobbling

like a three-legged stool.

It only takes a minute

for the two of them to be dancing with each other

and for me to be dancing with myself.

Suddenly I'm thirsty,

and point to the refreshment table.

But on my way there, I get stopped

by kids saying hi.

And then,

Michael from my homeroom asks me,

“Wanna dance?”

No one ever asked me that before,

not even Papa or Auntie Sachi.

The band is playing “I'm a Believer,”

and I'm laughing, and Michael's laughing

because we're doing different moves

in opposite directions.

Then Stacey and Victor come over,

and we all dance together in a circle.

The song ends

and we're puffing and sweating, and

I don't know what to say to Michael

or what to do,

so I say, “Excuse me,”

and I head to the refreshment table.

Someone taps my shoulder,

and I turn to see

nobody.

Then they tap my other shoulder,

and I turn to see

Timothy.

What are you doing here?
and

How are you?
and

What's new?

we ask each other.

I don't hear his answers because

the music is so loud and

I'm so happy to see him again.

“Let's go outside,” he yells,

and when we get there, I ask, “What about Wesley?”

He nods. “He was wounded, but he'll be okay.

He'll be in the hospital for a few months.”

“I'm so glad he's okay,” I say.

Timothy starts to say something else, then stops

and rolls a pebble with his shoe.

So I tell him what happened

when Stacey and I came back from suspension,

how the kids switched classes, and Mr. MacDougall's promise.

And that Stacey will be dancing with Victor for the whole night.

As we talk, a few cars crawl into the parking lot for their kids.

“You look really great, Mimi,” he says.

I'd forgotten he's never seen me like this.

Suddenly I don't feel like myself

in Stacey's dress and wearing makeup,

so I wipe my lips with a tissue.

“I have something,” he says,

digging his fingers into his pocket.

“Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

I feel something cool and round drop in my palm.

“Open,” he says.

Even in the shadows of the parking-lot lights

I see it's a copper-colored coin

with two astronauts on the moon,

and written across the bottom:

JULY
20, 1969

FIRST MANNED
LUNAR LANDING

“One small step,” I whisper.

Then say, “This is so cool. You're lucky

to have it,” and hand it back to Timothy.

But he says, “It's yours.”

Stacey's mom drives up

and rolls down her window. “Mimi, is Stacey with you?”

“Um,” I say, trying to think fast.

She was supposed to see me with Victor,

not Timothy. “I'll go get her.”

The music in the gym has stopped

and the lights are on,

but kids are still there—all in one corner—

and chanting, “Fight! Fight!”

and girls are screaming.

I try to see what's going on,

but there are too many people in the way.

Mr. Pease and Miss Borden rush into the crowd,

easing people aside.

I follow them, and see

David Hurley sitting on Victor, punching him,

and Stacey crouching nearby, screaming at them.

Mr. Pease pulls David off Victor

and hauls him toward the boys' locker room.

Miss Borden puts her arm around Stacey

and guides her away.

No one's helping Victor,

who's trying to sit up,

so I kneel next to him. “Are you okay?”

“My glasses,” he says. They're a few feet away,

and someone shoots them across the floor to me.

His nose is bleeding,

so I hand him a tissue from my pocketbook.

“What happened?” I ask.

He shakes his head, and says,

“I gotta get out of here,”

and sits up slowly.

Someone brings him a Coke.

Chatter and silence echo in the gym

as Victor and I walk across the floor

and outside.

Timothy is talking to some kids by the curb.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Where's Stacey?”

“She left with her mom.”

Papa is waiting in the car.

He doesn't act surprised to see Timothy

and says we'll take him home.

Then he asks Victor if he needs a ride.

Victor says no thanks, he'll walk.

But Papa insists, and I'm glad

he doesn't ask Victor why there's blood on his shirt.

“I was dancing with Victor,”

Stacey whispers over the phone the next day.

“Then David tapped me to dance,

but I ignored him

and danced another song with Victor.

Then Tony asked me

and I said no.

And Carl asked me on the next song,

and then David again. I kept saying no—

they were standing against the wall,

talking and staring at us—

but I didn't want to dance with anyone else.”

“That's creepy. But

you did look like a princess last night,”

I say, trying to make her feel better.

She keeps telling me the story.

“When the dance was almost over

David said to Victor, ‘You better let other people have a turn,'

like it was an order—and like I was a mannequin or something.

So then Victor said, ‘Hey, she can dance

with anyone she wants.' And that's when

David grabbed my arm—”

“I wish I hadn't gone outside. I wish

I hadn't left you.”

“You didn't know,” she says. “Anyway,

what would you have done?”

“I would have piggybacked David

to make him stop.”

“You would—for me?” she asks.

Papa would remind me about raindrops

and hammers,

but this was different, wasn't it?

So I say, “Yes.”

“Thank you,” she says, her voice softer. “Anyway,

Victor pushed him away,

but then David shoved Victor down

and sat on him.”

“That's when I came into the gym.”

“Mimi, those boys were mad at us.”

My heart is pounding. It's hard to hear

that this happened to my friend.

I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants.

and say, “You didn't do anything wrong.

They did.”

I hear her swallow,

and then she says, “You're right, Mimi.

Since when is dancing a crime?”

Mama's showing us how to make
norimaki

sushi in home ec. “Put a seaweed on this
makisu
,”

she says, holding up the bamboo mat for rolling sushi.

“Seaweed?” Debbie asks. “Ick.”

“It tastes good. You'll see.

Then, take this rice and press it on the seaweed.”

Miss Whittaker studies what Mama is doing.
“Mm-hmm,” she says

every now and then, and writes each step on the board.

Then we fill our rice with the cucumbers and carrots

and fish cake and sweetened scrambled egg

that Mama brought from home.

She also brought sliced hot dogs

for the girls who don't want fish in their sushi.

I'm so happy that my shy mom came to school

and showed the girls part of herself—

and part of me.

Miss Whittaker says we should save some sushi for the boys,

but everyone groans

and says the boys can make their own.

Then I say, “Only if they could take home ec,”

and Debbie calls me a rebel.

“Sushi's good,” Linda says. “How do you say that, Mrs. Oliver?”

“
Oishii
,” Mama says, then says it again

slowly with Linda.
“O-i-shii.”

“Please have a seat, Mrs. Oliver,” Miss Whittaker says.

I point to the empty chair at our table,

but Mama sits with Kim and Karen,

who are popping sushi into their mouths

and saying,
“Oishii!”

But then

the worst thing happens.

Kim smiles at Mama and bows,

and says, “Thank you,
Baka-san
,”

and Karen does the same thing.

Mama's face grows pink

and her eyes wide.

She looks at me, like she's asking “
Nani?
”

I shiver,

but then she covers her mouth and laughs.

Kim and Karen look at each other,

puzzled. “Did we say it wrong?”

Mama shakes her head and asks,

“Did Mimi teach you that?”

“Yes,” Karen says. “Why?”

“She will explain,” Mama says. “Won't you, Mimi?”

After school I have to tell Kim and Karen

what I did and why I lied,

and apologize.

“Well, it
was
kinda mean,” Kim says.

Then Karen giggles, and Kim giggles,

“But it was kinda funny, too,” Karen says,

and then I don't feel so guilty.

“Your mom is really nice,” Kim says. “And she's so cute.”

My mama is cute, and it makes me happy

they think so. But she's so much more.

“Maybe you could

come to my house after school someday,” I say carefully.

“Sure. We can make more sushi.”

We stop at the drugstore, where we'll go in different directions.

“See you tomorrow,” I say, heading toward Papa's building.

Karen calls, “Okay, see you . . .
Baka
!”

And we all giggle until we're out of sight.