Red Thread Sisters (9781101591857) (4 page)

“But how will I know?” Wen had asked. “How will I know when I've been good enough?”

“You'll just know in your heart. You'll see a sign,” Auntie Lan Lan had said. “Something will happen, maybe something little. But then you'll be sure your family has decided to keep you.”

Wen knew she'd have to wait for that sign before she asked her parents to adopt Shu Ling. She would have to be very good and make no demands.

I'll ask them,
Wen vowed silently.
Not yet. But when I know they've decided to keep me, I'll ask them to adopt Shu Ling, too.

And of course they'd say yes. She just had to stay alert, so she'd see the keeping sign.

six

The next day, Wen lay on the living room rug beside Emily, a board of red and black squares between them.

“Checkers,”
Emily explained, neatly placing black discs on the squares nearest her. After Wen set up the red discs as Emily had demonstrated, Emily began to move her pieces toward Wen's side of the board.

Wen had no idea what she was supposed to do.

Emily said something over and over, then started hopping on her hands and feet, like a frog. “Jump!” she said. “Jump!”

Wen scratched her ear and glanced at Emily, then back to the board of red and black squares.

“No
checkers
!” Emily shook her head, then grinned. She folded up the board and dumped the plastic coins into the box.

Wen shook her head no, too, as she got up from the rug.

“OK . . . book,” Emily announced. Snuggling next to Wen on the sofa, Emily put a picture book on Wen's lap. She began flipping the pages, reading to her in halting English words that Wen could not understand.

Wen watched Emily's tiny, upturned face. She liked looking into Emily's dark Chinese eyes, not round like her parents'. She found comfort in Emily's shiny black hair, her bangs cut straight across her forehead. A long look at Emily was a little bit like gazing into a mirror to see her own reflection.

Then she thought of her first sister, Shu Ling.

Wen put the book down and edged away from Emily.

Wen's father stuck his head into the living room, the card ring in his palm.
“Lux ing?”
he read. “Trip?” He put his hands on an imaginary steering wheel as if he were driving.

Wen followed her father, her mother, and Emily into the car and buckled her seat belt the way Emily had showed her. She hated how the seat belt tugged against her. Besides, she didn't even know where they were going.

Suddenly, Wen's father stopped the car in front of a building with a red roof and two yellow arches.

“McDonald's!” Wen shouted. She recognized McDonald's from the trip she'd taken with Ying Ying's new parents back in China.

“Hey, Wennie knows McDonald's!” Emily exclaimed.

Wen followed her family to a long line inside. When she got to the counter, Wen pointed to the picture of a hamburger and fries. At their booth, Wen's father got out his silver camera and set it beside his tray. Wen bit into her hamburger and then, her mouth opened wide, finished the whole thing. She devoured her french fries, which she'd smothered in ketchup. Her father raised his camera and took a photo.

“You like?” Her mother cut her own hamburger in half and offered it to Wen.

“I like McDonald's.” Hearing her own words, Wen choked on the burger. A whole sentence! Maybe her English was finally coming back.

“Wennie talked!” Emily waved a chicken nugget in the air.

“What a surprise! You knew some English all along!” Wen's mother said.

Her father gave her a thumbs-up. Wen knew what this meant, because kids at the orphanage gave one another thumbs-up too, to say
great job
. Wen grinned proudly at her dad.

“I hungry,” Wen said, almost as if she were practicing with Auntie Lan Lan. “Now I not hungry much.”

“Wennie talked again.” Emily dumped more french fries on Wen's tray.

“You must know a lot of English, Wen!” said her mother.

“Little bit.” Wen reached for a fry.

Wen's father took a final swig of his drink, picked up his cup, and went over to a big machine that spurted out soda. He filled his cup to the brim.

Wen opened her eyes wide. “More? My father, she
steal
?”

Emily burst out laughing. “Dad is a
he
. And Wennie, refills are free.”

“Free?” Wen hesitated. “What is this, free?”

“More is OK.” Taking Wen's hand, Emily walked Wen to the drink machine, where she taught her how to push her cup against a metal clasp until soda streamed out. Wen went back to fill her cup again and again. Finishing her third drink, she heard a chime coming from her mother's purse. Wen looked around for bells.

“My phone!” Her mother took out a small silver object, flipped it open, and began to talk.

“Cell phone, Wen.” Emily put a pretend phone to her ear. “People carry. Everybody has them, even big kids.”

“Cell phone,” Wen repeated. Director Feng had a cell phone, but he was always complaining about it. “Bad reception!” he'd shout, pounding the keys with his thick fingers. Wen had never seen a cell phone up close.

“Sorry. I hate to take calls on the weekend, but this was for work.” Her mother shut her phone and tossed it back into her purse.

As they left the restaurant, a woman kept the door open for them.

“Excuse me,” Wen's father said. “Can I ask you to take our picture?” He lent her his camera.

Wen's mother arranged everybody standing against the McDonald's wall.

“Say cheese,” said her father.

What was her father talking about? Cheese was for eating, not taking photographs.

The lady snapped two poses and gave the camera back to Wen's father, who grinned at the shots on the digital screen.

“What a family!” He pushed back his Red Sox cap and beamed.

Wen peeked over the camera to see. The photos were a lot like the one her family had sent when she lived at the orphanage, except now she was in there too, with a little curve of a smile on her face. Behind her, her mother rested her chin on the top of Wen's head, her arm around one shoulder, her father's arm around the other, while Emily squeezed her hand.

Wen hadn't really believed it before. But there she was, surrounded by her mother, her father, and Emily. A normal girl with her own family.

Only it wasn't a complete family, she reminded herself. Not yet. Not without Shu Ling.

The next day, Wen's mother flipped through the ring of cards and tapped her wristwatch. “
Peng you
coming. Soon,” she told Wen.

Friend?
Wen raised her eyebrows. She didn't have any friends here.

“It's Nancy Lin,” Emily explained. “The adoption lady.”

Wen had never heard of adoption ladies in America. What would this lady do? Decide if she was good enough?

Suppose the adoption lady came into her bedroom? Frantic, Wen ran to her room to straighten her sheets, smoothing out all the little hills and valleys her comforter had made. Then she lined up her sneakers and rearranged her books.

“Wen!” she heard her mother call. “Come meet Nancy Lin.”

Holding her breath, Wen walked down the hall.

“Jian dao ni hen gao xing!
I'm glad to meet you, Wen!” a Chinese woman with short-cropped hair said. “You are even more beautiful than your photo!” She clasped Wen's hand in hers.

Wen blinked. It was odd to see a Chinese woman not wearing a starched white auntie coat.

“Jian dao ni hen gao xing!”
Wen said, hearing her own Chinese flow smoothly. Wen shook the lady's hand and bowed slightly, her right fist against her waist, the way all the children were taught to bow to Director Feng.

Don't send me back
. Wen tried to stay perfectly still.
I haven't had enough time to be as good as I can be. I should have called Emily
mei mei,
even once. I shouldn't have taken the banana and muffin. I should have worn those clothes my mother bought me, instead of changing back into my old skirt and sweater. And I never should have eaten that half hamburger from my mother's plate.

“Nancy helped us adopt Emily, then you.” Her mother gazed toward Emily and then toward Wen. Her eyes sparkled so brightly, they lit up her whole face, radiant as the sun.

“My two daughters!” her mother said, her voice thick, like she might cry or something.

“Such wonderful daughters, too,” Nancy added.

Wen's mother asked Nancy to stay and have some tea.

“No, no, Chris, nothing for me! I can't stay long. I just wanted to meet Wen. I'll be back soon,” she said, buttoning her coat.

“We'll have you over for dinner. Richard wants to see you too!” her mother said.

“I'll e-mail you with dates.” Nancy and Wen's mother hugged.

As Wen heard Nancy drive away, she went into her room and sunk into her neatly made bed. That was a close call. Nancy hadn't mentioned sending her back this time. But she could have.

Now this adoption lady Nancy was going to be calling, and coming by to spy on her, and even eating dinner with her. Wen knew she had to be on guard, a better daughter than ever.

seven

“Wennie, I got to miss a whole week of school because we were getting you!” Emily skipped beside Wen and her mother down the street to the bus stop on Monday morning.

When a yellow bus arrived, Emily scrambled up the stairs, behind all the big kids. As the bus pulled away, she waved through the window at Wen and her mother.

“I go?” Wen asked as they headed for home. “This is possible, soon?”

“It's the third week in September.” Her mother fumbled for the card ring. “
Duo zai jia dai zhe?
Stay home longer?
Learn more English.” Her mother put her palms together and opened them, like a book.

“Thank you,” Wen said. “But know much now,” she added.

“Learn more words with me first?” her mother asked. “I don't have to be back to work until next month.”

Wen turned away to hide her frown. She didn't want to stay home with her mother. She wanted to go to school.

Auntie Lan Lan had told her about the schools in America. The floors were as shiny as glass and towers of books were stacked from the floor to the ceiling. All the kids got their own desks and their own computers. If you studied hard at school in America, when you grew up, you could get a good job and become very rich.

“I go to school yesterday,” said Wen.

“You mean tomorrow?” her mother asked, pushing her long fingers through her frizzy hair.

Wen saw her mother's chest rise as she sighed in disappointment. But more clearly, in her mind, she pictured the classroom waiting for her at the end of the bus line.

“School, thank you,” said Wen.

“I'll have to call the teachers. They aren't expecting you for a few more weeks, Wen.” Wen's mother put an imaginary phone to her ear.

“OK,” said Wen. “Please tell them, coming more soon. Could tell them, tomorrow.”

When they got back home, Wen heard her mother talking on the phone, then hanging up.

“I got it cleared, Wen. The school says you can start tomorrow. You're sure you're ready?”

“Oh, yes!” Wen exclaimed. “Much ready.”

That night, Wen's mother came in to say good night and kiss her pillow.
She got you into school early; you should be grateful,
Wen thought as she gazed into her mother's blue eyes
.
Still, Wen couldn't let her face get so close to her mother's, and she rolled over.

“Thank you,” she wanted to whisper. But instead she buried her head under the pillow until her mother left the room.

Tomorrow she was going to school in America!

The next morning, Wen couldn't decide which of her new clothes to wear. Finally she picked out the peach colored T-shirt, the deep purple tank top, and the bright yellow tunic with hearts all along the neckline. Wen wore all of them, one on top of the other.

“That's a lot of shirts,” her mother commented as Wen sat down for breakfast.

Wen pretended she didn't hear her. Instead, she bent her chin to see the pretty hearts near her neck. These three shirts belonged all to her, and she would wear every one.

Her mother touched one of Wen's sleeves. “One, two, three,” she counted slowly. “Too many shirts. The other girls won't be wearing so many.”

“Like all.” Wen chewed her bacon, wishing her mother would stop peering, with those deep worry wrinkles around her eyes, at her three beautiful shirts. She left the table and got her backpack.

“I'll drive you to school today and pick you up, since it's your first day.” Her mother jingled the car keys.

“Bus, please?” said Wen. Just like Emily and the other kids.

“Tomorrow.” Her mother pressed her thin lips together, which Wen knew meant she was being firm.

They got into the car and soon swung into the school parking lot. Wen observed the long, low building made of beige brick. A red, white, and blue flag fluttered from a tall pole at the entrance.

An American school right in front of her! And she was going inside!

“This way, Wen. We're early.” Wen's mother led her through a long hall to a room that said
SIXTH GRADE
. A willowy woman with wavy gray hair met them at the door.

“Ms. Beckwith, this is my daughter, Wen McGuire,” said Wen's mother.

“Good morning, Wen,” Ms. Beckwith said. “Welcome!” While she shook hands with Ms. Beckwith, Wen peeked at the classroom. It was more magical than she had ever dreamed.

Desks with smooth tops were grouped in squares of four. In the back, a whole bookshelf sagged with books, right beside two stuffed chairs. Just like Auntie Lan Lan had said, the floors were so shiny Wen could catch the reflection of her new sneakers.

“Wen, I'm going now.” Her mother tilted her head toward the door. “Back at three.” Showing Wen her watch, she raised three fingers.
“Zai jian.”

Zai jian?
Her mother leaving? Wen clamped her knees tight to keep her legs steady.

Of course she had known her mother was leaving. She didn't even stay with Emily.
You knew this was coming,
Wen scolded herself.

“Here's where you'll sit, Wen.” Ms. Beckwith took her to a seat by the window. Wen stroked the glassy top of the brand-new desk, with a space for books underneath. Her own desk, all hers!

In the tiny, dim orphanage classroom, Wen and the other students had squeezed onto a splintery bench by a long table. In front, Teacher Jun scratched Chinese characters on a blackboard. Wen copied the characters into her small notebook, her back sore from sitting so straight for so long.

Now as she settled into her shiny American desk, Wen heard a bell and kids shouting high-pitched English in the hallway. Coming toward her, a girl with a thick blonde ponytail and tight jeans chattered with another girl in a baggy sweatshirt, her reddish bangs nearly covering her eyes. The girls sat down at the two desks opposite Wen's. Then a girl with tangled brown hair came flying through the door, a piece of buttered toast in her hand.

“The alarm didn't go off this morning!” She plopped down at the desk beside Wen's, her notebooks and pencil scattering on the floor.

“Hey, Hannah!” The blonde girl scooped up the pencil and returned it to her.

“Thanks. How's it going, Michelle?” The late girl ate the last crust of her toast and then grinned, revealing teeth that sparkled like little stars.

Wen forced herself not to stare. But then, out of the corner of her eye, she peeked again. The girl had silver bands on each tooth. Wen had never seen such sparkly teeth.

“You must be the new girl. We heard you were coming today.” She directed a wide, glittering smile at Wen. “I'm Hannah. And she's Michelle.”

“Hi.” Wen heard her own voice, very faint and small.

The blonde girl didn't bother to look up.

Ignored by Michelle, Wen felt herself shrink smaller than she really was, almost invisible.

“I'm Sophie,” said the redheaded girl.

Ms. Beckwith clapped her hands and the kids got quiet. “Good morning,” she said, smiling broadly at Wen as she continued to speak. Wen caught the words “Wen McGuire,” and “new student from China.”

Wen felt the other kids' eyes inspecting her and slid lower in her chair. Did she look OK? Were her hair clumps flat? Would the other kids like her?

“Another new kid?” a boy near her groaned.

Wen wanted to sink right through that shiny floor and disappear.

“What's up with all those shirts?” Michelle asked, her eyebrows arched.

Wen crossed her arms over her pretty shirts, as if to protect herself. What would this mean girl say to her next?

Unexpectedly, a large, cheerful voice came booming from the sky. “Good morning,” said a pleasant lady overhead. Startled, Wen sat up, but she didn't see anyone. It took her a moment to realize that the words were coming out of a box near the ceiling.

Then Ms. Beckwith and the whole class stood up, faced an American flag that was hanging in the corner, and put their hands on their hearts. Wen scrambled to her feet, her own hand over her own heart. In unison, the kids recited some words. Maybe it was a poem, like the Tang poems Teacher Jun made them repeat until they said the lines just right. The only words Wen recognized were “The United States of America.” Just as quickly as they'd gotten up, all the kids sat down, and that was that. Nobody talked about the poem. Maybe it was a special festival day or something.

Ms. Beckwith picked up a big textbook and the kids got out matching books from the space under their desks. Ms. Beckwith passed Wen her own book. Wen flipped the pages, which were mainly pictures of maps. Then Ms. Beckwith asked a question, and the kids took turns giving answers that Wen didn't understand.

Wen strained hard to pick up any English she knew. The words seemed to buzz, like flies swarming over the babies' heads on the hottest days. Wen's skin was wet under her three shirts.

Finally Ms. Beckwith said “lunchtime.” The kids pushed their chairs from their desks and scrambled to their lockers to get their lunches and head down the hall. Wen followed.

When she reached a big room filled with rows of long tables, Wen stopped in the doorway. Hannah and Michelle joined Sophie and two other girls at a nearby table and spread out their lunches. They unwrapped pieces of white bread stuck together with jelly, and sipped from straws sticking out of little boxes. Hannah beckoned toward Wen but before she could move, other girls had taken the empty seats. Hannah seemed to be telling a story, waving her hands through the air. The girls around her listened intently, their eyes tracking her as she talked.

Wen ate her noodles at a table in the back, alone.

When lunch was over, Wen went back to class and waited for Ms. Beckwith to start speaking more English. From her fringed sack, Michelle took out a cell phone just like Wen's mother's, only hot pink. Hannah fumbled for her own phone in the back of her desk.

“Hannah, I picked a cool new ringtone for you.” Michelle flipped open her phone. “Turn on your phone, and I'll show you.” She pushed a button and Hannah's phone burst into catchy, loud music.

“Girls, no cell phones in class.” Ms. Beckwith towered over Michelle's desk. “Turn those off right now before I take them for the rest of the day.”

Then Ms. Beckwith gave some sort of order to the class. All the kids got up from their chairs. Not knowing where she was going, Wen filed behind Hannah and Michelle until the line stopped.

Wen read a sign over the door:
ART ROOM
.

Once inside, Wen reeled. The room was three times larger than the common room back at the orphanage. Sunlight streamed through the windows. Overhead, wire shapes of birds and butterflies hung from thin strings. One whole wall was lined with sculptures made of rich brown clay. Another wall held jars of paint in colors Wen had never seen before—greens like apples and early spring leaves, blood-reds, sparkly golds, and oranges as deep as setting suns.

If only Shu Ling could be in this room!
Wen thought.
Just think of the pictures she could draw here.

A lady in a paint-spattered smock directed kids to big pieces of paper hanging on stands. Wen dipped her brush into the blue paint beside her. Slowly, she made a blue circle on the blank paper. Then she painted another loop, this one covering the first. With each circle, Wen imagined Shu Ling, holding the paintbrush just right, her eyes dazzling as she covered the smooth paper with floating lotus blossoms or fireworks on the Lunar New Year. The more she missed Shu Ling, the bigger she painted her circles. Soon her paper was a mass of dripping blue swirls.

“Blue circles. How original!” Michelle said with a smirk as she passed Wen on the way to the sink.

Wen blushed. Now her swirls seemed babyish and silly, something a toddler would do. Wen raised her brush to the paper, but she couldn't paint anymore. As she tried to hide her picture behind her, her eyes darted around the room. Suppose Michelle came back again?

When the kids returned to the classroom, Wen heard more scrambled English. When a shrill bell rang at three o'clock, kids all leapt from their desks and tore out the door.

At last! School was over! At the main entrance, Wen watched for her mother's gray car. Minutes passed, each one seeming longer than the one before.

An unexpected chill came over Wen.

As she sat against the brick wall, Wen's back throbbed the way it had hurt when her first mother had propped her against the bag of noodles at the orphanage gate.

Then she knew: Her mother wasn't coming.

Wen got up from the steps. As if in a trance, she walked into the street to see better. Suddenly, Wen heard a screech. In front of her, a big green van jerked to a halt.

“Watch out!” The man behind the wheel honked the horn. “Are you crazy? I nearly hit you.”

For an instant, Wen froze. Her heart pounding, she sprinted back to the sidewalk and huddled against the school wall.

Just then, her mother's car pulled up at the curb.