The Trouble Begins (20 page)

I like squashing the cans. I do it on the front sidewalk. I jump high and land on them. I have to wear shoes or it hurts too much.

I don't like walking down the street with a big plastic bag full of squashed cans. I hope no one sees me.

“Dude, hey, wait up.” It's Todd.

“Hi,” I say when he rides up. “I gotta go recycle these for my sister.” At least he'll know it's not for me.

“Yeah,” he says. “I had to do it yesterday.” I'm surprised. I didn't know American kids did this. I thought they just threw everything away and bought more.

“Wanna play basketball after?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I got soccer practice.” I wish we could have a water balloon fight like we did that day with Gil and Martin. Or play basketball or anything. I'm tired of just watching TV and messing around in the alley by myself. Maybe I can make something in the shed.

“Hey, why don't you come to practice with me?” Todd is riding circles around me with his bike while I drip soda on the sidewalk out of my leaky bag. “Coach won't mind. We only got one more game and we're almost in last place anyway.”

“Okay,” I say, and shrug. I wonder what it's like. He follows me to the recycle place. I wish I still had my bike.

Todd rides his bike slow and I run along beside. His soccer practice is at the high school field. Not just his team but a whole bunch of teams, even girls' teams, are practicing there. It's all divided up with orange plastic things and soccer balls flying everywhere. I never came here before. Now I know where all the kids go all the time.

Todd drops his bike on a pile of other bikes. He runs over to a tall guy in a baseball hat. I see Todd pointing at me and the tall guy looking over. I look down like I'm doing something else. When I look up Todd waves his arm for me to come over.

“This is Coach,” says Todd.

“So, Du, you ever play soccer?” asks Coach. I shake my head. It's too much to say I used to kick trash balls and tires around in the Philippines and play feather birdie sometimes all day long. He'd doesn't want to hear all that.

“He's real fast,” says Todd. I shrug.

“Well, we're short players because of Christmas and it's only a scrimmage today. I'll put you in sometime if one of the guys needs a rest. Okay?” he says. I shrug.

Coach has us all run back and forth through the orange things—cones, he says. We run forward and backward. He's got a whole big bag full of soccer balls. Todd and I get one
and kick it to each other. A ball hits me in the back. I turn fast. I kick it on the bounce all the way across the field.

“You jerk,” a guy yells at me. I guess it's his ball. I shrug but I won't do it again because I don't want to get kicked out. Gil from the smart kids' class is on Todd's team too. I see other guys from school.

The scrimmage is just like a game. The guys on one team have to take off their shirts so they can tell the teams apart. The ones with no shirts are the Skins. I'm glad Todd's team is the Shirts if I get to play. I'm skinny.

I watch from the side. Todd runs around like crazy. He kicks hard. Coach keeps yelling “Positions, positions” and “Cover that guy” and stuff like that. I can't tell what he means exactly. The other coach is yelling too. Two guys crash into each other. The Shirts guy limps off the field.

“Hey, Du. You go in on defense. Okay?” Coach kneels to look at the hurt guy's ankle.

I run on the field. The ball is at the other end so I run after it. Just as I get to it a big Skins guy kicks it way down the field. I run the other way down the field. A Skins guy is way ahead of me. He gets the ball. I'm almost up to him when he kicks the ball between the cones at the end. The Shirts guy who's supposed to stop it is mad. “He was way up at forward,” he yells, pointing at me. “I can't stop everything without any defense.”

Coach calls me over. “Du,” he says. “I'm taking you out for a minute. When I put you back in, get the ball and put it in that goal.” He points to the cones at the far end of the field. He's laughing. I guess I made a mistake. Is he laughing
at me? I kneel on one knee on the side like the other Shirt who's out of the game.

I watch to see what I'm supposed to do if I go in again. I know I messed up the first time. But he said he'd put me back in. I don't want them to laugh at me. Out of the corner of my eye I see another guy walk up to Coach.

“Any score?” he asks.

“One to nothing, Skins,” Coach answers. I guess the one goal was my fault but he doesn't say it. “Watch this, though, when I put this kid in, friend of Todd's, watch him run. Doesn't know the game but he's lightning.”

Me? I'm lightning! I thought I was just messing up. I watch guys running up and down the field.

A Shirt trots off with his face all red. He's out of breath. “Okay, Du. Remember what I said,” calls Coach. I remember. I run out after the ball. I get there but six feet are in a mess kicking it all over the place. It goes out of bounds. A Skin throws it in. I wait until it lands. Four guys get there at once. A Skin kicks it all the way down the field. I chase after it. The other guys have been running a lot. I see they're kind of tired. I get to the ball in time to kick it out. I saw Todd do that. In the Philippines we didn't have cones so it never went out. It's better to kick it out than let the Skins score. A Skins guy throws it in to another Skin. This time I don't wait for it to land. I jump in and kick it like kicking a feather birdie before it even hits the ground. Now I've got it for myself, I run. I run—like lightning, I guess—all the way down the field with the ball. Three Skins are running toward me.

“Dude, pass, over here.” I hear Todd. I shoot it to him. The Skins turn too late. Todd has it. He doesn't blast it. He runs toward the goal cones like he's going to kick it right and when the guy in the cones goes right Todd bumps the ball left. It rolls in. The Shirts all jump around Todd. He runs over and slaps my hands in the air. They jump around me too. I'm glad he scored. I'm glad I ran like lightning.

The scrimmage ends at one to one because we have to give the field to another team. I'm sweaty. I'm happy. I wish it wasn't the last practice so I could come again.

“Hey, Du,” Coach calls. He's got a pencil and paper. “Give me your name and number,” he says. “I'll give you a call when we start practice next year. You don't want to let those feet go to waste.” Todd and Gil slap me on the back.

When I get home it's almost dark. My dad and Vuong are just leaving for the market in the car. I go too because I'm too excited about soccer to go sit in the house. The more I think about it the more I can see that Todd and Coach and those guys thought I was good. It's a long time until soccer starts again next year. I'm going to practice all the time. Maybe Todd and Gil and Martin will want to practice too. I want to tell my dad and Vuong about it but I'm afraid my dad might say no. I'm going to ask when I'm sure he'll say yes. I have to find out if it costs any money first.

The market's busy. My dad sends me off to find onions and noodles and oil. Vuong has to get orange juice and
beans and flour. My dad will get the rest with the cart. Then we all meet at the checkout stand to save time. I'm there first even though I stop to smell the barbecue ribs and chicken that American people buy already cooked. I get at the end of the long line with my arms full of stuff. It's kind of funny because the kid from Mr. Unger's class with the dad with the beard is in my same line again like when I was so dumb and thought I could get free chickens. This time they're ahead of me. I remember throwing the tennis balls for him to catch too but he probably doesn't remember about that. I know now from school that his name is Andy. “Hi, Andy,” I say when the kid looks my way. He turns away and whispers to his dad. I shrug. Vuong and my dad get in line with me. Some people give us mean looks because they thought it was just me in line. My dad doesn't notice. He just wants to save time.

We check out and my dad pays. To save time we all carry bags and leave the cart behind. We head for our car in the parking lot, each of us with two or three bags.

“Excuse me, sir.” We turn at the sound of the sharp voice and see Andy's dad coming up behind us in the parking lot. Andy's kind of hiding behind him looking worried.

“I wonder, sir, if you realize your boy there”—the dad pauses to point at me—“is headed for some big problems later if he's allowed to continue his current behavior.” My dad and Vuong and I all stand and stare at him. I know the words well enough to know he's complaining about me. He waits a minute but my dad's face is like stone. “Do… you…speak… English?” he asks slowly.

“Yes. What are you talking about?” demands my dad. I see anger signs growing but the bearded dad doesn't stop.

“I don't mean to interfere,” he says, “but if the boy's problems can be treated now it may save you much heartache later. I have some experience in child psychology and I feel it's my duty to warn you that these early behaviors don't just disappear. They become worse over time.”

My dad is impatient. “What are you talking about?” he demands again, shifting his grocery bags.

“I've seen the boy on two occasions,” says the dad. “Once he was cheating the market and he ran off before they could deal with him. Another time he attacked my son in our own yard and, in fact, slightly injured his young sister. My son tells me he's in trouble often at school. You can ignore this or seek help from a child psychologist. I just feel it's my duty to warn you. Good night.”

He turns and walks away. Andy scuttles around in front of him with his shoulder hunched up. My dad turns and stares at me.

“And another thing,” the bearded dad calls back. “If there's any retaliation against my son by your son I will call the police immediately.”

Vietnamese explodes from my dad's mouth. “What's he saying? He sees you steal from the market. You hurt this boy's sister. This is how you repay all the work we do for you?” He slams the groceries into the car. I jump in the backseat so he can't leave without me.

“I didn't steal from the market and I didn't mean to hit his sister. It was an accident. I was just—”

“You be quiet,” he yells. “This man just made this all up, I suppose. All the work we do is for nothing when you act like a gang boy. I'll send you back and see how you like it.”

I know now that he can't send me back but I know he would like to. I start to explain again but he is too angry to listen. Vuong makes a sign for me to be quiet. Can I explain later? I don't know if he will ever believe me. It's like some of the stuff that was on my report card, being mean to people and bad grades, and before when I lied about the bike a little. He's still angry about all that.

“You leave his son alone,” my dad warns me as we drive up to the house. Now I'm angry too. I was trying to be friends with Andy by helping him learn how to throw. If my dad would just listen to my side for once—but he's always sure that whatever I'm doing is wrong or lazy or dumb. Lin says it's because more than anything he wants us to be good and make something of ourselves. I'm good at lots of things— soccer, and making stuff and fixing it, and math, and being a dragon, and taking care of my grandma. But whatever I'm good at he doesn't notice or think it's important.

After Vuong and me put away the groceries, Vuong motions me to come in his room. “What was that guy talking about?” he asks in a low voice. I tell him the whole story of the free chickens and how I ran away and about the tennis balls. Sometimes he smiles but he can see I don't like it when he does so he stops. It takes a long time because he keeps asking me questions. “Why did you run away?” he asks when I tell about the store manager and later, the baby crying. “No wonder they think you did something wrong.”

I think about why I ran away. It's because of lots of things. In the market everyone was staring and the manager was talking about stealing and calling the police. It was only my second time there. When I hit Andy's little sister I didn't expect a baby to be back there or anyone to cry. I didn't even know if Andy wanted to be friends with me anyway or if he was a guy who said “Du Du” like Anthony or what the tall dad with that big beard would do to me when he came running out from behind the garage. Vuong shakes his head. I don't even know if he believes me.