The Trouble Begins Page 5

  “You go to sleep too,” I whisper. I lie awake for a little while listening to the wild sad sound of the cats.

  I hate school. Veronica waves her hand around to remind Mrs. Dorfman it's time for my superdumb reading group in Room 10. When I get up to leave I step on Veronica's toe because her foot's sticking out in the aisle. “Ouch!” she yells as though it really hurt. Mrs. Dorfman gives us both a mean look. When I get to Room 10 we read a story about some ants who yell “Hooray!” because they're going on a picnic. I used to squash ants too. I wonder if they yelled “Ouch!” when I squashed them. The teacher puts a big white paper up on her easel. “Who can tell us something they know about ants?” she asks, and smiles. I don't say anything. I think about that old man. My dad saw the hole in my pants this morning and the black oily stains on them and he was mad.

  “Clothes cost money!” he shouted. He doesn't even know about my shirt in the trash and my smelly shoes.

  “Du, I'm sure you know something about ants,” says the teacher. “Can you tell us?”

  “They kill chickens,” I answer.

  The teacher says just what I knew she'd say. “Oh, Du, I don't think that's true.” I know it's true because it happened to some chickens in the Philippines. Big red ants swarmed all over them and killed them but she doesn't even know about that.

  When I get back to class Mrs. Dorfman has been talking too much. I can tell by the way everybody looks up fast when I open the door as though they hope they're going to be rescued. Anthony has his big mouth open in a yawn. I'm glad I didn't have to sit through it. “Writing Assignment: Write four paragraphs about a favorite pet” is written on the board.

  “If you don't have a pet,” says Mrs. Dorfman, looking at me, “write about an imaginary pet or a pet you'd like to have.” But American kids have pets and I'm going to have a pet too. I'm going to catch that gray cat.

  I need just the right box for my cat trap. Down here by the market is where they have the best ones. Strong ones that canned stuff comes in. I have to duck. There are two kids from school. If they see me here they'll call me a trash picker. Here's a great box with double cardboard. No cat could get out of it.

  Now I've got wood for the trigger I have to carve. I have to make it very smooth with just the right curve or it won't work. When she goes in to get the food her weight will pull on the trigger just enough to move the prop stick and make the door fall down. I'll glue on a piece of brick to make it fall harder and make it stay shut. A cat can't move a brick. I'll put it together in the yard where the old man can see me from his window. He'll worry about what I'm doing. I saw guys carving triggers like this in the Philippines but they were catching monkeys and lizards. Lizards are dumb but monkeys are smarter than cats so I think this trap will work. I need some bait that a cat will really love.

  “I'm gonna take this fish head, okay?” My grandma nods.

  “What do you want that stinky thing for?” Lin always has to know what I'm doing so she can say I shouldn't do it.

  “I'm gonna make a sandwich,” I answer.

  “You can't make a sandwich out of that. It's got eyes and bones—”

  “Hush, Lin,” interrupts my grandma. She smiles and puts her hand on Lin's arm. I take the fish head outside. I balance the lid of the box on the stick with the trigger curved around it. It falls easily, which is good, until I balance it just right. I put it way in the back of the yard so the old man can't see. He might let my cat go just to be mean. He might even kill it.

  I go inside and watch the trap from the back window. Nothing happens. I'm getting bored so I catch a fly in my fist to put in a spiderweb but then I let it go. The fly's happy to be free. When I look up that old man is carrying a little blue bowl across his yard to the shed. He puts it down on the ground and goes slow like a turtle back inside. I run out and look over the side fence. It's fish from a can. He's been watching the whole time. He's trying to stop me from catching that cat. Well, any cat would rather have a fresh fish head than fish from a can. I'll catch her.

  It's getting light out. I'll go out quick and check my trap. When I catch the cat I'll find something else for her to eat and shut her up someplace where no one will find her.

  It's still pretty dark out here and the grass is wet.

  The trap door is down! I caught her! I caught her in one day. I'll have to be careful she doesn't get away when I lift the box. I'll hold the lid tight and turn it over carefully so I don't hurt her.

  That cat smells. She smells like a skunk.

  Ugh, I caught a skunk. It's not very big and it's all curled up in there. I know my mom and dad won't let me keep it. They won't even let me keep a cat.

  Maybe the old man would like a pet. He gave me smelly shoes so maybe he'd like a smelly skunk. I could put it down the chimney but then it might get stuck in there or get hurt. I'll put it in the mailbox. I'll put up the little flag. He'll reach his hand in there and, whoosh, he'll smell worse than my shoes ever did. I think I can do it without getting sprayed.

  I'll grab it out of the box in a towel and keep its tail down so it can't spray. I'll stuff it backward into the mailbox and I'll run.

  Okay, little skunk. Don't be afraid. I'm just gonna wrap you up nice in this towel.

  Hey, don't try to get away. I'm not gonna hurt you. Keep your tail down.

  Poor little skunk, you're shaking. You're scared I'm going to kill you. You've got a cute face. I bet you miss your family. I wonder if that old man will kill you. He probably will.

  I can't do that to you, little skunk. I won't. Stop shaking. I'll take you someplace safe. Did you get caught in my trap and lose your family? I'll take you to the place where they knocked the old house down. You'll find a hole to hide in and I've seen worms there after a rain. You can eat them. There are lots of garbage cans too. You don't smell so bad. I don't think so, anyway.

  Okay, this is the place. I'll put you down near a hole and I'll run. I know you're still scared enough to spray me. I hope you find your family. I hope I see you again.

  “What's that awful smell?” Thuy covers her mouth and nose with her hands when I go inside for something to eat.

  “Du, you stink! Get out of here!” Lin and Vuong yell, and cover their noses. I go to the sink. My dad in his underwear comes from the hallway. He was still sleeping because he didn't come home until the middle of the night.

  “Du, you stupid!” He grabs me by the neck. He shoots me out the back door. He throws the soap from the sink out after me. “You come in when you don't smell,” he yells. Thuy's flapping a towel around in the kitchen behind him. I go to the faucet on the side of the house. Water dribbles out. I know I'll still smell when I go to school.

  I don't care if I got in trouble even though I was just trying to get a pet so I could do Mrs. Dorfman's writing assignment. I'm glad I let the skunk go. He'll be happy down by that hole where no one lives. Maybe he'll find his family. I know skunks live there because a kid at school told about seeing them.

  I still need a pet. Maybe I won't catch the cat but I'll feed her and make friends with her. That's the same as a pet.

  Open House

  “Boys and girls, we all know about our special event this week,” announces Mrs. Dorfman. I don't know about any special event but I listen because maybe it will be better than the regular stuff.

  “Open House is Thursday!” she announces. Open House? I wonder if she will open her house. Or worse, make me open my house. It sounds dumb. “We'll have our very best work out for our parents to see.” She pauses with a big smile. So open house is really open school with parents coming. I don't have any “best work” or even much work at all. “We'll present a wonderful program for our parents in class.” Pause. I know I won't be in any program. “We'll join the whole school for delicious refreshments in the cafeteria with a welcome from Mr. Martin.” I quit listening because my parents don't have time to come to this stuff.

  We decorate our folders for Open House while she hands out a bunch of our work she's saved
to put in them. We get our last math test. I got two wrong because they were dumb problems. One was “Find the product of 58 and 17.” I don't know product but I thought it sounded more like subtract than any of the others so I subtracted. I subtracted right. The other problem was about a bunch of American kids who give away one third of their marshmallows and then a half of what's left but I couldn't figure out which kid had them in the first place. They had funny names and I don't know what marshmallows are. Birds, I think. Anthony shoves his math test in a book in his desk because it's all covered with red marks.

  “Anthony put his test in his desk,” cries Veronica.

  “The test goes in your folder, Anthony,” says Mrs. Dorfman as if he doesn't know. “Make your desks nice and tidy for desk inspection,” she says. My desk is messy. I put my rubber bands in my pocket so she doesn't take them. I look up. Anthony hits Veronica in the back of the head with a marker cap. She rubs her head like it really hurts. She turns around with her face all squished up. Anthony points at me. Veronica raises her hand to tell. “Would you pass out our personal narratives for me, please, Veronica?” Veronica forgets about complaining. She's so happy handing out our writing stuff and looking at everybody's grade. She drops mine on my desk like it's dirty. “Du” I wrote in big scrawled letters at the top. Then “My Summer Vacation” written even bigger. Then nothing. I wrote it my second day at American school because she wouldn't let me go to recess until I turned in “something.” Mrs. Dorfman wrote U at the top, which means Unsatisfactory.

  Tiffany passes out the markers. She gives me a bad box with mostly purple ones with the tops off. I decorate my folder as fast as I can. I make a stick guy who's throwing a bunch of marker tops at another stick guy, who's Anthony. Melissa passes out spelling tests. I have another U because I quit right in the middle. It was boring. No one's going to see my folder anyway.

  Damian passes out letters for our parents about the Open House. I fold mine into a little box. In the Philippines we made boxes like this to fill with water and throw. But we didn't have much paper. Here I could throw boxes all day with the junk paper in my desk. Tiffany sees it and asks how to do it. I toss it to her as we go out the door to go home.

  “Du, your Open House is tomorrow. I'll tell Ba and Ma.” Thuy is opening the mail.

  “No,” I yell, trying to grab the letter. It's no fair for the school to send a letter too.

  She holds it over her head. I jump and grab it. I ball it up and throw it at Vuong across the table because he's reading too much. He pushes his chair over to chase me. I see the old man looking at us through his window. Vuong gives me a little swat on the back. For the old man I act like he's trying to murder me. I fall across the table. I let my tongue hang out and roll my eyes to give the old man a good show. Lin yanks her book out from under my head.

  “What's a marshmallow?” I call back as I leave to watch TV. They all talk at once to show they know. It's food you put on a stick and burn. Fun! Maybe I'll buy a box of marshmallows someday.

  “Du, you meet me at Fortieth Street at the bus stop at six-fifty. You be there.”

  My mom is coming to the Open House. Thuy told her she should go to find out about my schoolwork. My mom drives to work in a car with a bunch of other women but today she's coming home early on the bus. I told her it would be dumb but she's coming anyway. My dad is too busy.

  It's strange to be at school at night. Lights from the classrooms shine out on the dark playground. Kids are running around all over. Mrs. Dorfman's in a shiny dress instead of pants. She even cleaned her coffee cup. My mom sits at my desk. Tiffany's mom and dad sit at her desk squashed together with her little brother sitting on her work folder. All the kids in our class sit on the floor in the front. We look right at Mrs. Dorfman's legs. Kids giggle. The room gets crowded so people even stand around the edge. It's very hot. I turn to look at my mom. She has room to sit at my desk by herself. She is sitting straight and smiling. I look at Anthony's desk. Is that his mom? She doesn't look old enough to be a mom. She wears jeans and a T-shirt and lots of makeup under her big old glasses. She is busy looking at Anthony's folder. It has a guy with fangs drawn on the front. She doesn't look happy.

  “I'm glad so many of our wonderful parents could make it to Open House.” Mrs. Dorfman smiles. I'm close enough to know she smells like old flowers. I wiggle around to get more room. I bump Anthony. He doesn't do anything back. He just sits there staring straight ahead. “I'm going to tell you some things about our class and about my expectations for my students…”

  Oh no, I think. This is going to last forever. I twist around. Moms and dads are all smiling back. My mom too. Little kids are already squirming around.

  I'm right, of course. On and on she talks. It's very hot. She smiles and smiles. Jorge starts opening and closing the Velcro on his shoes. She beams down at him like he's doing something wonderful. “Let's not play with our Velcro, boys and girls,” she whispers. Anthony doesn't even laugh.

  Mrs. Dorfman calls kids to stand up in front to tell about reading and math and spelling and social studies. I twist around. I can tell who their moms and dads are by who's smiling biggest. Kids come up to read their poetry about rain. Kids come up to tell about the class newsletter and computer time. It's only fun to see how scared they are. “Speak up,” Mrs. Dorfman keeps saying. “Speak up, please.”

  I twist around again. Oh no! My mom looks funny. Her head drops forward and jerks back. Is she going to sleep? I look up and down the row of sitting kids to see if anyone saw. “Sleepyhead” is what Mrs. Dorfman called Rosaria when she went to sleep in class. I can just hear Anthony and Jorge. “How's Son of Sleepyhead?” they'll say. Then they'll snore.

  I sneak another look. My mom's asleep. Her head's propped up on her hand. Her eyes are closed. I can't hear if she's snoring because of Mrs. Dorfman. On and on and on. I don't look anymore. If I don't look maybe nobody else will. If Anthony laughs at her I'll jump up and smash him. I don't care who's here. My mom works late every night. She's tired. I'm listening carefully now for one kid who says one thing about my mom.

  Finally Mrs. Dorfman sounds like she's through. “I think that covers everything now.” She is as smiley and loud as when she started. Maybe she doesn't see my mom. “Are there any questions?”

  A loud angry voice. “You bet there are!” All the kids twist around. It's Anthony's mom. She's standing up at his desk. She's glaring at Mrs. Dorfman. “I thought this was supposed to be a democracy,” she shouts. “How come just some of the kids are up there talking? I didn't come here to hear somebody else's kid and how great they're doing. I got other stuff to do.”

  The room is very quiet. “I'm sorry you're disappointed,” says Mrs. Dorfman, still smiling but not as much. “It was a volunteer—”

  “Whatever,” interrupts Anthony's mom. “I hope you know you graded this math paper wrong also.” She waves Anthony's red-marked math test in the air. “I don't know how you expect the kids to do it when you can't even do it.” Next to me Anthony is staring at the floor. I look back at his mom. This is interesting. My mom is awake, looking surprised.

  “I'll be happy to talk to you privately,” answers Mrs. Dorfman, who is finally not smiling. “The rest of you might like to go to the cafeteria for refreshments and to hear a welcome from our principal.” Chairs scrape. Kids jump up except Anthony. Everyone talks at once. Anthony's mom stalks to the front of the room.

  “Time to go home,” I say to my mom. She doesn't know about the cafeteria or doesn't care. We go out through the playground gate.

  “Your teacher is very nice,” she says.

  “She's boring,” I answer. “You went to sleep.”

  “You be nice, Du,” my mom says in her strict voice. I hear under her strict voice that she is trying not to laugh.

  “Is it nice to go to sleep when the teacher's talking?” I laugh. She can't help it. She laughs too.

  “So much English at once sounds to me like beautiful music,” she murmurs. “I woke up when
that mother yelled. For a moment I thought I was back in Vietnam and the teacher would hit my fingers with a ruler.”

  “What?” I laugh. “She wouldn't do that!” My mom was dreaming the teacher would hit her. This is so funny.

  “In Vietnam when I was little this is what happened when I fell asleep in school,” she answers.

  “You fell asleep in your school in Vietnam?” I almost don't believe her. Vietnam is so far and strange that I can't even imagine real things happened there. “And the teacher hit you with a ruler?”

  “Yes,” she laughs. “And another time when I brought a little frog to school.”

  “You took a frog to school?” This is great. I want to know. We stop for a red light. Her face looks distant now, not laughing.

  “That was a long time ago,” she says. “We're here now.” I'm disappointed because I know she won't say anything else. When she remembers something fun or happy in Vietnam, I think it must always lead to something sad; then she won't talk anymore. I would like to know but I don't want to make her sadder by asking.

  “We had a wonderful Open House,” announces Mrs. Dorfman the next day. “Now it's time to get back to work.” Anthony sits angry at his desk, daring anyone to say anything. I wonder what happened with his mom and Mrs. Dorfman after we left. Tiffany brushes her little brother's cracker crumbs off her desk. No one says anything about how my mom went to sleep. I don't think they even know. I saw my mom sitting at the dining room table in the middle of the night when I got up to get a drink. She was looking at the Buddha and the pictures. I know she was thinking about Vietnam.

  In the Shed

  I hope that old man doesn't come home while I'm in here. It's his shed, even though the side with the little window is right on the edge of our yard. What if he caught me stuck there in the little window like I was when I climbed in? He'd have to be in our yard to see my legs kicking around high up in the air trying to get me through. If he unlocked the shed door he'd see my head and arms waving around stuffed in that window like a ghost up in the air. Maybe he'd be scared. If I saw him like that I'd think it was funny but I don't think he knows how to laugh. But he only comes in here for his lawn mower and that's only on Tuesday. He won't see the window because he can only see that from our yard. That's why he boarded it up, I bet. He didn't want us looking in at his stuff. There's nothing here that anybody would want anyway. There's his lawn mower right by the door. It's as old as he is. He's always fixing his yard, making it look better than everybody else's. He doesn't do any work except mow that lawn. My dad's got more important stuff to do. He has to work to make money. My mom too. Then maybe we'll hire that old man to mow our lawn. I'll sit on the steps and drink a soda and point to the spots he misses.