Cilla Lee-Jenkins--This Book Is a Classic Read online

  There was lots of laughing and hugging after that, and we did cheers, which is when you clink your glasses together. Gwendolyn banged her bottle on her high chair until I clinked it with my cup. And everyone was very happy.

  A little later, Nai Nai and Ye Ye and Auntie Eva went to tell Uncle Gerard and Auntie Stella, who were sitting a few tables away. “We don’t have a date yet,” Auntie Eva said as they came back. “But I told them it’ll be July.”

  “Will Nai Nai and Ye Ye’s friends be there?” I asked, turning to my dad.

  “Well, they knew Eva when she was little,” my dad said. “But yes, usually, at Chinese weddings, you invite lots of people, so parents’ friends come too. Not to mention the extended family, like your E-Pah and E-Gung.”

  “Great!” I said. “E-Pah” and “E-Gung” are the Chinese words for “Great-Aunt” and “Great-Uncle.” E-Pah paints beautiful pictures, and E-Gung plays the saxophone. So even though they don’t speak much English, we have fun together. (Though they sometimes forget that I don’t speak Chinese, and then they sit and hold my hand and talk to me in Chinese. So I smile and nod and hold their hands back, and everyone seems to have a good time, so it all works out.)

  “What else happens at a Chinese wedding?” I asked.

  “Oh, just some Traditional things,” Auntie Eva said. “Like a banquet.”

  “Ah,” I said. “I LOVE those.”

  “Exactly!” my dad said. “It’ll all be really fun.”

  “Great!” I clapped my hands. Banquets are big, fancy Chinese dinners with SO MUCH food, which I know from Gwendolyn’s one-month party (it’s another Chinese Tradition, and it’s even better than a birthday party, if you can believe it).

  “Have you met Paul’s family?” my mom asked.

  “Yes, they’re lovely,” Auntie Eva said. “Here, I have a photo of us.”

  She brought it up on her phone. “This is his extended family—we’re at one of my favorite restaurants.”

  I looked down at the picture, and I understood what she’d meant about Paul’s family being Impressive and High-Powered.

  In the photo, Auntie Eva sat with a big family in a Chinese restaurant, at a round table just like ours. Paul’s mom, dad, and brothers had straight black hair that was perfectly brushed, and Paul’s mom had her arm around Auntie Eva and was wearing a glittery black jacket and silver shadow on her eyes. Next to her, a boy my age wore a jacket like the kind Grandpa Jenkins wears with his suits (which is VERY fancy). His hair was slicked back and all in place, and by his plate (and by each of the plates) was a pair of silver chopsticks, laid out in a perfect straight line.

  “Wow, what a beautiful family!” my mom said.

  “Yeah…” I tried to give a small smile and handed her the phone.

  And as the adults started talking, I tried to lay my chopsticks out in a perfect straight line on the napkin next to me. Just like theirs.

  But that wasn’t working, plus Gwendolyn thought this was a game and tried to grab them. So I stuck them in my rice bowl, away from her.

  “Ay yah,” Nai Nai said. “Bad luck, Cilla.” She reached across the table and took my chopsticks out of the bowl.

  “Huh?” I asked.

  She patted my hand. “An old Chinese custom,” she said nicely. “Just keep them on the table.”

  “It’s an old superstition, Mom.” Auntie Eva shook her head. “You can do whatever you want with your chopsticks, Cilla.”

  Nai Nai didn’t take her hand away from mine, but she put her lips together like she didn’t agree.

  “So,” my mom cut in, “do you have any idea what you’ll do for the wedding?”

  “Yeah.” My dad nodded. “You’ll probably have a tea ceremony, right?”

  “Yes.” Auntie Eva smiled. “We’ll definitely do that. Though I’m not so sure about—”

  Then they started talking about ceremonies, using Chinese words that I didn’t know.

  I wanted to ask what these Traditions were, because being Chinese means that I should know all these things. But there are SO MANY to keep track of. And I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to know them already, and if Nai Nai would be disappointed if I asked, and how many more there’d be. And I didn’t want to do something wrong again. But just then—

  “Tzuck sang,” Nai Nai said as the waiter arrived with a dish of steaming-hot green and brown vegetables. “Tzuck sang” is Chinese for “bamboo hearts,” and it’s my favorite food and my Nai Nai’s favorite food, which is a great thing to have in common.

  Then we were too busy eating for questions. (Which isn’t the worst problem to have. Especially when the food is your favorite.)

  After dinner, we drank our sweet bean soup, which is a Chinese dessert, and all the adults gave me and Gwendolyn red envelopes (though she just tried to eat hers).

  And even though everyone said, “She’s too young, Cilla, she won’t get it,” when I was done eating, I gave Gwendolyn my chopsticks and tried to teach her how to use them.

  Because these things are important.

  And I wanted everyone in the restaurant to see that I could use chopsticks too, as well as my dad or Auntie Eva or Nai Nai or Ye Ye.

  And that my sister would be just as good as I was, someday.

  Plus, even though she didn’t get them, Gwendolyn had a GREAT time banging the chopsticks on the table. And then I took them away and put them in my mouth and pretended they were walrus teeth, and Gwendolyn clapped. So I think it’s a sign that she loves chopsticks and just needs to keep practicing.

  We drove home full and tired and sticky. (That last part may have been my fault. I spilled some red bean soup on myself. And Gwendolyn. Also my mom.)

  And even though I could see she was tired, Auntie Eva sat up with me while I got ready for bed, and she braided my hair while my dad read me a story.

  That night I lay in bed and looked up at my mini-tent, and I started thinking about the year ahead. And I started worrying a little. Because even though I’d tried to leave enough oranges around for luck, I hadn’t realized how MUCH luck I’ll need, if I’m going to teach Gwendolyn how to use chopsticks, learn every Chinese wedding Tradition, AND meet Paul’s Very Impressive, High-Powered family at Auntie Eva’s wedding.

  Though I guess I’m already doing all right, because it was very lucky to be chosen by Auntie Eva to be her flower girl. And when my mom didn’t notice the orange under her pillow and woke up with sticky orange-juice hair, she thought it was so funny that she barely got mad.

  Which is proof that this year is off to a very lucky start.

  2

  THIRD-GRADE RESOLUTIONS

  Auntie Eva spent the whole weekend with us, and there was a lot of talk about weddings and families and flower girl details. All of this gave me a lot to think about (most of it VERY exciting).

  But it wasn’t until Monday, at school, that I realized it was time to write a new book.

  When I got to school that morning, I couldn’t wait to tell Colleen all about the wedding and Chinese New Year. In case you didn’t read my last book and haven’t met Colleen, she’s my best friend. We met in kindergarten, when I was really shy, but she talked to me anyway. She’s confident and tall and really good at sports, and she always knows what to say. Also, she’s going to be an Olympic soccer player when she grows up, we’ve decided recently. Which is a GREAT destiny to have.

  Colleen is the best best friend in the world, and she never lets me down. So when I told her about Auntie Eva’s news, her reaction was everything I’d hoped it would be.

  “I love weddings,” Colleen said, clapping her hands. “Especially when they break the glass in front of everyone.”

  “Wow,” I said. “I didn’t know that happened.”

  “Did you say weddings, Silly?” Alien-Face McGee leaned toward us. He sits at our table, and he calls me “Silly” when he knows it’s “Cill-a,” and he likes to interrupt things. All of this makes him very annoying, and usually I tell him so. But I really wanted to talk about
the wedding, so this was actually very convenient, even though my name is NOT “Silly.”

  “I like weddings. Especially trying to figure out the secret code for when to stand and when to kneel,” he said.

  (I made a note of this Tradition, plus the glass one, to ask about later.)

  “Also, I was in a wedding,” Alien-Face went on.

  “Really?” Colleen asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I carried the rings, and my mom said that if I misbehaved I’d be grounded for the rest of my life, so it was pretty important that I got it right.”

  “Wow.” I sighed. “And I thought being a flower girl was stressful.”

  Just then, Mr. Flight said, “Okay, everyone, time for Morning Announcements!” This is how we start every day. During Morning Announcements, Mr. Flight tells us the exciting things we’ll be doing in class. He also takes attendance and tells us a new joke of the day. This is one of the (many) reasons Mr. Flight’s third-grade class is amazing. (Even if Mr. Flight can’t fly, and isn’t even a pilot, which was disappointing to learn at the beginning of the school year.)

  We also sometimes have sharing time in the mornings, if someone’s had a birthday or if there was a holiday or special occasion.

  Which is why I was especially excited.

  “So,” Mr. Flight said. “This weekend was Chinese New Year. Did anyone here celebrate?”

  “Me! Me!” I said, raising my hand. Melvin Liu also raised his hand, and we grinned at each other.

  “Great!” Mr. Flight said. “Tell us about it.”

  “Well,” I started, “Chinese New Year is really fun. It happens on a different day every year, and you go to Chinatown and there’s a parade.”

  “Yeah,” Melvin said. “And the date is always different because the Chinese calendar is a lunar calendar, which means it’s based on the moon.”

  “Oh,” I said. I hadn’t known that. “Right. Also, there are lots of Traditions, like fireworks, and every shop puts oranges on chairs outside their doors for luck. And there are moon cakes and dumplings and giant fish.”

  “It’s the best,” Melvin said, nodding, and I smiled at him. “And you eat lots of the food because of their names. So in Chinese, fish are called ‘yu,’ which also means ‘prosperity,’ so that’s why you eat it.”

  “Oh,” I said quietly. “Yeah.” And I decided that I’d let him tell the rest.

  * * *

  After Morning Announcements, it was time for math. We all went to get a colored pencil from Mr. Flight’s big box of supplies for our work sheets.

  “Do you speak Chinese, Melvin?” Tim #2 asked, just behind me.

  “Yeah.” Melvin sighed. “I have to go to Chinese school every Sunday. It’s REALLY boring.”

  “Huh,” Tim #2 said. “But you don’t, right, Cilla?” he asked.

  “No,” I admitted.

  “Right, because you’re not really Chinese,” Tim said. “Just half. Oh, I want the red pencil!” he called out.

  And then he was gone, leaving me standing there, blinking. And I didn’t know what to do, or how I felt, because no, I am Chinese. But then I remembered that the waiters in Chinatown hadn’t thought so. And that Melvin knows so much more than I do about Chinese New Year and Traditions. And I wasn’t sure what this all meant, and—

  “Cilla!” Colleen came bouncing over to me. “I got the purple one for you and the teal for Melissa—your favorites!” So there was nothing to do but go back to my desk and learn about pie charts.

  The rest of the morning was okay. I sit at a table with Colleen, Alien-Face McGee, and Melissa Hernandez, who’s new to our school this year. In case you haven’t read my last book, you should know that Alien-Face’s real name is Ben McGee, but I call him “Alien-Face” because I made up a story about how he’s really a (nice) alien in disguise who was sent to observe human beings.

  Melissa’s nice too, though she doesn’t talk much and I’m not sure if she likes me. She does listen and smile a lot, though, especially during writing. We write A LOT in Mr. Flight’s class, which is another reason that I love third grade. And we learn about things like Similes, which is when you compare one thing to something completely different, using the word “like” or “as” to describe it. So, for example, I might say, “Gwendolyn is as round as a caterpillar.” Or, “My dad snores like an elephant.” Or, “Someday, I will be as well-known as pizza.”

  Mr. Flight loves writing, though he’s also big on something called Precision of Language. This means using the best words to say exactly what you mean. So, instead of saying, “Gwendolyn’s diaper is the smelliest thing EVER,” I could say, “Gwendolyn’s diaper smells like a swamp,” because it’s more specific. Plus it’s also a Simile.

  Anyway, my point is that writing is great, and if we want to, we’re allowed to share our work with our tables. And when I share my work, Melissa listens and smiles, and I think she thought the diaper Simile was really funny. But it’s hard to tell because she never says anything, and then when I asked if I could see her Similes, she shook her head no, even though I think she let Colleen see them when I was sharing with Alien-Face McGee.

  Which is strange.

  After lunch, we had recess. We make up lots of excellent games at recess, and sometimes Mr. Flight comes out and does cartwheels on the grass. (So even if he can’t fly, Mr. Flight does know some excellent tricks.)

  Today, Alien-Face, the Tims, and Sally all ran over to the slide to play Dragon-Sorcerer-Warriors. Usually I love this game. It’s part of a story I made up, and Colleen liked it so much that she wanted to be in it, and then Alien-Face and everyone else wanted to join. And people playing your stories is a BIG compliment.

  But on Monday, I didn’t feel like running over with them right away. Colleen stayed with me.

  “Are you okay, Cilla?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “I was just thinking.… Do you think I should go to Chinese school?” I asked in a quiet voice. “It sounds fun.”

  “I dunno,” she said. “Melvin says it’s kind of boring.”

  “But he can speak Chinese. And I can’t. That seems like something I should be able to do.”

  “Well…” She thought about this for a minute. “Maybe. But you can hold a headstand for three whole minutes, and he can’t do that.”

  “Good point,” I said. And then I smiled. “You’re the best.”

  “Thanks.” Colleen smiled back. “So are you.”

  “Also,” I said, “I think I’ll write a Classic. That’s something Melvin won’t do either. Or Tim #2, right?”

  “Right.” She grinned. “I can’t wait to read it.”

  And we ran and joined the others to be dragon-sorcerer-warriors together.

  3

  FROGS IN THE KITCHEN AND OTHER BAD IDEAS

  Yesterday, I had an Adventure, which, as I’ve mentioned, is GREAT for Classics. Even better, my adventure has a moral, which is very Classic and means you learn something at the end of your story. And the moral of this story has to do with frogs. Because I wasn’t the only one who had an Adventure this weekend. Harold, our third-grade classroom frog, had a BIG adventure too.

  Harold lives in a tank above the science bookshelf in Mr. Flight’s classroom. We take turns feeding him, and at the beginning of the year we got to learn all about him and how tadpoles turn into frogs. Every weekend, Harold gets to go home with a different student. He comes with an instruction sheet taped to his tank, and all you have to do is feed him and every once in a while change his water.

  I think Harold is really fun. I want to train him to follow my finger when I trace it on the edges of his tank, and he used to float around close to it when I tried at the beginning of the year. But he’s been kind of sleepy recently, and he doesn’t seem to want to do any tricks. He does like to swim and float and kick his legs slowly, though. And when he taps at the floor of his tank, the water makes pretty swirls and bubbles. So I was excited when, on Friday, Mr. Flight reminded me that it was my turn to take Haro
ld home for the weekend.

  That day, Harold rode the bus with me and Colleen. We tried to get him to ribbit (he didn’t) and only sloshed a little water onto the bus seat (I was very proud).

  When I got off the bus, I ran to where my mom was waiting for me because I couldn’t wait to introduce her to Harold.

  But my mom maybe wasn’t that excited to meet him at first. In fact, she let out a little yell when she saw me and said, “Young Lady, what is that?”

  “Harold,” I explained.

  My dad, who had come to our front door bouncing Gwendolyn, put his hand to his mouth and tried not to laugh, but he did.

  “Oookay,” she said. “But where did he come from?”

  “School,” I said.

  “No.” She put her hand to her forehead. “I mean, why is he here?”

  “Oh, because you signed the permission slip for us to take him home this weekend,” I said. “At the beginning of the school year.”

  “Shouldn’t Mr. Flight send home some reminders about, um, Harold?” my dad asked from the doorway.

  “Oh, he did!” I said. “I forgot—they’re all in my backpack. Wait, let me get them for you.” I twisted around to open my bag, but it was hard with Harold’s tank in my hands.

  And then my mom laughed too.

  “Well, I don’t think we need them now,” she said with a funny sigh. She reached down and took the tank from me. “Well, hello, Harold.” She held the tank up so she could see Harold’s face. But he just floated there.

  As Harold does.

  I think my mom and dad were worried that Harold would be a lot of work, but really he wasn’t. And it was fun to show him around my house, and he liked meeting Gwendolyn because when she pointed to the tank and said, “Ga baba da!” he kicked his legs and made bubbles. So, when my mom told me that Gwendolyn and I would be spending Saturday with my Grandma and Grandpa Jenkins so she and my dad could visit an old friend, I really, really, REALLY wanted to take Harold along.