Something fell out of the uncorked opening. It pinged off the base of the metal temple, then bounced onto the floor.
Thom reached for it, pinching it between her thumb and index finger. It was a golden pin, like you’d use for sewing, but it was of a stiff and coarse material, unlike any pin she’d ever held. She turned it over and over, watching light reflect off its surface, mesmerized by the color.
“Cưng, come look at this,” Ma called to her.
Thom placed the gourd quickly back inside the miniature temple, stuffed the golden pin-looking thing in her pocket, then went to her mom. Ma was still staring at the mural of the little boy facing an army of giants. They walked down the length of the wall, studying the scenes. In the next panel, the boy had grown taller and bigger. Eventually, he became a giant, larger than any soldier in the army, and defeated them all.
Twin lines formed between Ma’s brows. “This is the Boy Giant. Thánh Gióng. You remember his story?”
Thom nodded. “Kind of?”
“He was baby for long time and didn’t grow, didn’t smile or talk or walk, until the kingdom was invaded. Then he ate lot of rice, became a giant. Superstrong, and defeated the invaders.” She stopped and frowned.
“What happened to him?” Thom asked.
“What you mean?”
“After he defeated the invaders. Did he get to go home? Did he stay giant, or did he become a normal boy again?”
“He became an immortal.” Ma lightly touched the image of the Boy Giant on the back of a horse, riding into battle. “One of the Four Immortals—they ascended to the heavens and become higher gods. A great honor.”
“But what about his ma and ba? Didn’t they worry about him?”
Ma turned sharply, and Thom realized she’d accidentally said the bad word you weren’t supposed to mention around her mother, the one that implied fathers existed. Thom swallowed.
“Of course not,” Ma said gravely. “He become a god. Nothing to worry about.”
“But he was so little. Just a kid, almost a baby.” Thom pointed at the Boy Giant in the first panel, where he could hardly stand on his own chubby legs. “His ma and ba must have worried about him.”
“Maybe he didn’t have parents. Maybe he was orphan.”
“But even orphans have parents.” Thom looked back at Ma, whose scowl set deep folds in her forehead.
“Stop it. I have a headache. Let’s go home now.”
“But…” Thom wanted to argue and point out that Ma always got a headache any time they came close to talking about fathers. Not just Thom’s dad, but any dad. Like the mention of them would cause Thom’s father to just drop out of the sky. Which made Thom want to ask even more questions. Who was her father? Why did Ma never talk about him? Was he dead or alive? Had he abandoned them? But as far as Ma was concerned, he didn’t exist.
“I have a headache,” Ma repeated. “It’s getting late, and I still need to finish some work. Let’s go. We can come back tomorrow.”
8
THOM WENT UP TO HER room that night, hoping Ma had forgotten all about Culture Day, and dressing her up in a stupid costume and a headdress, and pretty much anything that would ruin her entire social life for the next decade. But there was no such luck. As she was turning off the lights, Ma stopped by, leaning against the doorjamb.
“I think I’m going to order you a new áo dài,” she said with a soft smile. She didn’t seem as excited as before, her eyes now glazed with a faraway look, but there was still a brightness in her expression, which meant there was no point in arguing. “One with a matching headdress. You look better in pink anyway, since you are so dark.”
Thom grew hot and thought about arguing, resisting, being mean. Instead, she just muttered, “Thanks.”
Ma smiled, not catching the sarcasm. “Okay, cưng.”
Thom crawled into bed after Ma left, and lay there for an eternity, staring at her ceiling. She kept picturing Bethany’s face when Thom showed up in her long Vietnamese dress, how she would ogle and then smirk and then nudge her friends so they could laugh. They had enough reasons to make fun of Thom already. Imagine how much worse it would be if she dressed up as a freak for Culture Day.
She flipped and turned, unable to find a comfortable position. She got out of bed and checked the time. It was one in the morning. How could she stop Ma from buying a new áo dài? Steal her phone? Hide her credit cards? Even if Thom managed to, Ma could always force her to wear one she already owned. If only her growth spurt would kick in so she wouldn’t fit them anymore.
There was no way she was going to fall asleep, so she went down to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Mochi’s ears perked, and he got up from his bed, clicking after her but never coming close enough so she could pet him.
Their new house was much bigger than the house in West City, and they were still shopping for furniture. The living room looked incomplete, the corners empty, the ceilings high, the fireplace clunky and awkward in what should have been a cozy room.
Everything was different from their old life. Their house had been small and snug, the ceilings low, the furniture arranged like in a Tetris game, so that it all just barely fit.
This place still didn’t feel like home; it felt like they were staying at an auntie’s house. A nice auntie, who let them keep their stuff in the drawers and cupboards.
Ma’s door was open—she always kept it open in case Thom called for her or wanted to sneak into her bed, which Thom hadn’t done since she was five. Ma’s small form was motionless under her blankets. A soft breeze blew in through her window, lifting the gossamer curtains.
Thom tiptoed through her room and quietly pulled the window closed.
Thom was about to get back into her own bed when a glint of gold caught her eye.
It was the pin that she’d found at the temple, peeking out from her jacket pocket. She’d almost forgotten about it, distracted with Culture Day.
She held it up to the light, then laid it on the desk and set it in the slant of moonlight shimmering through the blinds.
It shone like silver, soft at first, and then glowing brighter, as if it were feeding off the moonlight. Suddenly, it grew so bright, Thom had to cover her eyes and take a step back.
And then the glow dimmed.
That was weird.
She blinked, but a blind spot blocked her vision and she could no longer see the pin on her desk.
Then her eyes adjusted. Her mouth opened to let out a scream, but the muscles of her face froze, and nothing came out.
Sitting at the edge of her desk, legs crossed like he belonged there, was a monkey.
A monkey.
Out of nowhere.
Or rather, a part man, part monkey. Like an older boy, maybe fifteen, but covered in reddish-gold hair. His face was mischievous, his long brown eyelashes fluttering as he blinked and surveyed the room. His head tilted back and forth.
“Hello there,” he said, his voice high and singsong.
Thom sucked in a breath, but her face remained paralyzed.
The monkey boy looked around the room. “Nice place.”
He pushed off the desk and jumped onto the bed, bouncing until his head skimmed the ceiling, and then, on the last jump, he stayed up in the air. Hovering. Flying. His eyes caught on her closet, and he flew headfirst into it. He poked through her clothes, picked up a sweater, sniffed it, and tossed it over his shoulder.