Sweat beads lined up on his forehead. Finally, he blurted, “Because I’m having a hard time at school, okay? I kinda needed, you know, a friend.”
My head jolted up in surprise. He never mentioned anything about having a hard time at school.
“Everyone in my class makes fun of me.” He wrapped his arms around his middle to try to hide his body. “They call me a Chinese dough boy,” Jason muttered. “Or a dumbling. Get it? Like dumpling but dumb.”
When Jason said that, I felt my skin boil, as if they’d said that to me. Anger shot through my body—painful, stiff anger that I could feel all the way to my hot fingertips. I instantly felt bad for walking out on him at dinner.
We took turns telling Jason how sorry we were and how he shouldn’t listen to those kids for even a second. When the recess bell rang, I lingered at the tree until everyone else left, so I could talk to him alone.
“Hey,” I said. “I’m sorry I left your dinner the other day.” Jason nodded, but didn’t say anything, so I went on, “Maybe we can do it another time? Do you want to come over to the motel?”
He gazed up at the sun spots peeking through the leaves. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to check anyone in,” I promised. “Maybe you can show me how to cook!”
Jason’s face brightened. “I’d like that! But shouldn’t we do that at my house?”
I smiled, slightly amused. “We have pots and pans at the motel too, you know.”
I thought about our new club on the way home. I’d had no idea that Jason was suffering so much in school. Why didn’t he tell me about it that day when I came over? It was amazing what people kept all locked up inside … and what they let out under a breezy tree.
When I got back to the motel, I found a piece of mail waiting for me at the front desk.
It was a letter from my cousin Shen!
Dear Mia,
How are you? I haven’t heard from you for a long time. I hope you are well. My mom told me you guys bought a motel—that’s so cool! We bought an apartment. We’re now living in the second ring, closer to the town center. Do you still remember all the Beijing rings?
I bet when you come back, you won’t even recognize Beijing. We have buildings now that shoot straight up to the sky! And malls with movie theaters and ice rinks in them! I’ll have to take you to some when you come back. You WILL come back to visit, won’t you? I miss you. Some of the other kids at my new school aren’t so nice. They make fun of me for being from the fourth ring.
I’m sure when they meet my cousin from America, they’ll shut up about their rings! Ha!
Yours,
Shen
I stared at the letter from Shen, feeling a little guilty for not writing to him in such a long time. I had no idea he missed me so much. I reread the letter, smiling a little at the memory of Beijing’s geography.
There were eight rings in total, dividing the city in circular loops like the trunk of a tree. They went outward from the first ring, in the city center, where the emperor once lived, all the way out to the eighth, where folks who couldn’t afford the city center lived. Beijing inner-ringers were notoriously snobby toward those from the outer rings, which seemed suddenly absurd from halfway across the world. I shook my head. Even when people are all from the same city, we find ways to divide ourselves. I wondered, if two people were from the same road, would they find ways to put each other down? “Well, you’re from the left side of the street.”
The telephone rang, jolting me from my thoughts. I answered it with my best customer service voice. “Calivista Motel, how may I direct your call?”
“Mia, it’s me!” Lupe said. I could hear her sniffling. “My grandmother passed away.”
“Oh, Lupe, I’m so sorry!”
“My mom’s going back to bury her,” she cried. “And I’m just worried …”
I knew what she meant—that she didn’t know how her mom was going to get back home after the visit. “Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ll figure it out. Maybe we can persuade her not to go.…”
“It’s too late,” Lupe said. “She already left for San Diego.”
After I got off the phone with Lupe, I sat at the desk, wishing there was something I could do. Something that would make Lupe feel better. My fingers fiddled with Shen’s letter as I brainstormed, folding it and refolding it. I closed my eyes and tried to think back to my own great-grandmother’s funeral in Beijing.
I ran out the back to go find my dad. I found him in room 7, setting up for his Lucky Penny search. As he laid the coins down, one by one and faceup, I told him about Lupe’s grandmother.
“That’s terrible,” he said, the pennies momentarily forgotten.
“Do you still remember Tai Nai Nai’s funeral?” I asked Dad gently. Tai nai nai was the Chinese term for great-grandmother on your dad’s side.
My dad sat on the bed. “Yes, of course.”
“What did we do at her funeral?” I asked. “Did we burn something?” My memory of Chinese rituals was fading, like the imprint of a customer’s hand on the bathroom mirror. Still, I distinctly remembered the smell of burnt paper.
“Yes!” my dad declared, his face beaming. He looked so surprised. “You remembered!”
My dad told me that according to Chinese custom, people burn fake money at funerals, believing that the burning smoke will accompany the deceased into heaven. At Tai Nai Nai’s funeral, we burned lots of fake money, making sure she had more than enough to live like a queen in the afterlife.
I knew what I wanted to do for Lupe’s grandmother. That night, as my dad and the weeklies searched for the elusive 1943 copper alloy penny, I sat next to them drawing lots and lots of fake 1943 copper alloy pennies on pieces of paper. Each and every one of them was worth $40,000. I couldn’t wait to give them to Lupe tomorrow. I just hoped there was a place in heaven where Lupe’s grandmother could cash them.
Lupe was so surprised the next day when I gave her all the fake stuff I drew for her grandmother, plus one hundred real dollars from my dad and a plateful of steamed sponge cake from my mom.
“What’s all this?” she asked, looking down at my drawings of fake pennies, fake credit cards, a fake dog, a fake computer, a fake house, even a fake health insurance card—I might have gone a little overboard. But I wanted to make sure Lupe’s grandmother was all set.
When I explained to her what the drawings were for, Lupe’s voice hitched. “You drew all this for my abuelita?”
I nodded.
She held the drawings up to her chest. “Thank you. This means so much to me.” Lupe leaned over for a hug as Mrs. Welch walked into the classroom.
“Look, students! Mia is in the paper!” she exclaimed, holding up that day’s local newspaper. The headline read “Immigrants and Citizens Band Together to Buy Local Motel: The Calivista Under New Ownership.”
“Let’s see!” my classmates shouted, clamoring to get a closer look.
Lupe and I stretched our own necks out—we hadn’t seen it yet either! There on the front page of the Metro section was a group picture of us out by the pool. I grinned at Lupe, whose face beamed with pride too.