Flying the Dragon (19 page)

The boy cupped his hands around his mouth. “Do you guys want to play?”

Ravi turned to Hiroshi. “You play basketball?”

Hiroshi nodded, although it had been a while. “Yes—” he began. He glanced at Grandfather, then turned to Ravi. “But I must practice for the kite battle. It is in two weeks.”

“You go ahead, Hiroshi,” Grandfather said. “I will remain here with the kite.”

“It’s okay, Grandfather. I would rather fly the kite with you.” He turned to Ravi and switched back to English. “I am sorry for this time, but I will play another day. Okay?”

Ravi looked disappointed, but said, “Yes, another time.” He waved and jogged down the hill to join the other boys.

Grandfather and Hiroshi were silent for a few minutes, their eyes on the kite. “Go with your friend, Hiroshi. The kite is flying itself. I’ll be able to watch your game from here.”

“I won’t leave you alone, Grandfather.”

Grandfather winked. “Don’t you think it’s time I had a turn with the dragon?”

Hiroshi looked at Grandfather. “Of course.” He handed over the reel. “I’ll just stay and watch.”

“It is time you made some friends your age, Hiroshi. Besides Sorano, of course.” Hiroshi looked sideways at Grandfather. Did he suspect that Sorano was the last person he wanted for a friend?

“Go on,” Grandfather said gently. “It would give me great pleasure to meet your friends after the game.”

There was no way Hiroshi could get out of this without being rude to Grandfather. He looked toward the basketball court. “I’ll just play for five minutes, and then I’ll come back.”

“Take your time.” Grandfather was already watching the dragon soar above their heads.

Hiroshi sped down the hill. When he reached the court, he recognized one of the boys from his class.

“Hey, you’re the new kid, aren’t you?” the boy said, tossing the ball from one hand to the other.

Hiroshi nodded. “My name is Hiroshi.”

“I’m Carlos.”

Ravi pointed to the other boy. “And this is Bilal.”

“Okay, we’ll play two-on-two,” Carlos said, spinning the ball on his finger. “Me and Ravi against Hiroshi and Bilal.” Hiroshi hoped American basketball had the same rules as Japanese basketball.

Carlos tossed the ball to Ravi, who started dribbling toward the basket. Hiroshi blocked Ravi, and Bilal stole the ball, then took a shot before Carlos could reach him.

“Two points!” Bilal punched his fist into the air.

Now Ravi dribbled the ball onto the court. He paused, pumping the ball before nodding to Carlos. Hiroshi rushed up to Ravi and reached one arm to the left. When Ravi dodged to the right, Hiroshi was ready; he scooped the ball away from Ravi and lobbed it toward Bilal, who was waiting under the basket. Bilal leaped and hooked the ball into the basket.

“Yes!” Bilal grinned at Hiroshi. “Hey—nice pass!”

Hiroshi’s heart kept time with his breathing. Had Grandfather seen him? He glanced back at the top of the hill, and his stomach dropped. Grandfather sat motionless, his chin resting on his chest.

“Grandfather!” He never should have left him alone. Hiroshi raced to the top of the hill.

When Hiroshi touched his arm, Grandfather raised his head and opened his eyes. “What—Hiroshi?” He yawned.

“Are you all right?”

“I must have nodded off.”

Hiroshi hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath until it came rushing out. Grandfather had been asleep. That was all—everything was fine.

Ravi ran up behind him. “He is okay?”

Grandfather held up his empty hands, then stiffened. “The kite—where did it go?”

“Tsuki-san?”

Skye’s head snapped up just in time to see Kumamoto Sensei mark something in her grade book—another not-paying-attention mark, no doubt. Skye wondered how many marks were next to her name now—at least one for every line on her teacher’s pursed lips.

“
Hai,
Kumamoto Sensei.” Skye bowed her head. “
Gomen nasai.
” There may have been lots of Japanese words Skye didn’t know, but
I’m sorry
was the one thing she had down.

Next Saturday would be the final exams, but all Skye could think about was Grandfather. While Kumamoto Sensei scanned the page for another verb to shoot her way, Skye glanced at the clock. Ten thirty. Grandfather was supposed to be home from the hospital by now.

“To wear.” Kumamoto Sensei nodded. “Use the verb in first person, present tense.” Kumamoto Sensei held up a card showing a hat.

Skye swallowed. She’d studied this list with Hiroshi and knew that
kaburu
was for putting something on your head. “
Boushi o kaburu?
“

Kumamoto Sensei peered at Skye over her glasses. “Is that a question or your answer?”

Maya the Wonder Student looked at Skye like she wanted to give her the answer. But this time Skye already knew the answer.

“
Hai, boushi o kaburu,
” Skye said, leaving off the question mark. Kumamoto Sensei nodded, then flipped to a card showing a pair of eyeglasses.
Breathe in,
Skye reminded herself. You know this one.
It’s “hang” instead of “wear.”

“
Megane o kakeru.
” Skye’s voice was loud and clear.

“Correct.” But Kumamoto Sensei didn’t smile until Skye had successfully announced that she wore pants, shoes, a shirt, a scarf, a watch, and gloves.

“One more.” Kumamoto Sensei flipped over the last card that showed a pair of earrings.

Skye’s smile faded. The Japanese word for earrings sounded a lot like the English word:
iyaringu.
It was the “I wear” part that stumped her. Her ears weren’t pierced, so she’d never uttered that phrase before. She certainly had never heard her dad say it, and her mom only ever said it in English.

Skye touched her earlobe, as if that would help. It didn’t. Some earrings were the hanging kind, so maybe it was the same verb she used for glasses. That must be it. She took a breath. “
Iyaringu o kakeru.
“

Some of the other students giggled, but Kumamoto Sensei hushed them with a glare. “The phrase you are looking for is
Iyaringu o tsukeru.
Please add that to your study guide for next week.”

“
Hai,
Kumamoto-sensei.” Skye sank into her seat.
Tsukeru … tsukeru …
what did that mean?

Maya the Walking Dictionary turned and whispered, “
Tsukeru
means
to insert
or
to put on.
“

“Thanks,” Skye whispered, miserable. Why did one little error make her feel like she’d already flunked next week’s exams? Skye barely listened as the others conjugated verbs without a single mistake. Of course.

But how many of them could fly kites? Not that Skye was as good as Hiroshi or Grandfather, but she was learning. She looked out the window, half hoping to see the dragon kite up there with the clouds. But that was impossible, since she was miles away from the park.

When the clock finally struck eleven, Kumamoto Sensei announced that since it was such a nice day, the students could take their break outside. Skye wished she could just stay in and eat alone.

“Tsuki-san, may I please speak with you?” The other kids looked relieved their names hadn’t been called as they filed out the door with their
o-bento
boxes.

“
Hai,
Sensei?” Skye hoped this wouldn’t take long. No doubt she was in trouble for not studying enough or not paying attention enough. For not being Japanese enough.

As she approached her teacher’s desk, she tried to read Kumamoto Sensei’s expression. Skye always knew when Mrs. Garcia was mad or proud or tired. But Kumamoto Sensei’s face gave away nothing. She removed her glasses and Skye looked at the floor.

“Tsuki-san, you have improved tremendously in recent weeks. I applaud your efforts.”

Skye looked up cautiously, wondering if Kumamoto Sensei was joking. But her teacher’s eyes looked sincere. “Thank you.” Skye smiled. “I will be ready for the exams next week, Kumamoto Sensei.”

Her teacher nodded. “Use your time wisely this week, Tsuki-san.

You must pass each exam with an almost perfect score in order to move into the advanced class for the next term.”

Almost perfect? Skye’s smile faded. Scaling Mount Fuji would have been easier than getting almost perfect exam scores.

“Your conversational skills are excellent, but you must pay close attention—especially in grammar and writing.” Her usual stony glare had disappeared, replaced by sympathy that somehow made Skye feel worse. Kumamoto Sensei leaned against her desk and clasped her hands in front of her. “I see great potential in you.”

“In me?” Skye looked behind her. Maybe Maya the Perfect had crept back into the room.

“Yes, in you.”

“But … but I am the worst one in the class.”

“You are the only one of my students who was not raised in Japan, Tsuki-san. It is natural to be less familiar with vocabulary and rules of grammar.”

Skye would never have guessed that her teacher actually thought she might be good at Japanese. “I will study hard this week, Sensei.”

Kumamoto Sensei nodded before returning to the chair behind her desk. Skye retrieved her
o-bento
box and headed for the door.

“Tsuki-san,” her teacher called.

Skye paused at the door. “
Hai?
“

“Do not study hard this week.”

What?
Skye’s shoulders sagged. Kumamoto Sensei must have thought there was no use in even trying to pass. Or at least with almost perfect scores.

“The exams are important, and of course you must study. But not only this week.” Kumamoto Sensei’s voice seemed to echo in the empty classroom. “Become a lifelong learner of your language.”

My language?
Skye looked at her teacher, who had already gone back to grading papers. “Hai, Sensei,” Skye said, and slipped out the door to join her class.

She popped off the lid of her
o-bento
box and slid the chopsticks from their case. Now that her dad had rediscovered his Japanese cooking side, her food looked like all the others’. Skye listened to the perfect Japanese all around her. Sure, her grammar had improved, thanks to Hiroshi. And if she ever went to Japan, maybe she could pass as a native speaker in the first few words of a conversation. But if she had to talk about anything too complicated, she’d be sunk.

She never felt like a tongue-tied imposter when she spoke with Grandfather, though. He always seemed to see straight into the heart of whatever she was trying to say. Skye wanted to show Grandfather that she was good at Japanese, that it mattered to her. That he mattered to her.

She snuck a glance at Maya the Chopstick Expert, who was sitting next to her, chatting with the others in between bites. This was Skye’s chance to practice. To get better. Maybe learn a word or two that she could use during the kite-flying lessons.

Skye took a breath. “What did your mom pack in your box today?” she asked.
What a stupid question,
Skye chided herself. Everyone’s
o-bento
box was open—it’s not like the contents were a secret or anything.

Maya paused, her chopsticks poised midair, looking as if Skye had just spoken in Arabic. Maybe Skye should have kept her big mouth shut and left Japanese to the Japanese kids. Maya swallowed her bite of sushi and washed it down with cold green tea. Then she grimaced and leaned toward Skye. In a hushed voice she said, “If I have to eat any more of my mother’s sushi rolls, I think I’ll throw up.”

Skye’s dumpling slipped from her chopsticks and plopped back into the
o-bento
box. She turned to Maya. “Really? I thought you liked them. I do.”

Maya shrugged. “They’re okay. But my mom never makes anything American.” Maya looked up and down the table, then lowered her voice again. “The problem is, no one here has anything good to trade. Like a bologna sandwich with mayo and lettuce.”

Skye laughed. “Maya the Bologna-Sandwich Eater. I never would have guessed.”

Maya’s eyes opened wide and she grinned. “I love bologna. But my mom doesn’t.”

Skye chewed on a dumpling and thought about what Maya had said. She liked most of the stuff her dad made, but not all of it. She didn’t like all of her mom’s recipes, either—especially meat loaf.

“I’ll tell you what,” Skye said. “Next Saturday I’ll bring you a bologna sandwich. Mayo and lettuce, right?”

Maya smiled. “And I’ll bring you one of my mom’s
eho-maki.
I’ll need some good-fortune rolls for my exam.”

Skye doubted Maya needed any luck. “Just in case,” Skye added, “I’ll use the lucky bologna for our sandwiches.” Maya laughed.

Skye realized that they’d been speaking in Japanese the whole time, and she hadn’t even thought of grammar once. She hadn’t needed to search her brain for a single Japanese word. In soccer, every move came naturally to Skye. With Japanese, nothing felt natural. Until now. Maybe her Japanese wasn’t perfect, but it felt like it was becoming a part of her—a part that she’d never realized was missing.