The Year of the Dog Read online

“Don’t worry,” Ms. McCurdy told me. “You’ll find an idea. It will come to you.”

  But I worried. Finding a book idea was like finding myself. And I wasn’t having much luck with either!

  Chapter 18

  The School Play

  AT THE SAME TIME AS THE BOOK PROJECT, WE were also working on The Wizard of Oz. There were rehearsals every week. Since I was only a munchkin, I thought rehearsals were pretty boring.

  “I should’ve signed up for the orchestra, like you,” I told Melody. “Who ever heard of a Chinese munchkin?”

  “That’s not why I signed up for the orchestra,” Melody said. “Besides, no one will see you, probably.”

  “That’s true,” I said, thinking about all the kids that were munchkins on stage. All we did was stand around and sing songs.

  But one day, Ms. Malone said, “Right before the song, we need a munchkin to give Dorothy a thank-you gift for killing the Wicked Witch. Grace, we’ll have you do it.”

  Me! But then everyone would see me! What if I handed Dorothy the gift and everyone in the audience whispered to each other, “A Chinese munchkin? There’s no such thing as a Chinese munchkin!”

  I tried to say something, but Ms. Malone had hurried on to the Cowardly Lion.

  That day when I got home from school, Mom asked me what was wrong.

  “Uh-oh,” Mom said, “you have a grumpy face. What’s wrong today?”

  “Miss Malone made me the munchkin that gives Dorothy the gift,” I said.

  “Isn’t that good?” Mom asked. “Now you have a part that’s more special.”

  “No,” I told her. “It’s horrible. It’s so stupid that she picked me.”

  “Why is it stupid?” Mom asked. “I would think you’d be proud.”

  “Now everyone will see me!” I said. “Before, no one would notice me, but now I’ll stick out. People will say, ‘Grace is a munchkin?’ and then they’ll laugh at me. Everyone is going to laugh at me!”

  “Hmm,” Mom said. “You sound like I did before my first day of school. Did I ever tell you about that?”

  MOM’S FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL

  The night before my first day of school, my mother told me that Amah, my grandmother, was going to bring me. Now, remember, Amah grew up during a time when women bound their feet to make them smaller. Binding their feet did make them smaller, but oh, how painful it was to walk on them! So, because it was so difficult for Amah to walk, it was decided that Amah would walk me to school and wait outside for me all day until it was time to bring me back so she wouldn’t have to make an extra trip.

  Now, was I grateful for Amah’s sacrifice? No! I was embarrassed. What would my classmates think of me when my grandmother walked me to school and sat all day in the schoolyard waiting for me? They would think I was a baby who needed someone nearby all the time. I pleaded and begged for my parents to let me go alone or for someone else to bring me. But they refused.

  The next day, I dreaded going to school. Usually I liked walking with Amah. Unlike walking with my mother or father, whose large steps made me hop like a rabbit, Amah always walked slowly and deliberately, picking her steps like the way you choose peaches at the market. But today, I hated walking with Amah. I dragged my feet as if they were stuck to the ground with honey. I hoped that by getting to school late, no one would see Amah walking with me.

  On the way, we met up with another student, a round-faced boy named Xiao-Jay, who was walking with his grandmother as well. He scowled at me with fierce anger and I started to feel that school was going to be a very unhappy and unfriendly place.

  The bell was ringing when we finally reached the school. So far, my plan was working. I hoped that no one noticed Amah as I left her outside. But my relief was short-lived because as soon as my classmates sat down in their seats, Xiao-Jay made a noise like a teakettle. ‘Look out the window!’ he laughed and pointed.

  I was horrified. Was this terrible boy pointing at Amah and laughing at her? I joined my classmates at the window, and then I started laughing, too.

  Outside, in the schoolyard, sat a whole row of grandmothers.

  “They sat there like a line of birds on a telephone wire, gossiping and sharing tea. Everyone’s grandmother was out there. I didn’t need to feel embarrassed about Amah waiting for me the whole day,” Mom finished, “because everyone else’s grandmother was doing the same thing.”

  “But it’s not the same with the play,” I said.

  “Isn’t it, though?” Mom asked. “You’re so worried about your part, you aren’t seeing that there is nothing to worry about.”

  “Maybe,” I said, but I did feel better.

  Chapter 19

  The Wizard of Oz

  ON THE NIGHT OF THE SCHOOL PLAY, THE SKY was as quiet as a feather falling. It was still and silent without movement from the wind or snow. I couldn’t understand it at all. How could it be so calm when the play was about to happen?

  Backstage, everyone was running around, getting dressed and putting on makeup. Tin cans were being polished, straw was taped on, and green backdrops were whizzing around. Cathy Small, who played Glinda, had gotten her hair permed just for the occasion.

  I didn’t have much to do. I had already put on my flowered munchkin apron and bonnet. Even though I didn’t look like a munchkin, my costume was perfect. Most of the munchkins had used old clothes belonging to their parents or grandparents to make their costumes, but my parents didn’t have anything that looked right. So Mom and I went to the store and I picked out a leaf-green material with delicate rosebuds scattered on it. It was called calico, which was what the American pioneer girls wore, and it was exactly right for a munchkin.

  I also had my gift that I was supposed to hand to Dorothy. It was a shoe box covered with sapphire blue wrapping paper and a big red bow. It was completely empty. I could toss it in the air like a balloon. But that didn’t matter because Dorothy never ended up opening it—which I didn’t think was right. If I were given a gift from a munchkin, I’d open it right away.

  Melody and I watched everyone rush around. It was as if there were a hurricane happening all around us.

  “This is why I didn’t try out to be Dorothy,” Melody told me. “Too stressful!”

  “True,” I said, “but it’s exciting, too. When you’re one of us, without an important role, it’s pretty boring.”

  “You’ve got an important role,” Melody said. “You’re the gift-giving munchkin!”

  “Yeah, I’m giving an empty box,” I said. “Great present!”

  “Actually, Danny Dog has the biggest role out of all of us,” Melody laughed. Danny Dog was Melody’s stuffed animal. He was going to be Toto. Becky had volunteered Scruffy, but Ms. Malone said a real dog would be “unreliable,” so Melody brought fuzzy, chocolate-colored Danny Dog. Most of the time, Danny Dog was carried in Dorothy’s basket, so he didn’t really get to do much either—though one of the boys did bark offstage to give him a voice.

  Melody was dressed all in black. All the orchestra was dressed in black so they wouldn’t be too obvious. Melody wanted to wear black makeup, too, but Ms. Malone said it wouldn’t be necessary.

  “Grace, Melody,” Ms. Malone said. “Get to your places. The curtains will go up in ten minutes.”

  Melody waved good-bye as she went to the orchestra pit, which was the area in front of the stage. I joined the other munchkins and thought about the play.

  First, Emma would be in her blue-checkered Dorothy costume (which was made from a tablecloth) talking to Toto (Danny Dog) and then the curtains would open and show Oz. Then the munchkins would come and sing and then I would give the gift. I knew Mom was right and probably everyone was too busy thinking about their own parts to wonder why there was a Chinese munchkin, but I was still worried. Would they laugh and whisper?

  I heard clapping from the audience. It was loud. That meant there were probably a lot of people! I tried to smooth out the wrinkled wrapping paper on my gift.

  Ms. Malone beckoned
us and all the munchkins filed through the door and went onstage.

  Never before did the stage feel so big. I was glad there were other munchkins in front and in back of me. Emma looked so much like Dorothy with her braided hair and blue and white dress that I forgot for a second that I was in a play, and I thought I was watching her on TV. The orchestra played and the munchkins began to sing. As soon as the song was over, it would be time for ME. I opened and closed my mouth, but no words came out. I just looked at the space between Dorothy and me. How many steps would it be? Ten? Fourteen?

  Suddenly, one of the munchkins nudged me.

  “Grace!” the munchkin hissed. “Go!”

  It was time! I walked forward, and there was a bright spotlight on me. I tried to look into the audience, but I couldn’t see anyone. I didn’t hear anything except for my own breathing. With every step I got closer to Emma and she smiled at me, a play smile full of teeth—one for the audience. As she took the gift, I felt like I was giving her a ten-pound rice sack. I curtsied like we had practiced, and as I looked at my shoes I heard thunder. It was applause! For me! No one had laughed or whispered about a Chinese munchkin at all! I smiled into the bright light toward the audience as I headed back to join the rest of the munchkins.

  The rest of the play floated by like a soap bubble. Once I looked down at the orchestra pit and saw Melody making faces at me. I didn’t dare make one back at her, but I couldn’t help laughing. I pulled my bonnet over my face so no one could see.

  After Dorothy clicked her heels three times and the play was over, everyone lined up for a bow. The audience gave us a standing ovation! That meant we must have been really good. I bet I had been the best gift-giving Chinese munchkin ever!

  Chapter 20

  Digging Up a Book Idea

  WHEN THE PLAY WAS OVER, EVERYONE WAS concentrating on the book project. Almost everyone had finished writing his or her stories and I hadn’t even thought of a good idea. I still had writer’s block! I knew Ms. McCurdy said an idea would come to me, but I didn’t want to get a bad grade on the project because of writer’s block. But I couldn’t think of anything unique about me. I thought about writing about the science fair, like Melody, but since we didn’t discover anything it didn’t seem like it was a good idea. I thought about writing about Albert’s Red Egg party, but that was about Albert, not me.

  When I got home from school that day, I found Mom in the backyard. Spring was here; the snow had melted away for good and had left everything smelling like a wet towel. The leaves on the trees were just starting to peek out, looking like small emerald ornaments hanging on the branches, and my shoes were coated with mud, as if they had been dipped in chocolate. It was gardening time.

  “Uh-oh,” Mom said. “Grumpy face again. Did something go wrong at school?”

  “I have writer’s block,” I told her. “I can’t think of an idea to write for my book project. Everyone else is almost done writing their stories and I haven’t even started.”

  “Hmm,” Mom said. “Maybe if you help me dig, it’ll loosen up your writer’s block and give you an idea.”

  “That won’t give me an idea!” I laughed. “You just want me to help you!”

  Still, I put on my blue garden overalls and helped Mom dig anyway. Mom always needed help with her garden. It was because she grew special Chinese vegetables. It took a lot of time. We would dig and dig and then plant seeds that looked like medicine pills. After that we would water the whole garden with a hose so much that it looked as if there had been a flood.

  While we were digging, Mom tried to help me come up with ideas.

  “Why don’t you write about the school play?” she suggested. “Or Chinese New Year?”

  I kept shaking my head. None of the ideas seemed right. I threw the ideas away like we threw the dirt from our shovels. Soon we were both tired and decided to take a rest.

  “I don’t know if I’m more tired from digging dirt or digging for an idea for you,” Mom said. “Digging is hard work.”

  “If you planted flowers instead of Chinese vegetables,” I told her, “we wouldn’t have to work so hard.”

  “But then you wouldn’t get to eat your favorite soup,” Mom told me. “Do you remember the first time I planted Chinese vegetables?”

  I remembered. Mom’s whole garden had been full of weird-looking Chinese vegetables—they were yellow and bumpy and lumpy. Some of them looked like warty frogs and some looked like purple sausages. I couldn’t understand why she wanted to grow them. But when she made soup out of them, I changed my mind. The soup was SO good; eating it was like swallowing a nice warm hug after being in the cold.

  “You thought they were ugly vegetables,” Mom laughed.

  “They still are ugly,” I told her, “but they taste delicious. Yummy ugly vegetables!”

  Suddenly it hit me. Here was a good idea for my book. I could write about the ugly vegetables and me!

  “You were right,” I told Mom. “Digging cured my writer’s block!”

  “Good,” she said. “Now just imagine what will happen when you help me water.”

  Chapter 21

  Making a Book

  NOW THAT I HAD MY BOOK IDEA, I HAD TO WRITE the story. This wasn’t easy. It took me all night to write the story. And that was just the first time. Mom read it and made me change things. Then Dad read it and made me change things. Lissy read it and told me to change everything, but I didn’t listen to her. Finally, I read it to Ki-Ki and Melody and they said it was perfect. So, I brought it to school. Ms. McCurdy read it and liked it very much. But she made me change things, too. So I had to write my story over three times! Then, I had to type it all out. Mom helped me, but it still took a long time.

  After the story was done, I drew and painted picture after picture. It was fun painting and drawing. I used all my favorite colors like rose violet and vermilion red. I made the vegetables look even uglier than they were in real life… and I made myself look prettier by making my eyelashes longer and always wearing a long, beautiful dress. I looked like a princess!

  But, it was easy to make mistakes. Sometimes I would have to paint a picture two or three times before it was perfect. I never knew it was so hard to make a book! I even ran out of paint. Dad went out and bought me some new ones.

  “The man at the store said these paints were not for beginners,” Dad told me, “and I told him, ‘My daughter is not a beginner!’”

  I pasted the pictures and my story onto the pages. Ms. McCurdy and Mr. Valente helped me bind the book. I was so proud. If I won the contest, I couldn’t imagine what they would do to it to make it more like a real book.

  Before we sent the books to the contest, Ms. McCurdy showed each book to the class. I was embarrassed when she showed mine. I probably shouldn’t have tried to make myself look prettier; it was kind of silly to garden in a long dress! I hoped they’d let me change that if it was ever printed as a real book.

  Ms. McCurdy put all the books in the library on a special shelf she saved for us. She put them alphabetically by author, just like they did with real books. Mine was right next to Melody’s.

  Ms. McCurdy said we wouldn’t hear from the contest until next year. She warned all of us not to hope too hard about winning the contest. She said it was a contest that everyone in the whole country would be entering, so it would be difficult to win. But, she also said, we should be proud of our books because they were all good and deserved to win a prize.

  Next year was a long time to wait, I thought. But if they had to read the books of everyone in the whole country, I guess it made sense. Ms. McCurdy gave us our grades. I got an A+!

  Melody came over to my house after school. She got an A on her book, too.

  “Good job!” Mom said when we told her the news.

  Mom sliced some red bean paste candy for us to snack on as a reward. The mahogany-colored candy was soft and sweet and coated our mouths.

  “Did Ms. McCurdy say anything about your books besides your grade?” Mom
asked.

  “She said mine was beautiful,” I said, nodding my head.

  “Mine was ‘Wonderfully unique,’” Melody said.

  “Whose book did you like the best?” Mom asked.

  “Sam Mercer’s,” Melody said, giving me a nudge. Now that Teddy had a girlfriend, we both liked Sam. “His book was all about a knight who killed people.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a nice book,” Mom said.

  “No,” we said in unison, “it was great!”

  Chapter 22

  No More School!

  AFTER THE BOOK PROJECT WAS OVER, THE DAYS disappeared like dumplings on a plate. The sun shone with the yellow of summer and the wind blew a breeze that felt like it came from an oven. Almost before I knew it, the last bell was ringing and Melody and I were running to my house to celebrate the end of the school year.

  Mom took out some crumbly almond cookies for us. Melody loved eating at my house. We had lots of food that was not nutritious.

  “What is your family doing this summer?” Mom asked Melody.

  “We’re going to TAC camp again,” she told us, “and then we’re visiting my Aunt Alice in New Jersey.”

  “What’s TAC camp?” I asked.

  “Oh, it’s a camp for Taiwanese-Americans. We all get together and do things,” she told me. “We go every summer. We spend a week there and then we go see my Aunt Alice the next week.”

  “That sounds boring,” I said.

  “No, it’s fun!” Melody said. “We sing songs and go to art class—all the usual fun camp things, except everyone is Taiwanese. Maybe you should come!”

  “But I can’t speak Taiwanese like you,” I said.