While I Was Away Read online

  Relieved, that afternoon I ventured out of the classroom to play tag with my guruupu. Naomi-chan was “it” or the oni (which means demon) first. She tagged me, and I tagged Midori-chan, who looked really annoyed I would even dare. Yamashita-san let Midori-chan tag her. Then Yamashita-san chased and tagged me. I tagged Naomi-chan next, but then Yamashita-san allowed Naomi-chan to tag her. With Midori and Naomi in my way, I wasn’t able to run far before Yamashita-san tagged me. Again.

  “Oni-da!” She ran away, laughing. “Waka-chan is the oni!” The only thing worse than being teased was thinking you weren’t going to be teased anymore, but then you are. Mad as heck, I chased Yamashita-san and her bouncing, flipping ponytail out of the room, not caring that I bumped into Midori on the way out. The other girls scooted out of the way as I barreled toward Yamashita-san. As she dashed into an empty classroom, I tailed right behind, closing in on her. As I was about to catch her, she dashed out the classroom again. I lunged after her and she slid the classroom door shut—BANG!—right on my head.

  She stopped running as I staggered, my eyes blinking as I struggled with how bright the room had suddenly become. Tears from the pain sprang into my eyes and I gasped, willing them not to fall. No way I’d let Yamashita-san know she had gotten to me! No way. My face turned puffy and red and the tears fell anyway. I gasped, unable to catch my breath.

  Midori and Naomi showed up. “What happened?” they asked.

  Yamashita-san shrugged as she examined her ponytail for split ends. “Who knows?”

  Back in the classroom during the last few minutes of break, I didn’t open my book again. I just sat there choking back my tears, not caring about my puffy red face. In the next few minutes, I knew I needed to pull myself together before the rest of the class returned. My anger toward Yamashita-san stemmed the flow of my tears, but couldn’t hide the fact I had cried, that I had let them get to me.

  I worked so hard. I worked during the summer, harder than I ever had to work for school, but none of that mattered. I still made mistake after mistake. I stepped into a Japanese house with my shoe on like a true gaijin. I thought I was finally fitting in, but that was a mistake—I didn’t fit in at all—not then, not now, not ever. I made a mistake when I opened the door for 6-4 when I thought it was 6-5. It was a mistake to bring my book that day. It was a mistake to think that would change how anyone thought of me. I clearly made a mistake in which group I chose. But the biggest mistake of all belonged to my parents for sending me here in the first place.

  Twenty-One

  “Waka-chan, daijyoubu?” Reiko asked me if I felt okay on the way to school the next day.

  I took my time before I answered. I told Reiko earlier about the door-slamming incident with Yamashita-san. But it wasn’t just that. How much longer could I deal with everyone’s teasing? In what new and different ways would I embarrass myself during the two months left of my stay? I didn’t share my school problems with Obaasama because I didn’t want her to think I was more baka than she probably thought I was. Plus, I didn’t want her to tell my parents. Oh my God, what if they found out how bad I was at Japanese and decided I needed to stay longer?

  “Maa maa. . . .” So-so. That was as good a description I could manage today.

  “You know, kids sometime call me and Tomoko gaijin too . . .”

  I stopped in my tracks. “What? Because you hang out with me?”

  Reiko laughed. “No, silly, because of our hair.”

  Their hair? Reiko and her little sister had awesome hair.

  “Your hair’s so pretty!” I exclaimed. I would kill to have Reiko’s and Tomoko’s deep brown hair with auburn highlights.

  “Do you think so? Well, it certainly is different . . .”

  “I think it’s ridiculous people call you gaijin for something like that.”

  “I guess we’re all a tiny bit gaijin in our own way,” Reiko smiled. I smiled back. A little smile, anyway.

  We walked together in silence for another minute.

  Reiko blurted out, “If it’s a matter of just playing with Emi-chan’s group, you know I’d be okay, right?”

  I stopped and looked up at Reiko, genuine concern on her face. I didn’t realize she knew about that.

  “But their rule is so stupid,” I frowned. “It’s stupid we wouldn’t be able to play because we’re in different classes. It’s—”

  “At least think about it,” Reiko said. “Sometimes I think you make life harder for yourself than it needs to be.”

  What was she saying? It sounded like she was okay not being friends anymore, so did that mean she didn’t want to be friends? Reiko and I parted ways as we entered our separate classrooms, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was going our separate ways for real. I felt tired and beaten down.

  A boy greeted me with, “Look, it’s the Pervert!”

  My shoulders slumped as I put my backpack away.

  Another shuuji calligraphy lesson, another set of kanji. Today’s kanji was 自然 (shizen), which means “nature.” If you add ni after, it means “naturally.” Today’s kanji looked way more complicated than the first character—友 (tomo)—we worked on during our first shuuji lesson. While tomo was only four strokes, shizen was six strokes for the first, and then a whopping twelve strokes for the second character. Altogether, eighteen strokes.

  I rubbed my ink stick against its tablet and paused to touch the bump on my head where Yamashita-san had hurt me. My anger at her flooded back for a second, but then ebbed away and was replaced with regret, when I looked over at Midori-chan. She used to be my friend and I had hoped she still would be. But she never stood up for me. She laughed at me and ignored me. I finally came to terms with the fact she wasn’t the same person she used to be . . . and neither was I. That I would have to stop trying to make our friendship work, that I would have to let it go the course it had been headed.

  Shortly before the end of summer break, I received a letter from my friend Kris. I had written to her in a panic after Annette had told me that even after I returned, “it’s going to be hard to get used to.”

  Kris wrote back:

  The seventh grade is OK I guess. Believe it or not, I’m not in Aunor’s Math. Oh well. At least I’m in Aunor’s Language Arts. Woopee. Eric and I have Aunor’s Biology and L.A. together. Gag me!

  Waka, I don’t think you should worry that when you come back you won’t have a friend. I MISS YOU! So does a lot of people. And your right. Oct. 31st is a long time away. It’s TOO LONG.

  And then she included this coded message for me:

  CODE

  W K D D O K O T A

  A A I Y U N W H T

  E I I A A S W L H I

  R C S N S ? E L E S

  A D E A E Y I O E

  N H S V R B G N .

  Even though it was clear honors English might be a bit of a struggle for Kris, it was easy to be friends with her. Friendships shouldn’t be forced, or difficult. The best friendships were the ones that occurred shizen ni—naturally.

  Reiko was the only person I enjoyed spending more than a short amount of time with here. She never made fun of how I talked, or the questions I asked about things every twelve-year-old Japanese kid should know but I didn’t. But then, I wondered, was it hard for Reiko to have me as a friend? I thought about her comment, about how I made life harder for myself than it needed to be . . . and then I worried maybe I created trouble for her.

  I spotted Reiko during a break later in the day. “I thought about what you said earlier. I just realized maybe I haven’t been a good friend to you.”

  “What? Why?” asked Reiko.

  “Because I haven’t thought of how your being friends with me might affect you. I mean, do other girls in your class make fun of you because you’re friends with—?”

  “Don’t you worry about that at all!” Reiko exclaimed. “What do you want? I want you to do what’s best for—”

  I decided just to be honest, and blurted out, “You’re my best friend here an
d I want us to stay friends. I . . . I don’t need a group.” Shizen ni, naturally. Trying to fit into a group, I decided, was unnatural. At least the way I tried to do it. Just like Reiko had said, maybe I did make things harder for myself than I needed to.

  Reiko broke out in a huge grin. “Good! That’s what I hoped you’d say.”

  At that moment, a trio of boys spied us talking.

  “Look, it’s the Peeper!” called out Suzuki-kun, the chubby boy with the buzz cut who had tormented me from Day One.

  I spun on my heel and started to walk away. Reiko grabbed my arm. “If you don’t face them, they’ll never stop.”

  “They’ll never stop either way.”

  “No, they will. Come on, I’ll walk with you.”

  Reiko linked her arm in with my own and marched me straight toward them. The boys looked surprised, but resumed their taunts as we approached.

  “Stupid pervert.”

  “Foreigner!”

  I avoided eye contact with them as much as possible, but Reiko glared at each and every one of them.

  “You’re the stupid idiots, so why don’t you just shut your ugly mouths!” Reiko retorted. They stopped, thrown off-balance by her attack.

  “Yeah, that’s right. I’m talking to you with your dumb pig face and your dumb pig nose!” she said right to Suzuki-kun. His face fell and we both knew she hit him where it hurts.

  Shizen was a lot harder to write than tomo, in some ways, but it also came out so much better. Being friends with Midori-chan and her group felt forced, not natural at all. In fact, being in a hard-and-fast group, period, felt unnatural, at least for me. On the other hand, being friends with Reiko came about shizen ni—naturally.

  It was time to leave my group, time to stop being who I wasn’t.

  It was time for me to be me.

  Twenty-Two

  As we passed mid-September, the weather remained warm, but the sun no longer beat down on us relentlessly. Instead, it shone with bright, clear rays—the heat dry now, not humid. The energy that left me during the summer began to come back. Obaasama and I returned to the easy rhythm we had established before summer vacation. We ran errands together on the weekends. As the weather cooled, she no longer made chilled soba noodles, but dishes that would warm me up inside instead, like curry rice. Our Jell-O supply was all gone, but Obaasama sometimes brought home fresh mochi rice cakes stuffed with sweet red beans for a special treat.

  “Tadaima!” I yelled when I came home.

  “Ah, okaerinasai,” Obaasama welcomed me home. “How was school?”

  “Reiko invited me over to do our homework together, is that okay?” I asked Obaasama.

  “I thought today we could . . . sure, that’s fine,” Obaasama responded.

  And then I dashed across the street.

  Reiko and I spent almost every afternoon after school together. Her mom set out snacks like crunchy sembei rice crackers and fruit for us, and Reiko’s little sister, Tomoko, sat with and gabbed to us about her day. Reiko rolled her eyes at little Tomoko, but I thought she was cute. It didn’t hurt that she idolized me either.

  Reiko helped me practice my kanji more, and even though following the correct stroke order didn’t make sense to me, Reiko promised it made kanji easier to learn. And it was easier . . . a little. I began to feel the rhythm behind the strokes. I no longer wallowed in the 5/10 zone. This week, Mr. Adachi gave me a 7/10. But that was still a C− to me. I had to do better.

  One hundred percent. That was my goal. And I wanted to read in front of everyone before it was time to go home.

  Home . . . my stomach flip-flopped when I thought about it. I only had about a month and a half left, which was still a long time, but I didn’t feel as desperate about it as I had in May. With the bullies at bay, my studies improving, my grandma who smiled every once in a while, and a friend who I truly liked and liked me back, well . . . it’s hard to explain, but I wasn’t as worried about what I missed back at home. My heart still jumped when I received letters, but I didn’t feel as left out as much as I used to. Plus, sometimes what I did here in Japan actually sounded like more fun than what my friends did back in Kansas.

  That afternoon after Reiko and I finished our homework, we showed Tomoko how to embroider. She sat next to me, her attention focused like a laser on my fingers.

  “And then to finish the stitch, you just go like this,” I swooped the thread around with an exaggerated twirl, “and then—”

  Reiko burst out laughing.

  “What?”

  “It’s a stitch, not a nagenawa—”

  “A what?”

  Reiko mimed twirling a lasso over her head. “Nagenawa.”

  Tomoko began to giggle, and I joined in their laughter too. I didn’t know why my stitching technique struck us as so supremely ridiculous, but we couldn’t stop. It was the hardest I’d laughed my whole time in Japan.

  Reiko’s mom came into the room to see what all the commotion was about. She smiled at us and asked, “Waka-chan, would you like to stay for dinner?”

  I stayed for pizza or tacos at Annette’s and Kris’s houses all the time, but this was the first I’d been invited to stay at a friend’s house for dinner in Japan. Of course, I wanted to but . . . would I be trouble? Would Obaasama mind? Would—

  Before I could finish my list of reasons why maybe I couldn’t, Tomoko burst out, “Oh yes, please! That would be so much fun. Please stay!”

  Reiko chimed in with her little sister, “Mom’s making chicken karaage, can you stay? Oh, I know you’d like it!”

  Reiko’s mom smiled again. “Let me call your grandmother.”

  I waited as Reiko’s mom dialed the phone. Reiko, Tomoko, and I spoke in hushed tones while we listened in on Reiko’s mom’s side of the conversation.

  “No, it’s not any trouble at all. . . . They’ve been having so much fun . . . yes, she’s such a good girl. They finished their homework. . . . Of course, she’ll be home right afterwards.”

  Reiko, Tomoko, and I jumped up and down. I would stay!

  Dinner was as delicious as Reiko said it would be. Although I’d had karaage before, Reiko’s mom’s fried chicken was super tasty—hot, crispy, and juicy all at once.

  “Waka-chan, help yourself,” urged Reiko’s mother.

  I took only a little. It smelled so good, but I didn’t want to eat more than my share. I tried to show enryo, or “restraint,” which was a very Japanese thing to do, at least that’s what my mom had said.

  “Waka-chan, enryo shinaide.” Reiko urged me not to hold back, which was also a very Japanese thing for a host to say to her guest.

  I watched Reiko and Tomoko take lots of chicken so, you know what they say, “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.” I took more because I didn’t want Reiko’s mom to think I didn’t like her karaage!

  Tomoko peeled the crispy chicken skin off her pieces and ate them separately.

  “Tomoko, don’t be gross,” scolded Reiko.

  “I like the skin,” smiled Tomoko as she crunched the crispy, golden, greasy morsels. “Waka-chan, do you like your karaage with or without the skin?”

  Back home, my mom took the skin off the chicken before she marinated it in ginger, soy, and green onions. Then she breaded and fried it, and it was delicious. Reiko’s mom made it a different way. The flavoring was similar, but she left the skin on. “I like the skin,” I told Tomoko.

  Reiko’s mom looked happy, but Tomoko looked disappointed.

  “But I’ll share mine with you.” I peeled the skin off a piece and used my chopsticks to place it on Tomoko’s plate.

  Reiko sighed and shook her head. “Waka-chan, you’re too nice to her.”

  Tomoko smiled at Reiko and me. “I think Waka-chan is my favorite of all your friends.”

  Reiko’s mom hung back in the kitchen like my mother did, making sure to feed everyone first. She fried batches of karaage while Reiko, Tomoko, and I debated the pros and cons of fried chicken with skin versus fried chicken
without skin. She smiled as she delivered each batch, only sitting down with us once the last of the chicken had been prepared. Reiko’s dad hadn’t come home yet; he worked late like my dad, but that was fine with all of us. We ate and ate and ate until our bellies were full to bursting.

  After dinner as the light outside dimmed, Reiko’s mother gently prompted, “We should get you back!” I thanked her with a “Gochisousama deshita,” and gathered my school backpack.

  They waved as I walked across the street back home. But when I entered the gate, something seemed . . . off.

  The house was shuttered, like my cousins’ beach cottage had been before we arrived. Dark wooden reinforcements covered up the glass doors I could normally see inside, but now they were closed and locked like no one was there. I knocked softly. No answer. I knocked louder. Still no answer.

  Maybe Obaasama was in the garden. That would explain why she didn’t hear me knock! I was sure that’s where she was.

  I walked around the house to the back gate, the one I entered through four months before.

  “Obaasama?” I called out. A bird flapped its wings and flew out of its tree, making my heart jump into my throat. It startled me as much as I startled it.

  I walked around, but Obaasama wasn’t there, just the orange and white koi resting underneath the still-glass surface of the pond. Not even the mosquitoes were out anymore.

  The rattling glass door to the living room was shuttered, too, and all the curtains were drawn. I had never seen the house like this before. Was this how it looked every evening? I wouldn’t know since I’d always been inside at night up until this point, but I had never witnessed Obaasama putting up the shutters. Like a storm was about to hit.

  I knocked on the window to our bedroom. No answer, no movement, no sign of anyone at home. My heart skipped a beat. Something was wrong. Obaasama, was she okay? My hands went cold. What if . . . ?

  I stood outside in the cool autumn air and the rapidly dimming light. What should I do? I worried. I didn’t want to bother them, but I didn’t know who else to turn to. I headed back to Reiko’s house.