Kimchi And Calamari Part 15

I blew past her excitedly, my backpack banging up and down.

"What did they say?" I called as I charged into the kitchen.

Mom's face was flushed. She didn't answer, but she crossed her arms across her tank top and looked down at the kitchen floor.

"Did you call the agency?" I asked.

"Have some lemonade before we talk," she said.

Years ago, before we got Frazer, I had a pet hamster named Billybob. One day while I was at school, Mom found Billybob balled up stiff in the corner of the cage. That moment Mom had the same expression as when Billybob died.

"Tell me." I wiped my forehead.

Mom sat in a kitchen chair, but I kept standing, leaning against the fridge and tapping my foot. And not like I was playing the timpani for fun either.

"I'm sorry, Joseph. Hea can't be your birth mother. I called Jae today, before I called the adoption agency. To check on her aunt's religion. It turns out Hea isn't Christian like your birth mother."

I swallowed hard. "So what? The agency could've made a mistake."

Mom shook her head. "I talked to the social worker, too. She checked the files."

"She doesn't know what she's talking about!" I pounded my fist against the fridge. Magnets and papers went flying.

"No, honey. We got you earlier than expected because the agency honored your birth mother's wish. And the social worker told me that in all likelihood your mother didn't live in Pusan like Hea. She said it was common for mothers from surrounding villages to leave their babies in the city."

"You wanted this to happen. You didn't want me to know!" I screamed, my whole body quivering.

"No, Joseph! G.o.d no!" Mom started crying.

I cried too, heavy, like a dam unleashed. Mom rushed over and put her arms around me, but I pushed her back.

"Leave me alone!" I growled like a wounded dog.

I pushed the patio screen door open and ran out to the backyard. Past Mom's flowers, past Dad's tomato plants, way back to the shade of the willow tree. I sank down into the coolness of the gra.s.s, my head between my knees so no one would see my tears. But Mom followed and sat down next to me. She wrapped her arms across my shoulders and patted my back.

I cried so hard I started hiccupping. Mom kept holding me, wiping back my hair and tears with her purple fingernails.

"How could she just dump me like a bag of trash?" I wailed. "I hate her!" And I did. I hated my birth mother and all the real Koreans. All their faces merged into a kaleidoscope of tears and scowls and empty ba.s.sinets.

"I'm sure she loved you, Joseph. She probably felt so frightened, being young, unmarried, and pregnant." Mascara ran down her cheeks. "I know she thinks of you all the time, every single day."

"I came so close to finding her."

"I know this feels awful, but even if you don't find your birth mother-or at least not now-you will find out more about who you are. And this time your father and I will help. We promise."

The back gate swung open. "Mr. Twistee is coming down the street, Mom! Can we get ice cream?" Sophie shouted. Gina stood next to her with water dripping from her bikini.

I pulled away from Mom.

"Take some coins from the lunch money jar and leave us alone," Mom said firmly.

"Why's Joseph crying?" Gina asked.

I didn't stick around for the answer. I leaped toward the house. As I pa.s.sed Mom's flowers, I pointed at Saint Joseph's concrete chin.

"It's all your fault!" I shouted.

"Phone, Joseph!" Gina yelled outside my bedroom door, later that evening.

"Go away."

"But it's a girl. You always talk when girls call."

"I don't care if it's a supermodel. Buzz off."

Close to dinnertime came another knock. "Come eat something, sweetie," Mom said softly.

I kept the door locked and my eyes staring up at Pegasus on the ceiling, though it was harder to make out the stars during daytime.

Finally I dozed off. When I woke, my Spidey clock flashed 7:52. The sun was setting, and I heard two fists banging from the hallway.

"You gotta let us in, Joseph," Gina pleaded. "We've got three ice-cream sandwiches and a can of root beer we snuck out of the kitchen while Mommy and Daddy went for a walk. If they come home and catch us up here with this stuff, we're dead meat."

"And the ice cream is melting!" Sophie added.

I let them in. They wouldn't care that I had puffy red eyes.

The three of us sat by the foot of my bed in silence, eating drippy ice-cream sandwiches and taking turns gulping the soda. I took a long sip and pa.s.sed the root beer to Sophie.

"Aren't you going to say, 'No backwash' like you always do?" she asked.

I shook my head. I still wasn't up for talking.

"It's because he's got hurt feelings," Gina said, patting me on the arm with her sticky fingers. "Mom told us everything."

"Told you what?"

"About your birth mother being missing."

"She's not missing, Gina. It's more like she's hiding." Why was I discussing this with two clueless second graders?

"That makes us really mad!" Sophie shouted.

"Why are you guys mad?"

"Your birth mother is not nice!" Gina agreed, her eyes narrowing behind her gla.s.ses. "She's wicked like the evil queen in Snow White."

"No, she's not. You just don't get it." I shook my head, but for some strange reason, I suddenly felt a little better.

"Joseph's right, Gina. We shouldn't be mad at his birth mother. I'm glad she let Mommy and Daddy have him because otherwise he wouldn't be in the same family. He wouldn't be our brother." Sophie flashed those big brown eyes of hers. She looked so innocent that I felt guilty for all the times I swore she was possessed.

Gina licked her fingers. "You're wrong, Sophie. Joseph would always be our brother. It's just his birth mother would be our mom."

"Then who would Mommy be?" Sophie asked, totally confused.

"She'd be your hairdresser," I said, fighting back a laugh.

The Three-Eyed Alien.

We had a sub in English the next day who let us talk, but I was in no mood for chitchat. Especially with all the jabbering about who was going with who to the dumb dance. Like I cared about eating chicken wings in that stinky gym with a tie on. I mean, I was happy for Nash; Ok-hee had said yes. And her parents were okay with it too-in part because Nash was friends with me, so they figured he wasn't a serial killer or anything. But hearing the rest of the eighth-grade lovebirds annoyed me. Then I overheard Jackie Tozzi say that Kelly was going to the Farewell Formal with Lewis Knight, and that did it. I finished my worksheet, got a pa.s.s, and escaped to the library.

"Hey, Joseph!"

I peeked in the gym as I pa.s.sed, only to see Yongsu waving at me and bouncing a Hacky Sack next to Whitney Bailey. That was a surprise. We call her the Wordless Word Queen because she won the state spelling bee twice, but other than that she barely opens her mouth. Yet there she was, giggling away with Yongsu.

At least someone felt happy.

I walked to the back of the library and searched through the stacks of old Mad magazines. They usually cheer me up, even on the darkest day. Finally I found one from two years ago that I hadn't read yet.

"I've been waiting for you," a throaty voice growled from behind me.

I jumped, turned around, and nearly fell back into the shelves. A three-eyed alien glared at me!

Then a hand with half-moon fingernails pulled off the mask. "Gotcha!" Robyn laughed so hard she dropped her alligator mini-pack.

I stood up and shook my head. "Yeah, you got me" was all I could say. But then I cracked up, too. Why is it that getting scared-to-death actually feels hilarious afterward?

"Serves you right. Don't you return phone calls?" she asked. She was wearing paper clip earrings and her hair was pulled back into a braid with loose strands sticking out the sides.

Whoops. I remembered Gina telling me about a phone call. "Sorry, I didn't know it was you. And I went to sleep early."

We stood there s.n.a.t.c.hing glimpses of each other while pretending we were looking around the library. Robyn began saying something, stopped, and started again. A librarian wheeled a cart of books by. She noticed the mask in Robyn's hand, and smiled.

"I was talking to your friend Pete Nash the other day. I didn't know you read comic books. So do I." Her voice was almost a whisper.

"Read 'em? I could be president of the Spidey Fan Club," I said. "I know everything about Spider-Man, from which superhero he met on Christmas Day to Peter Parker and Mary Jane's special love song."

Robyn looked like she was about to burst. "He met The Human Torch and, duh, their song was 'Kung Fu Fighting!' Spider-Man rocks, but Storm's my girl. She who controls the weather, controls the world."

"I never knew that you liked comic books, Robyn."

"I bet there's a lot we don't know about each other."

Here was my chance. Yoda's words echoed in my head: There is no try.

"Robyn, would you go to the Farewell Formal? With me, I mean?"

"I would, but-"

She stopped. Here we go again. Rejection City, two days straight. Maybe G.o.d was punis.h.i.+ng me for saying I hated my birth mother.

"Don't even say it Robyn. I understand." Why not spare us both the painful details of her excuse.

"Say what?" She looked hurt.

"Whatever you're going to say to let me down easy." I tossed the Mad magazine back on the stack.

Robyn pouted her lips. Her face wasn't as furious as the three-eyed alien's, but it wasn't warm and fuzzy, either.

"So you're making up my mind for me? Is that how it works, Joseph?"

Now I felt like the president of Idiots-R-Us. "No, I misunderstood. I mean...what do you mean?"

"I was about to say I'll go with you, but not because you're funny. You are funny, but not funny looking. You're kind of cute, if you must know." She folded up the mask and stuck it in her mini-pack.

"Really? I mean, thanks," I said. How did she know about my humor dilemma? Nash must have said something to her. And whatever he said had helped, because she was going to the dance with me!

"Did you really think I looked put together last week in study hall?" she asked as we walked toward the front of the library.

"Very put together," I said. I just knew my face was reddening from my goofy attempt to sound like a ladies' man.

We cut across a line of sixth graders checking out books at the circulation counter. I told her I'd buy our dance tickets tomorrow during lunch, since the dance was Friday. Nothing like waiting until last minute.

"Sure," she said, distracted. Then she grabbed my arm-not exactly a yank, but firm enough-and pulled me into the side room where the microfiche viewers are kept.

Our faces were inches away from each other, so close I could count her eyelashes. I half expected her to tell me a dumb riddle, but she didn't say a word.

Instead, she grabbed my chin and kissed me.

"That was no joke," she said. And she strolled away, the alligator tail on her mini-pack bopping up and down behind her, leaving me standing in the library as limp as a rubber band.

I walked into Spanish, my last period cla.s.s, feeling higher than the world's tallest man on stilts. Happier than a dog with a T-bone. I was the luckiest guy in Nutley, New Jersey. Robyn and I would have a blast at the Farewell Formal. Not that I had to daydream about her or anything, since she was sitting three desks over.

After cla.s.s I was still in a daze and nearly ran into Mrs. Peroutka in the hallway. She asked if I'd come to her cla.s.sroom.

I followed her, and she pulled a paper out of a folder. "Here's your makeup essay, Joseph. I wanted to talk about it privately."

Privately? Did that mean more trouble? My eyes zeroed in on the top of the first page. All I saw was a big fat A.

Yowza!

"Thanks," I said, reaching out to shake her hand.