“Go back to China, slant eyes,” they would say. “Why won’t you just leave us alone, Tina?” In the beginning, I thought she could have just ignored them. But I didn’t understand what they were putting her through. I remember that cloudy Tuesday afternoon clearly. I had just finished my peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. I sat on a tan, unfinished picnic table outside my classroom and tilted my head up toward the cloudy, deep blue sky, admiring the unseasonably cool weather for an early-August day. “Megan!” I heard her cry out. Immediately I knew it was Tina. Hearing the panic in her voice, I jolted my head up and automatically assumed the worst. “What happened?” I asked, feeling my defensive instincts kick in. “They told me they hated me and that all they wanted was for me to die. They told me to go back to China! Telling my teacher only upset them even more.” Tina said she felt trapped, and abandoned. I wanted to help my friend but I didn’t know exactly how to. I felt so weak, not wanting to confront the bullies, who were my close friends as well. Did that make me a bad friend and a bad person? Or did it make me only human? “I… I can’t believe…” I stuttered out, feeling my breath catch in my throat before I could even finish my sentence. “They’re foul. You aren’t even from China!” I knew this because Tina was always talking about her rare yet incredible trips to visit her family in the Philippines. “They told me to go back to China!” All of my confusing, mixed emotions welled up and scared me as I struggled to keep my head from bursting. Time stopped. I blinked and looked around me until I realized that I couldn’t even see. I couldn’t hear, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe. All that mattered was Tina. Emotions raced through me, sending chills down my spine. I searched my mind for an easy way out. I searched and searched, testing all possible outcomes. Still, I was confused and afraid for me and for Tina. She was distraught, softly sobbing into her knees. I then realized what I knew all along about what had to be done. I gave Tina a long, comforting hug. “I will take care of this,” I promised her, still with my hand on her shoulder. Before my brain could catch up, my legs had taken me all the way to the only swing set in the playground, where the bullies were seated in a circle on the ground. This was the place that the particular group of twelve-year-old girls always sat. They had claimed the red swing set as their “meeting place” to be respected and avoided by all other students in the school. I watched them for a while. I noticed the smirks on their faces growing as they laughed together about forcing Tina to leave. My twenty seconds of buildup consisted of a quick self-pep talk to convince myself that I could finally stand up for something. “You can do this,” I assured myself, “for Tina.” I jerked to a stop just in front of the girls. I still remember how I felt, staring down at them. Before I opened my mouth to speak, I took a very needed deep breath. “You need to leave Tina alone. She didn’t do anything wrong and she most definitely does not deserve you treating her like this.” As I spoke, their surprise flared and washed over them like a violent wave trying to drown out the sand beneath it. Each girl exchanged an angry and nervous glance. They obviously never expected me, or anyone, for that matter, to confront them. “What’s your problem?” I heard finally from one of the girls. “If you don’t want to be her friends, then don’t be her friends. But you owe her kindness at the least,” I demanded. They still looked upset, but after that I knew I was done. They knew they were done. That was all it took and I was astonished! Slowly, I turned to walk away. Bullies weren’t worth my time, or Tina’s tears. As I headed back, I smiled. I couldn’t believe the strength, joy, and amazement I felt standing up for my best friend. I hadn’t had the strength in the beginning and it wasn’t until after I had stood up for her that I realized the importance of true courage. I then, now, and will forever know that that was the right thing to do. I feel much more mature after defending Tina, and I will cherish the memory of standing up for her when searching for confidence as I go through life. Megan Little, 13Phoenix, Arizona Teah Laupapa, 13Kapolei, Hawaii
Bullying
Conrad and Fate
“Class, I would like you to meet Kenta” PROLOGUE I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to move to America on July 17, 1956. My life was perfect in Japan. I had good friends. I had finally made the baseball team. Everything was perfect, but then I had to move to the U.S. The same country that fought a war against Japan. The same country where everybody who looks Japanese is an enemy. Learn a new language. Make new friends. So, basically I had to start over when everything had been perfect. “Perfect” was the only word going through my mind as I sat in bed, looking blankly at the darkness, waiting for the alarm clock to ring. * * * Children were practically everywhere, rushing around like ants trying to find their hole. Room 117. I was getting good at reading English, but speaking—not so much. Room 117 would be on the second floor. (I had a tour of the school a few weeks ago.) I headed for the stairs. Once in the classroom, I noticed one thing. I was the only somewhat dark-skinned child in the classroom. I got some stares, a few whispers, and sweat trickled down my neck. The teacher broke the silence. “Class, I would like you to meet Kenta,” she announced, motioning to me. I noticed a group of three in the back, whispering. I didn’t know how, but I knew they were talking about me. I just knew. As I walked past them, I learned that my prediction was right. I heard words like, “What’s a Japanese kid doing here?” “I don’t know about you, but I want to pound him.” “Yeah, he doesn’t belong here.” I gulped and rushed off to my seat, but whoever those kids were, they were right. I didn’t belong here, I belonged in Japan. Japan was where my friends were. Japan is where my language is. Japan is where my father’s grave is, along with the graves of other soldiers who were probably fathers too. The teacher had the students give their names. I tried to pay attention but couldn’t. I couldn’t get my mind out of Japan. When the whisperers got their turn, I shoved my thoughtsout and listened carefully. Tony, Ezra, and Derek. Those were their names. Lunch was the worst and best part of the day. I sat down at a table and everybody else at the table moved. After the commotion, one kid was left sitting right across from me. “Hey, I’m Conrad.” He put out a hand, willing to shake. “Kenta,” I croaked. “Kietta?” “Kennta.” I exaggerated the n. “Kenta,” Conrad responded. I nodded. Lunch ended, recess started. According to Conrad, the big sport was football. “What’s football?” I asked. “Oh yeah, you don’t play football in Japan,” Conrad responded. “OK, here’s how you play. So there’s a quarterback. When he says “Hike!” he throws the ball to… you know what? It’s complicated to explain. You’ll catch on as you play.” “OK,” I said. I regretted saying that as soon as we started playing. First of all, I was picked last. The captains were Tony (the leader of the whisperers) and a kid named Joe, who I didn’t recognize. They had a big argument over who should get me. Tony won. Joe lost. I was on Joe’s team. The game started with a player from Tony’s team punting the odd-shaped ball. Maybe this game is like soccer, I thought, as the ball soared over our heads and landed right in front of me. I started to kick it. “Penalty!” somebody yelled. “Five yards!” Derek (another one of the whisperers) walked the ball five steps and placed it on the ground. “You’re supposed to pick it up, yellow boy,” said Derek in a mocking tone. All the kids laughed. The next thing I knew, Joe (the captain) said, “Hike!” I didn’t know what to do, so I copied all the other kids running like maniacs. Joe threw the oval-shaped ball. It was going right towards me. What was I supposed to do? I thought. Was I supposed to catch it? I had no more time for thinking about it, so I caught it. Now what? I suddenly thought of what Joe did, just a minute ago. “Hike!” I said and I threw the ball to a kid down the field. “Illegal forward pass!” cried out Tony. “Do you have a brain? Or is your head full of empty space? Well, I guess that’s what happens when you live off raw fish. ’Cause you would run with the ball, instead of throwing it.” My ears burned. The whole world was laughing at me. What did Conrad get me into? I wondered. After recess, Conrad walked up to me. “Sorry,” he immediately said, “I thought they would ignore you and you could learn the game by watching, but I was wrong. Sorry, I’m really sorry.” I nodded. It didn’t even occur to me that Conrad could have stood up for me during the game. Recess was bad. But then class started and it was easily the best part of the day, because then all the bullies out to get me couldn’t touch me without the teacher noticing. The rest of the day rushed by: math, science, music, art, and finally, reading. Before I walked home, Conrad passed on to me that there were baseball tryouts next week. Finally, I had something to look forward to besides getting beat up by Tony and his gang. * * * This one week felt a lot more alike a year rather than a week. Everything was going in slow motion, but finally, the week was over. I waited for the bell to ring during reading. To tell the truth, I wasn’t really reading at all. I had my book in front of me, flipped open to a random page. I
The Five-Dollar Bill
“Stop Tiger from chasing Fluffy!” Mike Brady yelled as he charged headlong at his sons’ dog at his wedding reception. Tiger dashed under the wedding cake table and tipped it. The three-tiered cake slid along the table and into Mike’s arms. When Carol Brady hugged him for saving the cake, it toppled onto Mike’s face. This scene on TV sent my brother and me rolling on the carpet in fits of laughter. Ben and I relied on The Brady Bunch reruns to release frustration. We watched them every afternoon, since we spent our taxing schooldays proving to the mostly white student body that we were not mentally retarded, we just couldn’t speak English. After all, we came to the U.S. three months ago, knowing only how to say “hi.” I wanted to return to Taiwan, where I lived a Brady-Bunch life—wholesome and carefree, where each day ended with everyone happy. Mom yelled from the kitchen, “哥哥, 去市場 買一袋紅蘿蔔. 現 在就去!”1. She ordered Ben to buy a bag of carrots from the market, this instant. “我不要! 叫妹妹去,”2. Ben shouted back, refusing to budge and offering me a chance to go. Mom marched into the family room and stood in front of the TV screen, hands on hips, and commanded, “現在就去,”3 repeating her order. With the agility of a panther, he rounded the corner of the supermarket Ben rolled onto his stomach, crossed his arms overhead, plopped his forehead onto his forearms, and groaned. She turned around and switched off the TV. Mom was always pressed for time. She no longer had help from her family and friends to make dinner and run errands. I wanted to help her, so I volunteered. She hesitated. She had always relied on Ben to run errands. Would she trust me to go alone for the first time? Like Cindy Brady begging to have her way, I clasped my hands, looked earnestly into Mom’s eyes, and in my sweet seven-year-old voice, pleaded with her to let me go. “媽 媽, 讓我去. 就在街頭.”4 Mom glanced at the wall clock, which read five o’clock. “Go quickly. I need it to finish the dish before Dad comes home.” She folded a five-dollar bill widthwise twice and handed it to me as I left the house. I clutched the bill in my right hand and skipped, half running, down to the store, humming the opening tune of The Brady Bunch. When I reached the market, my pace slowed. A brilliant sunset was in clear view from the near-vacant parking lot. It looked as if someone had spread rainbow sherbet across the sky with white cotton candy as clouds. I thought of the countless sunsets I had savored with my grandma from the balcony of our house. I reached over to hold her hand, but she wasn’t there. Where was she? Where were my friends, and my extended family? A kind voice jarred me from my thoughts. “Hi.” It came from a slim, tall, athletic boy in tennis shoes and blue jeans, about Ben’s age. I had never seen him before, but that was true of most Americans I had met. We exchanged warm, friendly smiles. The boy enunciated each word slowly, asking, “You go to Condit Elementary? You know, Condit Elementary School.” I stared in astonishment. Yes, yes, that was where I went to school! My mind raced with excitement at the prospect of making a friend. I thought hard, trying to express myself in proper English. “I go schoo Condid.” The boy stifled a giggle. My ears burned, my toes curled, and my fists tightened. My palms began sweating, and the five-dollar bill felt like a damp paper towel. I switched the bill to my left hand, letting the breeze cool my right one. I expected him to leave, since I couldn’t carry on a conversation with him. He stayed. Again, slowly and patiently, he said, “I’ve seen you at school.” He has seen me at school? Maybe he has seen me with Ben. “You know my broder, Be-en? He in fif grade.” His eyes lit up and he grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Yeah, yeah, we’re in the same class. I know him real good. We’re like this.” He raised his right hand, pressing together his index and middle fingers. “You’re his little sister.” I was comforted in knowing he was my brother’s friend. My ears stopped burning, my toes straightened, and my fists relaxed. My left hand loosely held the five-dollar bill. I couldn’t wait to tell Ben about this. Maybe we could invite the boy over to our house. Maybe we’d bike around the neighborhood or watch TV or play in the backyard or do anything he wants to. Should I ask now? Before I could decide, the boy lunged at me, snatched the bill, and sprang into flight. For a second, I hesitated. What happened? Was this a prank? I stared at the air in front of me in shock and opened my mouth to yell for help, but nothing came out. My body felt numb and cold, as if all blood was channeled to my thrashing heart. From the corner of my eyes, I saw him getting further away from me. I thought only of catching him. I flung myself into the chase. My eyes tracked his every move. With the agility of a panther, he rounded the corner of the supermarket. I followed. We were now in an empty stretch of the parking lot, with only a few parking lot islands with waist height hedges. My soles ripped the asphalt. I was gaining on him. After all my years of chasing Ben, I knew I could catch this boy. He glanced back and then picked up speed. He smashed through a gap in the hedges. I followed. The thorns scratched my bare shins, breaking my stride. My right foot caught on the edge of the curb, and I stumbled and fell to the ground. I didn’t check for injuries. I couldn’t. I pushed
