July/August 2023

Nicky discovers some items in Mrs. Fleming’s attic that unearth upsetting memories from the past This is the second of three installments of Emily Chang’s novella, which received honorable mention in our 2022 Book Contest. You can read the beginning of Nicky’s story in our May/June issue. Chapter 8: Why the Second Suitcase Had Such a Weird Shape “I’ve got Saturday appointments booked now,” my mom told me as she gathered her things. “Sorry about that, Nicky, but I won’t be home when you get back.” It was Saturday morning, and my mom was rushing around the kitchen and getting ready to go out. Since Ms. Fleming’s house was on the way, she would drop me off there before going to her appointments for today. I’d walk back home as usual. “It’s fine,” I said. Remembering how I still had half of Ms. Fleming’s attic to go through, I added, “I might stay there a little longer too.” “As long as it’s okay with Ms. Fleming,” she said. “And you still have your summer homework to finish, so don’t stay too long, okay?” “Okay,” I sighed. Summer homework seemed to be always haunting me. And I still had that essay to figure out. Given the choice, I’d much rather help at Ms. Fleming’s house than write an entire essay. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the choice. We got to Ms. Fleming’s house, and my mom drove off to her appointment. Ms. Fleming opened the door. She was wearing a giant yellow raincoat and leaning on her cane. “Is it going to rain?” I asked, looking up at the sky. There were only a few gray clouds in the distance. “No, at least I don’t think so. I’m just a little cold, that’s all.” She slipped on the hood of her jacket. Cold? Itwas ninety degrees outside. But maybe she’d turned her air conditioning on too high. When we went inside, I checked on the air conditioning. It was off. “Laila’s birthday party was beautiful, wasn’t it?” Ms. Fleming said, before I could ask any more about the raincoat. “It was so wonderful to see you there, too.” “Uh . . . yeah,” I said, suppressing my sigh. I’d tried to shove the birthday party away into a corner of my mind after it was over, but I should’ve known Ms. Fleming would bring it up. “I wanted to stay a bit longer, but I was getting tired. I’m sure the rest of the party was lovely, though.” I nodded. “It was fine. There was cake.” I didn’t mention that I’d given Alex half my slice because there was just too much pink frosting to swallow. “Cake is not great for my age, but I’m glad you could enjoy it,” Ms. Fleming said. “Oh, and I was going to ask you—do you think you’ll be able to bring the boxes down?” she asked, to my relief, changing the subject. “I didn’t want you to do it last week, in case . . . well, oh, there was a reason, but I can’t remember what it was.” “That’s okay, I can do it. And maybe—” I paused, thinking of the cluttered mess that still hadn’t been sorted out up there. “What if you look through the stuff I put in the boxes last time while I finish getting the other half organized? And then I could bring the rest down.” “That is a good idea,” she said, smiling. I pulled down the attic steps, ran up, and switched on the light. There were about ten boxes from last time, and I started with the ones that held the fancy clothes. I brought the first heavy cardboard box to the kitchen, which had the most space in Ms. Fleming’s house. I figured she might want to spread things out to look at them all. Ms. Fleming must have thought so too, since she was waiting there to take the box from me and set it on the floor. It took me ten trips up and down to get everything from the last time downstairs. The barricade of boxes lined one entire wall of the kitchen. My ankle was starting to ache after that marathon—flights of stairs probably weren’t too good for it—but I headed back up to the attic anyway to finish my part of the job. I thought this time around would be easier, since I had already finished organizing half of the stuff and probably knew more about where things were. But it turned out that last week had been the easier half. The things that were left seemed too large to fit in boxes, like a long, wire rabbit cage I hadn’t seen before. The rolled-up rug was taller than I was, and so was the mannequin. The old radio must have weighed forty pounds or more. And I didn’t even try to bother with the giant bed frame. I put the picture frames away, though, and the other things that fit into boxes— an old chess set, a small typewriter (which was heavy, but I managed), a pair of purple fashion boots. Leaving most of the larger items where they were felt sort of incomplete, but I would have to ask Ms. Fleming what to do with them. I went to the smaller cardboard boxes next, just to check and see what was inside. The next box was filled with papers, probably from Ms. Fleming’s school days. The one on the top was titled Quarter 4 Honor Roll, and there were many more certificates like it underneath. Annual Science Fair Winner. Excellence in Musicianship. Clearly, Ms. Fleming had been a much better student than I was. In the middle of the row of boxes were the two suitcases. The first one, metallic purple with wheels, was empty. And the second one was black with a sticker that said Phyllis Fleming on the side. But it had such a strange shape—larger and rounder at one end than the other. What