Kimchi & Calamari (11 page)

I
'd come home from school the next day expecting a quiet house again. I needed to call Jae, to ask her if she would speak with her aunt. But instead I found Dad stretched out on the patio chaise longue with Mom beside him, rubbing his shoulder.

“Geez, Dad, what happened?”

“On-the-job casualty, son. Humpty Dumpty does windows,” he said, his eyes darting to the cast on his arm. He had a bandage above his eye and a few scrapes on his cheek.

“It was only a matter of time, Vinny,” Mom said, taking
an empty glass from Dad. “What were you thinking, climbing a three-story Victorian to wash old windows stuck shut for twenty years?”

“I'm sorry, Dad. Does it hurt?” I asked.

“Not too much. I just added a few more scars to my weathered look. How can I grumble? I've got the best nurse this side of the Garden State Parkway. And she's cute to look at,” Dad said, pointing at Mom.

Mom smiled but looked concerned. “You're getting out of that business, you hear me? You deserve better. Look at the books you read!”

She went into the kitchen to refill Dad's lemonade. I sat on the picnic bench. For a few minutes we said nothing. Both our eyes wandered to the magazine resting on the side table,
The New Yorker.

“How long are you going to be out of work?”

“A couple of weeks,” he replied.

Calderaro Window Washers is a one-man operation. As Dad says, all the profits and all the headaches come from one squeegee cleaner. I looked at his broken arm and knew this was going to be rough for business.

“I can help out, especially with school almost over. I'm bigger than I was last summer when I worked for you. And this time I won't leave streaks. Promise.”

Dad smiled. A happy smile, not like you'd expect from a
guy who'd just fallen off a ladder, broken his arm, and messed up his business. “No, Joseph. You focus on your schoolwork until the very last day. I'll adapt. Believe it or not, I think this accident was the best thing in the world that could have happened to me.”

Frazer trotted over and plunked down between us.

“Yup, the best thing in the world,” Dad said again.

“I give up. Why?”

“Because I got a wake-up call. One minute I was climbing a ladder, on my way to the top of some divorce attorney's million-dollar mansion. I probably would've cleared a nice chunk of change for an afternoon's work, and you know how I felt?”

I wanted to say, “Off balance?” but I shook my head instead.

“Miserable. Unfulfilled. The next thing I know, I lose my grip and fall into a juniper bush. Broke the same arm I broke boxing twenty years ago. So I drove myself with one hand to the ER and in my head I heard this voice saying, ‘Vincenzo, this could be the sign you've been waiting for. Get out of the window-washing business. Today it's a broken arm. Who knows? Tomorrow it could be a broken soul.'”

The part about falling off a ladder as a sign was more typical of Mom than Dad, but I kept my wisecracks to
myself. For once, Dad was pouring his heart out.

“So you're going to sell the business?”

“I'm not going to do anything dumb. We still have a mortgage. But in the meantime, I'm going to visit the local college and figure out how to get my degree. Night classes, weekends, whatever. I'll do it. I've always wanted to teach.”

Dad uses every opportunity he can to talk about books and how they relate to life. “I can see you stomping around the campus,” I said, grinning.

“Why not—and why not now, huh? I'm not getting any younger, but I'm not ready for the senior citizen special at the diner either.”

“Just on the basketball court,” I said. I couldn't resist.

“I'll play you one on one, even with a bad wing. Seriously, it's time to chase my dream, to stop with the shoulda, coulda, woulda's. I want to bring great books to a generation of video game addicts. What do you think?”

I pictured my father helping students understand what Edgar Allan Poe meant when he freaked out over that raven. Dad has a wacky way of tossing words together like vegetables in stew, but he knows what he's talking about. And he sure loves books.

“It sounds like you're a man with a plan, Dad.”

Mom returned to the patio, bringing Dad more lemonade.

“Come here, Maria,” he said, and kissed her on the lips. “You're looking at a man with a plan.”

 

I caught a ride to band with Nash on Monday morning. We were late because Nash's mom had trouble getting her prehistoric van started—so late that they'd already started “Jamaican Farewell” when I opened the squeaky band-room door. Yongsu gave me a sympathetic look from the flute section. I expected Mrs. Athena to point her conductor's wand disapprovingly like she does when kids dash in mid-song, but she didn't. I think she knows I hate being late.

Robyn caught up with me after practice as I put my drumsticks away and gathered my books. “Hey, Joseph. You hear about the Buddhist who refused to take Novocain at the dentist?”

I was too sleepy to figure this one out.

“He wanted to transcend dental medication,” she said, grinning.

“Good one.” I smiled, and a yawn popped out.

“What're you, a vampire?” she asked. “You've got black circles under your eyes.”

“I haven't been getting much sleep lately. A lot on my mind.”

“Something happen?”

“What hasn't happened? For one, my dad had an accident.”

Robyn stopped in the middle of the hallway. “Even
you
wouldn't make that up. Is he okay?”

“He broke his arm. My dad's the Rocky Balboa of Nutley, New Jersey. He's actually happier now,” I said, shaking my head. “Parents.”

“Rough time lately, huh? First kids spread rumors about you, and now your dad gets hurt.”

“It's not that bad. I could've gotten E. coli bacteria from the cafeteria or chopped off a finger in Life Skills.” I waved my hands with my thumbs tucked in.

Robyn didn't come back with a joke. “Only losers pay attention to the rumor of the day. I didn't believe any of that stuff about the essay contest. I kept telling everyone to stick it down their esophaguses.”

We climbed the main stairwell. All the way up I felt bad about Robyn defending me and my not coming clean.

“Listen, Robyn. I
did
make up the essay about my Korean grandfather. The guy really won a gold medal,
but we weren't related. That's why my essay got canned.” I looked down at a dirt spot on my sneaker, feeling stained inside, too.

Robyn tugged at my T-shirt sleeve. “Did you make that up because you're adopted?”

“Yeah, kind of. It's a long story,” I said, looking up at her. For the first time I noticed her eyes. They were greenish-brown and swirly, like lake water in the fall.

“That sucks worse than an industrial vacuum. People not understanding, I mean.” She shook her head.

At her locker Robyn started telling me about her cousin's husband's sister's kid, or something like that, who was ten and had leukemia.

“You know what's worse than having a disease that might kill you and makes you bald at ten?”

“What?”

“Having jerks ask if you're going to die. Jesse told me he was tired of all the questions and the staring in school. Well, naturally I armed him with sharp comebacks.”

“Like what?”

“I told him to poke 'em between their dumb bunny eyes and ask them what disease caused them to be mentally defective—and ugly!”

I laughed. “You're vicious!”

“No, I just look out for the people who matter,” she said.

 

In study hall that afternoon, Robyn and I shared the marble pound cake we'd made in Life Skills. I was confused about quadratic equations, and we sat there sneaking cake while she explained the FOIL technique for solving them. In a
niente per niente
return favor, I let her borrow my Great Depression notes, since she'd been sleeping during the second half of social studies.

As Robyn copied my notes, I noticed Kelly across the room, talking with her friends. I take that back—her friends were
listening
. Kelly's lips were moving ninety miles per hour. For a second our eyes locked, but then she looked away, disgusted, like she'd spotted roadkill.

Why had I ever fallen for her? As Gina would say, “She is
not
nice.”

“Joseph, your worksheet fell,” Robyn said, picking up a piece of paper off the floor.

“Thanks.” I studied Robyn's hands when she gave it to me. She had perfectly shaped, half-moon fingernails. She wore a silver ring on her pinkie with a dangling peace sign. She was cute, I realized. Funny, I've never thought of crazy Robyn that way.

“What is it, Joseph?” Robyn asked. “Your eyes are glazed over like you've been hypnotized.”

I snapped out of it. “Nothing. I mean, you look very, um, put together today.”

“And I really like your elbows,” she replied in a deep, throaty voice. “They're so…
bendable
.”

I couldn't help laughing.

As I left study hall, I thought again about going to the Farewell Formal. Only this time it wasn't Kelly's hand I imagined I was holding.

“I
f it's
not
strep throat, it's definitely a tumor on my tonsils,” I groaned. I was slumped in Dad's recliner, wearing an undershirt and boxers.

Mom pressed her hand against my forehead. “You're not even hot,” she snapped in an unsympathetic voice.

“Don't you think I'm a little old for schoolitis? Nobody fakes it in June, Mom.”

Finally she gave in. She didn't sound the official “Stay home from school” decree, but she did say there was plenty of juice in the fridge.

“I've got a customer waiting for a cap highlight. I'll
call you later!” she yelled as she clomp-clomped out the door in her platform sandals.

Victory.

My throat
did
feel a bit scratchy. But more importantly, I had a phone call to make. Dad was visiting college Admissions, but he'd be back by the time school ended, so I wouldn't have had a chance to talk privately with Jae. “Do, or do not. There is no try.” That's what Yoda tells Luke in
The Empire Strikes Back
, and that wrinkly little alien was wise. If I wanted to connect with my birth mother, it was up to me to do it.

Right away I dialed Jae. She sounded happy to hear from me. And thankfully she didn't ask why I wasn't in school. She shared a funny story about how Kevin dressed up as a superhero, and naturally I approved. Then I found myself spewing out news about Dad's accident and how it somehow led him to apply to college. I even told Jae how badly I wanted to take Robyn to the Farewell Formal.

“Ask her, Joseph,” she said in a big-sister voice. “Be polite and sincere—like a gentleman—and I bet she'll accept.”

“I doubt Robyn would use ‘gentleman' to describe me, but my best friend Nash says I have a way of charming parents. It's my Italian upbringing.”

Jae laughed.

What was I thinking with all this chitchat? My phone time was limited. I had to cut to the chase.

I cleared my throat. “Jae, I've been thinking about writing to your Aunt Hea,” I said, my voice cracking a little. “Introducing myself and sending my picture. Will you give me her address?”

A pause.

“Do your parents know we've talked?” she asked.

“Um, not yet.”

I heard a door slam on Jae's end.

“Joseph, we're not sure yet that you're my aunt's child. I think we should do some checking before we talk to her.”

Suddenly Jae seemed like another detour on the road to discovery.

“My parents don't know any more about me than I've already told you, and this isn't exactly their favorite subject,” I explained.

“Would they let you talk with the adoption agency? They must know something more than we do. I wouldn't dare speak to my aunt unless we were absolutely certain. I just couldn't.”

“What, the thought of being related to me would put her in shock?” I was only half kidding.

“I know this is exciting for you, Joseph, but it could be difficult for my aunt. We have to be sensitive.”

I didn't want to hear that. I wanted Jae to say Aunt Hea would be high-fiving everyone in Pusan after she got my letter. That she'd frame my eighth-grade photo and put it on her dresser. Maybe she'd even hop on the next Korean Air flight direct to JFK to meet me.

“If I talk to my parents and the agency, will you tell your aunt about me?” I asked.

Kevin was chanting in the background. “Juice! Juice! Juice!”

“You're almost as persistent as Kevin. Yes, talk to your parents and the adoption agency. And if the facts check out, I'll call Aunt Hea.”

 

I was the only one in my family available to play cheerleader at Sophie's soccer game Saturday morning. Mom was working, Gina had started her singing class at the Y, and Dad had another appointment at the college.

This was Sophie's last game before the playoffs, and her team was undefeated. You'd think eight-year-olds would be only moderately intense about a sport, right? It's not like they're squaring off for the World Cup or anything. Well, think again, because Sophie was on the elite travel team. These girls meant kick-butt business,
with scabs on their elbows and bruises on their knees to prove it. But tough as she is, Sophie gets upset if we're not there to cheer her on. So, marshmallow-hearted brother that I am, I rode my bike three miles to the soccer fields, along with Nash. I'd invited Yongsu, too, but he had to go to Korean school. Yongsu frowned when he told me that, but I said Korean school sounded awesome.

Of course, Mom had bribed me with some moolah if I watched the game, but that was beside the point.

The wind blasted more like March than June, and the bike ride was all uphill. Sophie's team had already scored the first goal by the time we got there. She was playing midfield, one on one against a girl built like a mobile home. But Sophie didn't seem fazed. With gritted teeth and a messy ponytail, she kicked the ball right around the girl like she was running to save civilization.

Nash and I stood by the sideline. Sophie's friend Kaylie was alone guarding the goal. She waved to me.

“Coach finally put me in for goalie, Joseph. My first time!” she shouted.

I cupped my hands to my mouth. “Don't let the other team hear that!”

After we sat on the bleachers, Nash asked me about Jae.

“The whole search is stuck in the mud. Jae won't tell
her aunt about me until I talk to my parents, and that's a waste of time.”

“Maybe they'll surprise you once they see how strong you feel about this.”

“I've had enough surprises lately,” I said.

A curly-haired kid from the other team broke away with the ball. In a desperate ditch effort, Sophie slide tackled her.

Toot.
The referee's whistle. “Yellow card on Ten.”

“Out, Sophie!” her coach shouted, and she stomped off the field.

After Sophie returned to the game, a tall girl stole the ball from her and made a breakaway downfield. Kaylie leaped for the ball, jumping-jack style, but it swerved past her shoulder into the goal.

The crowd cheered. Sophie pounded her leg with her fist.

I thought about what Nash had said. Maybe Mom and Dad
would
be more open to helping me search. After all, Dad seemed to be on a high since the accident, as weird as that sounded. And I remembered what Mom told me when she found out about my fake essay. She said she wished I'd talked to her first; she would've wanted to help.

At the very least they might speak to the adoption
agency for me. Privacy laws probably wouldn't allow me to find out anything more about how I was found without Mom and Dad being involved anyway.

The wind picked up again during the second half. Nash and I moved to the far end of the bleachers, where the breeze was at our back. We had parked ourselves on the bottom row when a bunch of girls from school arrived. I recognized a few of them from Kelly's crowd.

They glanced at us with less-than-enthused expressions.

“No wonder none of them won Most Friendly for the yearbook,” I told Nash.

“So who are you asking to the Farewell Formal?” Nash asked.

“You tell first.”

“I want to ask Ok-hee, but I doubt she'd go with me.”

“Why not? Besides being obsessed with Wolverine, you're practically normal.”

“Ha-ha. Spoken by a guy who looks up to a web spinner. But seriously, Ok-hee acts mature, like a high schooler. And she's
really
smart. She composes music and reads the same books as your dad.”

“Ever heard of multiple intelligence? You're smart too, in different ways. You work that computer almost as
well as you play trumpet. Ok-hee might seem sophisticated, but trust me. Her world is full of lip gloss and mall madness. I even saw her reading
Teen People
once.”

Nash laughed. “What's that got to do with anything?”

“It means she's reachable. All you've got to do is come up with a catchy way to grab her attention.”

“Like what, interrupting morning announcements and asking her out over the PA system?”

I shook my head. “She'd never speak to you again if you pulled that one.”

I didn't have an answer, but I could tell that Nash felt encouraged.
Think,
Joseph. What did I remember about Ok-hee Han that could give us an idea? She wants to study abroad. She's a vegetarian. She takes Italian….

She takes Italian!

A genius idea ricocheted inside my brain, like the soccer ball passing from one player to the next—though unfortunately those players were on the other team and running back again toward Kaylie.

I had a plan for Nash!

“Ok-hee takes Italian and loves all that European stuff. Write her a note in Italian and stick it in her locker. I bet she'll say yes faster than you can sing ‘That's Amore.'”

Nash shook his head. “Forgettaboutit. I don't speak Italian.”

But I knew who could. “Vinny Calderaro
lives
for this kind of stuff, Nash. You gush on paper, tell me what you want to say, and I'll ask my dad to write it
en Italiano
.”

Nash shook my hand. “Deal—but only if you ask someone. You haven't told me who yet.”

I shrugged. “I kinda like Robyn.”

He nodded. “You two are always joking around in band.”

“That's the problem. Robyn thinks I'm funnier than a beer commercial. But that's all I am.
Funny.
”

“Funny is very in—with the right girl, that is,” Nash said, glancing toward the snooty girls, then back at me. “Maybe someone should put in a good word for you.”

I started to speak just as the other team scored again, seconds before the game clock ran out. Sophie's team was no longer undefeated.

After the players all shook hands, Sophie grabbed her water bottle and walked over to us. Laces were dragging from her cleats, her shin guard was twisted backward, and her elbow was cut.

I tugged on her ponytail. “You win some, you lose some.”

She kicked the ground, sending a rock flying. “That referee didn't like me.”

“No blaming, just shake it off,” I said, sounding like Dad.

“
I'm
the reason we lost. I played crummy in the wind. Are you happy now?”

I looked at my sister. She was seconds away from a full-throttle meltdown.

“Forget it, Sophie. You've got the playoffs to save the good stuff for,” Nash said.

Neither of us could get Sophie out of her funk. Tears poured down her dirt-streaked face. But then I remembered who could help Sophie recover: Andrew Jackson. He was crammed in my pocket on the twenty-dollar bill Mom gave me. “Sophie Teresa Calderaro, put on my helmet and hop on the back of my bike right now. I'm treating you and Nash to ice-cream sundaes, drowned in hot fudge and whipped cream. Who's afraid of lactose intolerance?”

That would've snapped Gina out of it, but Sophie sulked a little longer.

“I can't have any ice cream,” Nash said.

“Huh?”

“I'm tracking what I eat and drink, remember? To see
what triggers my headaches. Right now I'm off dairy.”

“How about candy?”

Nash nodded. “Candy works.”

“Okay, a king-size whatever chocolate bar you want—on me.”

Nash grinned. He looked pretty happy for a guy who couldn't eat ice cream.

“Time's up, Sophie. Either you come for ice cream or I drop you off at Mom's shop. And you know she'll make you sweep up hair.”

Sophie looked up slyly. “Can I have an ice-cream float instead of a sundae?” she asked.

The ouch of her defeat was already subsiding.