Chapter

29

AFTER LUNCH, WHEN I GLANCE around the crowded hallways on my way to fifth-period algebra, I notice a few sympathetic looks from kids. Even Ketchup Head bops me on the shoulder as he skates by me in front of the school gym.

“Hey, welcome to the bad kids club! We could use more girls like you,” he calls out.

I roll my eyes at him. But I can’t help smiling to myself. I know better now—he’s not a member of the bad kids club, either, even though he’s a skater boy.

Still, next time I have a chance to talk to him, I’m going to set him straight about his misguided assumption that Asians can’t be into grunge and that we’re only allowed to like violins or pianos.

At the bike racks after school, Vivian suggests that we stop by Power Records before heading home. “You look so sad, biǎo jiě. Maybe it’ll cheer you up,” she says.

“Okay, fine,” I say, giving in. “I’m pretty sure Ah-ma wouldn’t want to see me if I went home now, anyway.”

Vivian starts to pedal toward Power Records, and I follow behind. When we get to the grunge section, Keiko’s there, shelving CDs.

“Lily, Vivian!” she exclaims when she sees us, putting down the stack of CDs in her hands. “What’s the update? Did you two sign up for your rock-and-roll camp yet?”

Vivian glances at me nervously. “Um, we not going to camp.”

“What?!” Keiko splutters. “What happened?”

Vivian and I exchange looks, and Vivian gestures at me to continue. I take a deep breath and tell Keiko everything, from the deal I struck with our parents to forming the ESL Homework Club to Vivian’s bad progress grade to Principal Klein sabotaging my petition to finally getting why our families are so hesitant to stand up to the school.

“. . . Now there’s no way Pacific Park Middle will get funding for ESL classes, and Vivian will have to go to Evergreen and move farther away.”

“Wow, a ton has happened. It’s awful that your principal won’t go to the school board. And I’m sorry that Vivian’s parents aren’t letting her go to the camp. But Lily, you could still go, couldn’t you?” Keiko asks, a confused look on her face.

“I guess so,” I say, glancing at Vivian. She avoids my eyes and stares at a record display instead. “But this is bigger than Camp Rock Out now. It’s about what’s right. It’s about what the English learners at Pacific Park Middle deserve.”

“Yeah, zhè yī diǎn dōu bù gong píng,” Vivian mutters, complaining about how unfair this all is.

Hearing Vivian speak in Chinese in front of Keiko suddenly sparks a memory. “Wait, Keiko, you didn’t speak English when you were a kid either, right?” I ask.

“No, I didn’t. I was born in Osaka, Japan, and my dad moved us to San Francisco ten years ago after he got a job at an American company.”

“So how did you learn English?”

“I went to a Japanese bilingual school,” Keiko responds.

“A bilingual school? How did that work exactly?” I wonder out loud.

“Because bilingual education means that you’re taught in both languages, my teachers were Japanese speakers. At the beginning, most of my classes were taught in Japanese, with maybe only an hour of English. Slowly, as I got better, we’d start to do more and more learning in English, until our English caught up to our Japanese.”

“That sounds awesome!” I exclaim. “The best of both worlds. So how did the school come about?”

“It was founded by Japanese American parents who wanted their kids to hold on to their Japanese heritage, especially after World War II.”

“A bunch of parents started it by themselves?” I ask in wonder. “How’d they pull that off?”

“Have you studied World War II yet in school?” Keiko asks.

I nod. “Yes, we’re just starting that unit.”

“You must know about the tens of thousands of Japanese Americans who were forced to leave their homes and live in the desert because we happened to be fighting Japan at the time, right?”

“Yeah,” I say softly. “It was terrible of our government to do that to its own citizens.”

“It was,” Keiko says. “When they finally got to leave the camps and go home, a bunch of Japanese American parents from San Francisco were so angry about how they were treated that they demanded that the US government make it up to them somehow.”

“They did?” I love the idea of more Asian Americans like me and Keiko standing up and asking for what we deserve.

“Yes, and one of their demands was for the government to do more to preserve and protect the Japanese culture here in the States.” Keiko clenches her teeth and shakes her head angrily. “Those parents were so grunge. In fact, Joan and I are working on a new song about that period of history. Anyway, the parents got the funding they needed, and the rest is history.”

“Principal Klein doesn’t like the idea of bilingual education,” I tell Keiko. “She thinks full English immersion is the best way for kids to learn, and that Vivian and I should be talking to each other, and our families, in English. But I don’t want us to lose our Chinese. We’d have nothing to talk about!”

Keiko crinkles her nose. “Yeah, that’s no good. The bilingual approach was a pretty great way to learn English while staying connected to Japanese and Japanese American culture. And other Japanese people.”

“That sounds amazing. Even though Principal Klein insists on English only, it’s just not working.”

“Maybe you should keep fighting, then. Remember, grunge isn’t only about music. It’s also about doing and saying what needs to be said, even if it’s ugly and raw and dark.”

I stare down at my chunky leather boots. “Yeah, I get that. What if fighting for what’s right hurts your family, though? My grandma’s upset and scared about the whole standing up and speaking out thing. Apparently, you can’t do that in Taiwan.”

What happened to Ah-gong sticks into my brain like a needle. “When someone she loved tried to do that in the past, really bad things happened,” I add softly.

“I get it,” Keiko replies. She picks up a stack of CDs and starts to slot them on a shelf. “Internment was awful for Japanese Americans, too. But it was because it was so unfair that a lot of people took the risk and fought as hard as they did to preserve their cultures and identities, like starting the school or suing the government to get their land back.”

She pauses for a minute and stares into the distance. “It’s these types of stories that make me want to keep creating the kind of music I do. I don’t want to be quiet and let things like that happen again. I want to be loud and bold and for people to pay attention to the things I have to say, so we can make things better and not repeat the bad parts of history.”

Vivian hands Keiko another stack of CDs, and Keiko takes them from her, smiling gently. “I know how important family is and that we want them to feel safe and comfortable. But sometimes, you have to do what you think is right, for yourself, for your own sense of self-respect. You honor your family by being honest and clear about what you plan on doing.”

I bite my lip. I know what is right. But should I keep fighting?

“Lily! I knew you’d be here!” A boy’s voice calls out.

I spin around, and it’s Marcos, his long eyelashes framing his worried eyes. Yoona’s right behind him, her eyes big behind her blue glasses and her wavy hair flaring out in a way that makes her look frantic.

“I think your friends want to talk to you.” Keiko smiles at me, squeezes my shoulder, and heads back to the information counter.

“Geez, Lily, avoid us much?” Yoona gasps as she bounces over to me and Vivian. “We’ve been trying to track you down all day. Are you okay? What did Principal Klein say to you? And your parents?”

I avoid their eyes, ashamed of everything that happened.

Vivian speaks up for me, as usual. “Lily is very sad. Our parents are not happy. But I feel proud. You do a good thing for me and for other kids. Even if it not work, it matters.”

“Totally, Vivian,” Yoona agrees. “We did a good thing. My parents didn’t get mad after Principal Klein called them. In fact, we had a long talk about how lost I feel as a tutor. They’re going to try and get me workbooks from Korea that are designed to help Korean kids learn English.”

Marcos twirls a wheel on his skateboard. “Yeah, we tried, right? My aunt and uncle can’t afford extra tutoring, though, and they don’t speak English well enough themselves to do anything. My cousin will have to keep doing what he can, with my help.” He shrugs, blowing his floppy hair away from his eyes.

Keiko’s words are still ringing in my ears. This whole thing feels unfinished. None of the things that Marcos and Yoona are going to do sound fair to them. Teaching our loved ones English shouldn’t be solely our responsibility. We’re not real teachers. It’s the school that should be stepping up to help.

It’s time to shine light into the darkness. And do what I think is best.

I close my eyes and imagine myself onstage. I see bright spotlights and a band behind me.

But it’s not an electric guitar in my hands.

It’s a mic.

And in front of me isn’t an audience of screaming fans. It’s the school board, listening to me explain why the right thing to do is to provide ESL support for all English learners at Pacific Park Middle School.

I need to stop expecting other people to stand up for me, and then getting disappointed when they don’t. I need to do more to change the things that I think need changing myself.

I also need to stop being what others expect me to be, whether it’s an obedient daughter who doesn’t cause trouble or a docile, grateful Student of the Year who doesn’t use her privilege to speak up.

I need to become Lily Xiao, independent thinker, free to do what I expect of myself.

And what I expect of myself is to be what grunge stands for, inside and out.

I stand up as tall as my body can stretch.

“This isn’t over. We need to go to the school district ourselves. We need to go to that board meeting,” I announce.

The three of them stare at me, mouths hanging open.

“Nǐ xiǎng zuò shén me?” Vivian splutters.

“You seriously want us to go around Principal Klein and talk to the board on our own?” Marcos says, his eyes widening.

“Yes,” I say firmly. “The board meeting is in four days. I’ll speak for us. I know what I want to say.”

Yoona plays nervously with one of her black curls. “Why? What if Principal Klein finds out and sabotages us again?”

“I need to finish what I’ve already started. I need to stop relying on other people to make change happen. I believe in this,” I say. “I want to keep standing up for it. I’m the Student of the Year, remember? They’ll listen to me.”

“Man, that’s so sick, Lily!” Marcos exclaims. “Gotta say, you’re not who I thought you were. But I’m glad I was wrong.”

“Woo-hoo!” Vivian cheers. “You can do it, biǎo jiě!”

I grin at her, my insides bubbling with pride. My biǎo mèi always has my back.

Yoona bounces up and down on her toes. “This is not only your fight, Lily. It’s ours, too. Even if you’re the one in front of the mic, we’ll be there behind you.”

My heart soars. We are like a real rock band.

Suddenly, Keiko interrupts us. “Hey, you kids like milkshakes?”

“Um, yeah?” Marcos responds, looking a bit confused.

“Why don’t you go upstairs to the café and tell whoever is working the counter to make you each a milkshake, courtesy of Keiko Tanaka? You can talk more about how you’re going to change the system up there.” She winks at me and strikes a power pose. “Do it, Lily.”

Keiko is so amazingly grunge.

Although maybe I’m not that far off, either.

“Thanks, Keiko.” I wave at her gratefully and turn to head upstairs. But I stop for a second and pull on Marcos’s sleeve. “By the way, Marcos, Keiko’s the lead guitarist for Pandora’s Box.”

Marcos tilts his chin up, acknowledging her. “That’s sweet. I play bass, actually.”

Keiko grabs a flyer from the information desk and hands it to him. “We’re playing next Saturday. You and your friends come watch, okay?”

I hope he brings Ketchup Head, too. Because seeing an all-girl band like Pandora’s Box is going to help make sure he knows that girls like me and Vivian can be rockers, too.

Yoona, Vivian, Marcos, and I head upstairs to the Power Records café, and I order us chocolate-banana milkshakes from the lanky boy with yellow curls and an olive-green beanie at the counter. I pull out a notebook, and the four of us work on my speech together.

I don’t try to copy Pearl Jam’s or Pandora’s Box’s lyrics, though.

Instead, I channel my own beat. My own sound.

Finally, after a few drafts, I get to a speech that captures the things I want to say. Marcos, Yoona, Vivian, and I read it silently to ourselves one last time.

Yoona grins with satisfaction. “This is good, Lily. Really good.”

Marcos agrees. “It’s solid stuff.”

“Nǐ zhǔn bèi hǎole.” Vivian flashes me a double thumbs-up.

She’s right. I’m ready.

I look at my band members and grin proudly. We can do this.

I can do this.

But there’s one more conversation I need to have.