AUGUST 28, 9:11 A.M.

Mr. Glick looks solemn as he passes back our finals. He stops at my desk. From the look on his face, I know I’ve blown it. I’ve failed English, not once, but twice.

“Mr. Wong,” Mr. Glick says without expression. He puts my test facedown on the desk. “I’d like you to stay after class. There’s something important we need to discuss.”

I slump back in my chair. My face is burning. Finally I pick up my test and slowly turn it toward me.

I choke. I do not believe what I see … a C-plus!!! I got a C-plus on my final exam. That means I passed! That means I don’t flunk the sixth grade. That means I will play basketball on the A-Team for Rancho Rosetta Middle School!

Mr. Glick lets the class out early. “No sense in sitting in here all day,” he says. “Go out and enjoy what little’s left of your summer vacation.”

Everyone is in a hurry to leave but me. As hard as I try, I cannot stop grinning. “You did it,” he says proudly. “Stanford, you made it. Congratulations!”

He extends his hand. I extend mine, and we shake. Then he walks to his desk and starts packing up his briefcase. He has the same one as Millicent.

I hang around for a while, not saying anything. I study the bulletin boards. The READING IS FUN poster is still up. While I would never agree that reading is fun, I would have to admit that reading won’t kill you. I look at the newspaper clipping of Mr. Glick and Millicent Min. At the beginning of summer, I would have never believed that these two would be on my team.

“Mr. Glick?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks,” I tell him, adding, “you know, for the cookies and everything.”

Mr. Glick bursts out laughing. “You’re welcome, Stanford. I’m glad you decided to give me and English a chance.” Then he adds, “Once you gave yourself permission to try, you did okay. You’re a smart kid when you apply yourself. Don’t ever forget that.”

Wow. Mr. Glick said that I am a smart kid.

I am so happy that I forget about SSSSpy and race outside doing zigzags in front of the school. I am free! I am on the A-Team! I am … baammmmm!!!!!

Stuff flies in the air. I go down hard. I must have bumped into someone. Oh man, my head hurts. I look over and there’s another kid rolling around on the ground. He’s holding his head too.

“Hey, sorry, man,” I say, rubbing my forehead.

“No, my fault,” he says. “I shouldn’t have been running like that.”

I stare at the kid and he stares back.

“Stanford?”

I feel around for my glasses. “Gus?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Nothing,” I sputter. “What are you doing here?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly.

We both scramble to our feet.

“Nice day,” I comment.

Gus looks up at the sky. “Yeah. It’s going to get really hot, though.”

I nod like he’s said something important.

For the longest time we both just stand in one spot and look at everything except each other. Neither one of us speaks. Finally I confess, “I flunked English and had to go to summer school.”

It feels good to be honest with Gus. Maybe Coach was right about being up-front with my team.

Oh no, Gus is laughing so hard that no sound is coming out. This is exactly why I didn’t want the guys to know. Coach was so wrong. What does he know? Now Gus is hysterical and rolling around on the ground.

“So what?” I mutter. “I passed.”

Gus can barely breathe. He wheezes, “I flunked science and had to take it over again.”

“No way!”

He grabs my ankles and takes me down with him. Now I’m laughing too. We punch each other hard.

“Idiot!”

“Numbnut!”

“Weasel!”

“Toe jam!”

“So is this your ‘summer job’?” Gus asks when he can finally breathe normally.

“Yeah, this is it,” I tell him. “What about mowing lawns? You make that up?”

“Sort of,” he says. “I mow a couple of lawns every afternoon, but I spent my mornings here, trying not to let anyone see me.”

“Me too!” I roar. “You know,” I say, getting serious, “if I flunked English again, I would have gotten kicked off the A-Team.”

Gus’s eyes get wide. “Get outta here!” he shouts. “You earned your spot on the A-Team.”

“Well, now I did. Now that I passed English.”

“I was afraid I’d get kicked off the B-Team if I didn’t bring up my science grade,” Gus confesses.

We both sit silent. Finally I say, “It wasn’t so bad going to summer school.”

“Yeah.” Gus nods. “It was no big deal. I knew I was going to pass all along. I just didn’t want to mention it because, because …”

“Because there was no point in making a big deal about it?”

“Right!” he agrees. “Plus summer school’s a good thing because if it weren’t for students like us, teachers would be out of a job.”

“It’s not a biggie having to repeat a class,” I tell him.

“Oh, I know,” Gus jumps in. “A lot of kids have to repeat a class. In fact, I heard that almost every kid has to at one time or another.”

“I think I heard that too.” I nod. “There’s no shame in it.”

“Definitely!” Gus pauses. “Stanford,” he says, looking around, “swear on your life you won’t tell anyone I had to repeat science.”

“I swear.”

Without any further words, Gus and I spit into our palms and shake on it.

11:07 A.M.

It’s fun to shoot hoops with Gus. No one’s keeping score. Nothing’s holding me back. I even spill my guts about Digger. Just as I make a hard shot clear across the court, I see him coming our way.

“What?” Gus asks. Before I can answer, he spots Digger. “You can’t let him be the boss of you,” Gus whispers. “Besides, you passed. You’re on the A-Team. He can’t blackmail you anymore!”

“Yeah, but if Stretch and Tico find out I’ve lied all summer …”

Gus moans, “I know. Tico will hate my guts.”

“Give me the ball,” Digger orders.

“Yes sir!” Gus replies, shoving it hard into Digger’s chest.

“Let’s just shoot free throws,” Digger says, “and see who can get the most in a row. I’ll go first.”

“One, two,” Gus counts. “Okay, my turn.”

He misses his first shot and tosses the ball to me just as Tico and Stretch walk up.

“One, two …,” Gus counts.

Digger clears his throat to get my attention, but I ignore him.

“Three, four, five … looks like Stanford’s the winner,” shouts Gus.

We play a few more games of H-O-R-S-E, and each time I win, Digger turns a deeper shade of red.

“Hey, guys,” I say, tossing the ball to Tico. “I gotta go see my grandma. We’re having lunch at her place today.”

“Don’t choke on your food,” Digger says.

“Thanks for your concern,” I tell him. “It’s nice to know you care.”

12:12 P.M.

It’s International Food Festival Day at Vacation Village, something the perky ladies have dreamed up. The whole place is decorated with flags from different countries. Everyone who works here is wearing funny-looking outfits, and someone hands me a sombrero. “It’s a Small World” is playing over and over again. I’ll never get that song out of my head.

I spot my mother. She looks really sharp in her navy blue suit. She’s wearing one of those French hats that look like Frisbees.

“Stanford!” she says.

I rush up to her. “Mom, I passed. I passed!”

“Oh, honey,” she says in a way that makes me choke up. “You did it!”

“I’m going to the seventh grade,” I tell her. “I made the A-Team.”

“Stanford.” My mother brushes some dirt off my shirt. “You have always been on the A-Team, with or without basketball.”

What a mom thing to say.

“I thought you had work?” I ask as we walk toward the cafeteria.

“I do, but this is important to Yin-Yin, so I took some time off.”

“You really like your job, don’t you?”

Mom smiles. “Yes, it’s my version of basketball. Thank you for asking, Stanford. That means a lot to me.” She gives my arm a squeeze and whispers, “Did I tell you that I am so proud of you?”

“Yes, Mother,” I say, trying to sound like it’s no big deal.

We head to the buffet table. Yin-Yin is nowhere in sight. There are mini-pizzas and tacos; there’s sushi and curry. Then we spot the dim sum. “Uh-oh,” Mom says. I grimace.

Mom takes a bite of a shu mai. I take a cha siu bao. We both look at each other and frown. It tastes good, really good. This will not make Yin-Yin happy. She fancies herself the best dim sum chef around.

Just then Yin-Yin appears. “Hi,” she says. She’s dressed in a nice new outfit Mom bought for her. Everything matches. “Did your father make it?”

“No,” I mumble. “The Alderson whatever is coming to an end and he’s got a lot of work.”

“Oh well, that is to be expected,” Yin-Yin chirps as she gives me a hug. “At least you’re here and not someplace you shouldn’t be.”

I hug her back and whisper, “I passed English.”

Yin-Yin lets go of me and looks into my eyes. “You made the A-Team,” she says. “You’re moving up. Guess that teacher of yours wasn’t so bad after all?”

“Naw,” I tell her. “Mr. Glick was okay in the end.”

“Mr. Glick sounds like a person worth knowing.”

I nod in agreement.

“How’s the dim sum?” she asks, taking a plate. Mom and I glance at each other. Yin-Yin bites into a ha gow. “Not bad,” she says.

“It’s not awful,” Mom agrees. “But no one makes dim sum like you.”

“It’s true, Yin-Yin,” I say, backing her up.

Ramon approaches us. “It’s going well, wouldn’t you say, Mrs. Wong?”

“You’ve outdone yourself, Ramon.”

He looks nervous. “The dim sum?”

“Wonderful,” she tells him. “Next time I’ll teach you how to make chow fun.”

“I’d love it!” he exclaims, before hurrying off to check on his carnitas.

Yin-Yin turns to us and explains, “Ramon is the perfect person to carry on my legacy. He’s a fine cook on his own, but with my coaching he’s been flourishing.”

“Thank goodness for Ramon,” my mother whispers to me.

We all fill up our plates and are soon joined by Mr. Thistlewaite. “Hello, hello, hello!” he booms. “Mrs. Wong, you’re looking magnificent today.”

Yin-Yin laughs. “You need glasses,” she jokes, and gives him a light punch in the arm.

“Attention everyone!” a perky Vacation Village lady wearing a kimono says. “It’s time for our grand-prize raffle for a new thirteen-inch color television!”

A murmur travels through the room. Yin-Yin and Mr. Thistlewaite put down their plates and take out their raffle tickets.

“And the winner is number one-seven-two-one!!! Will number one-seven-two-one please come forward!”

Everyone claps as Yin-Yin makes her way to the front and blows kisses to the crowd. She’s all smiles as we settle down to eat. “Remember our deal?” she whispers to me. “I won a big prize, so now you have to kiss a girl!”

“Congratulations,” Mom tells Yin-Yin.

“Congratulations to Stanford too,” she replies.

“You are so right!” Mom picks up her water glass and announces to our table, “A toast to Stanford, for passing his English class.”

Mr. Thistlewaite stands up and shouts to the room, “Listen up, everyone! We are doing a toast to Stanford!”

All at once, the Vacation Villagers raise their water glasses and say, “A toast to Stanford!”

“Who’s Stanford?” I hear an old man behind me ask. “Is he that new fellow with the fish tank?”

“I don’t know,” the lady next to him says. “But I’m sure he must have done something wonderful.”