The Buddha in the Attic by Julie Otsuka

instruments to play). They never got Valentines (they never sent Valentines). They didn’t like to dance (they didn’t have the right shoes). They floated ghostlike, through the halls, with their eyes turned away and their books clutched to their chests, as though lost in a dream. If someone called them a name behind their back they did not hear it. If someone called them a name to their face they just nodded and walked on. If they were given the oldest textbooks to use in math class they shrugged and took it in stride. I never really liked algebra anyway . If their pictures appeared at the end of the yearbook they pretended not to mind. “That’s just the way it is,” they said to themselves. And, “So what?” And, “Who cares?” Because they knew that no matter what they did they would never really fit in. We’re just a bunch of Buddhaheads .
    THEY LEARNED which mothers would let them come over (Mrs. Henke, Mrs. Woodruff, Mrs. Alfred Chandler III) and which would not (all the other mothers). They learned which barbers would cut their hair (the Negro barbers) and which barbers to avoid (the grumpy barbers on the south side of Grove). They learned that there were certain things that would never be theirs: higher noses, fairer complexions, longer legs that might be noticed from afar. Every morning I do my stretching exercises but it doesn’t seem to help . They learned when they could go swimming at the YMCA— Colored days are on Mondays —and when they could go to the picture show at the Pantages Theater downtown (never). They learned that they should always call the restaurant first. Do you serve Japanese? They learned not to go out alone during the daytime and what to do if they found themselves cornered in an alley after dark. Just tell them you know judo . And if that didn’t work, they learned to fight back with their fists. They respect you when you’re strong . They learned to find protectors. They learned to hide their anger. No, of course. I don’t mind. That’s fine. Go ahead . They learned never to show their fear. They learned that some people are born luckier than others and that things in this world do not always go as you plan.
    STILL , they dreamed. One swore she would one day marry a preacher so she wouldn’t have to pick berries on Sundays. One wanted to save up enough money to buy his own farm. One wanted to become a tomato grower like his father. One wanted to become anything but. One wanted to plant a vineyard. One wanted to start his own label. I’d call it Fukuda Orchards . One could not wait until the day she got off the ranch. One wanted to go to college even though no one she knew had ever left the town. I know it’s crazy, but … One loved living out in the country and never wanted to leave. It’s better here. Nobody knows who we are . One wanted something more but could not say exactly what it was. This just isn’t enough . One wanted a Swing King drum set with hi-hat cymbals. One wanted a spotted pony. One wanted his own paper route. One wanted her own room, with a lock on the door. Anyone who came in would have to knock first . One wanted to become an artist and live in a garret in Paris. One wanted to go to refrigeration school. You can do it through the mail . One wanted to build bridges. One wanted to play the piano. One wanted to operate his own fruit stand alongside the highway instead of working for somebody else. One wanted to learn shorthand at the Merritt Secretarial Academy and get an inside job in an office. Then I’d have it made . One wanted to become the next Great Togo on the professional wrestling circuit. One wanted to become a state senator. One wanted to cut hair and open her own salon. One had polio and just wanted to breathe without her iron lung. One wanted to become a master seamstress. One wanted to become a teacher. One wanted to become a doctor. One wanted to become his sister. One wanted to become a gangster. One wanted to become a star. And even