The Trouble Begins by Linda Himelblau

I show her the other one with no hairs.
    “Oh, Du,” Lin whispers like I've given her a golden treasure. “I see. I see.” Her face goes from golden treasure to disaster again. “Du,” she cries. “They're all in the trash. It's trash collection day.”
    “No, they're not,” I say. “They're lined up by the shed.”
    “Oh, Du. Thank you, thank you. Can you move them inside where they were? Outside might not be good for them. Please, can you do this one last thing? I know you're late for school.” I'm afraid she'll cry again.
    I run home to do what she says. I think about how desperate she is about the stubby plants and their little tiny hairs. Because it's a project for school. I think how cool it is that I found them and saved her. Even though she was so crabby to me before. I get an idea on the way home. Now she can help me just once with Mrs. Dorfman's personal narrative. I'll show my teacher that I had a better trip than anybody if Lin can help me.

    When I walk in, Mrs. Dorfman points toward the office and says “Late slip” to me right in the middle of the social studies paragraph she's reading. I stroll over to the Counseling Center.
    “Why are you late, Du?” asks Ms. Whipple. I shrug but I must have a big grin because of rescuing the mutants.
    “It's not funny, Du,” she says, tilting her head like she's trying to figure something out. “If there's a good reason, you won't have to stay, you know.”
    “I was rescuing mutants for my sister,” I say.
    “Okay, Du.” She shakes her head while she writes out the late slip but she's smiling a little at what I said. “Be here after school until you make up fifty minutes.” I stroll back to class with my late slip. Ms. Whipple's nice. Maybe I will tell her about the mutants.

    Lin is so happy to see me when I come home from school late that it's embarrassing. We all look at the plants with the little hairs and the ones without them. “Those are 'glabrous,'” announces Lin. “Most Americans don't even know that word. It means 'smooth, no hairs.'”
    “Glabrous,” I repeat. “Smooth, no hairs… bald.” Ha. That old man is glabrous and he doesn't even know it. I'll use it in an essay for Mrs. Dorfman and when she marks it wrong I will tell her what it means.
    Thuy and Vuong slap me on the back and tell me how great it is that I saved Lin even though Thuy does say, “What were you going to do with those, anyway?”
    “I have to write a personal narrative about a trip I took with my family, and the place we went, and the trip back,” I announce. “Will you help me?” They exchange sideways looks. The only place our family goes is Orange and I don't go with them. “I want to tell about going to the Philippines with Grandma,” I say, “but I was too little to remember. I know what we did after we got there when I grew older.”
    “Sure, Du. Sit down here. We'll do it right now.” Lin would do almost anything for me now. I wonder if I should waste it on a personal narrative. Then I think about how much she cares about her schoolwork. I'll do a good one once and see what happens.
    “Now, about the trip,” says Lin, all busy with her paper and pencils ready. “Let's get started.”
    “Ba and Ma won't tell me anything and Grandma gets sad if I ask and just wants to tell me stories.”
    “Why do you want to tell that stuff?” asks Thuy. Vuong gets up and leaves the room.
    “Because it's my trip!” I'm not going to let them start taking over everything I want to do.
    Vuong comes back. “Here,” he says, throwing an old newspaper picture on the table. “Here's your trip.” We all stare.
    In the picture is a little wooden boat pointed at one end and straight at the other. Even without color I can tell the boat is all beaten up and unpainted. It tips a little to one side. The front part is open but the back part has a roof over it. It isn't the boat that's important. There are about forty or fifty Vietnamese people crowded in the front