The Trouble Begins by Linda Himelblau Page B

history. We all talked Vietnamese. The best time was when we didn't have enough money for school. Me and my friends would run down to the ocean or around the edges of the camp or play cards or marbles or have cricket fights if it was raining. I would catch great big shiny beetles and tie them on a string and follow them when they flew. If we found a dead bird we made feather birdies and kicked them around a circle with our feet. I never missed. I would like to go back to my friends there and run along the ocean right now. I would give away the rolls we sold so I would never have to sit on the school benches. I'd be outside almost all day.
    When we got over having TB we still had to wait to come to America. My dad sent money so we could buy plane tickets and come to live with him and my mom and my sisters and brother. We flew in an airplane that took days and nights to get here because the Philippines are on the other side of the world and also we waited a long time in airports.
    The End

    I have my personal narrative in my notebook. If I turned it in now it would be late but Mrs. Dorfman just collectedTiffany's and Jorge's. “Better late than never,” she said. “I'll take ten points off your final score for each late day.”
    She asks for volunteers to read theirs. Alan volunteers to read about his trip to Carlsbad Beach in an RV. Then Emily reads about some place but she talks so soft and it's so boring that I don't listen. After Anthony reads his, Mrs. Dorfman says, “I'd like to speak to you after class, Anthony.”
    “How come?” he blurts. “I did it.”
    “Are you sure you didn't get quite a bit of help?” she asks with her eyebrows up. Anthony mutters about how she blames him for everything, and slumps down in his seat. Veronica's trip to Mexico takes less than a minute to read. Kids are squirming around like me and nobody's listening. Mrs. Dorfman's grading our spelling tests. She handed back my Disneyland paper with the others but I don't volunteer. I almost raise my hand to read my real personal narrative but then I start to think about it. Maybe they won't believe it about the pirates and the boat and the jewelry. Mrs. Dorfman might not like the part about cutting in line and Anthony will laugh and say we were “trash pickers.” It's not really what Mrs. Dorfman said we should write anyway because it took years and years, not a week or a few days. And also it's late so it won't get a good grade anyway. I don't want a D on this paper. She'll say I didn't write it because Thuy and Lin helped me. And then I think that I just don't want her or any of them to read it or hear it now. It's mine. I just found out myself about the boat. Vuong said hundreds of thousands of people died in those boats. I'll just keep it for myself and maybe someday if I have American kids I'll let them read it.

The Bicycle
    I can get through that little window so fast now the old man couldn't see me if he could see around corners. He's got boxes of Christmas junk in this trunk. Strings of lights and colored balls. Some of them are broken but I didn't break them. Maybe that boy in the picture album did. I bet that's his box of metal parts way down in the bottom of the trunk. I wonder what he made with it. I could make almost anything out of this stuff. These little gears and rods fit right onto the wheels. I wish I had one of these sets but I never even saw one in a store. It's very old. It would cost a lot new.That boy in the picture must be the old man's son. He must have played stupid baseball all the time. He's got on baseball clothes in almost every picture. The lady must be his mother. She smiles nice. I wonder what happened to them. I never saw anyone come to see that mean old man. I guess that's why he spies on us all the time. I still owe him back for when he stank up my shoes and called the police about the blackberries. I gotta think of something good. The lawn mower doesn't count because he put it back together right in