Kimchi & Calamari (13 page)

W
e had a sub in English the next day who let us talk, but I was in no mood for chitchat. Especially with all the jabbering about who was going with who to the dumb dance. Like I cared about eating chicken wings in that stinky gym with a tie on. I mean, I was happy for Nash; Ok-hee had said yes. And her parents were okay with it too—in part because Nash was friends with
me
, so they figured he wasn't a serial killer or anything. But hearing the rest of the eighth-grade lovebirds annoyed me. Then I overheard Jackie Tozzi say that Kelly was going to the Farewell
Formal with Lewis Knight, and that did it. I finished my worksheet, got a pass, and escaped to the library.

“Hey, Joseph!”

I peeked in the gym as I passed, only to see Yongsu waving at me and bouncing a Hacky Sack next to Whitney Bailey. That was a surprise. We call her the Wordless Word Queen because she won the state spelling bee twice, but other than that she barely opens her mouth. Yet there she was, giggling away with Yongsu.

At least someone felt happy.

I walked to the back of the library and searched through the stacks of old
Mad
magazines. They usually cheer me up, even on the darkest day. Finally I found one from two years ago that I hadn't read yet.

“I've been waiting for you,” a throaty voice growled from behind me.

I jumped, turned around, and nearly fell back into the shelves. A three-eyed alien glared at me!

Then a hand with half-moon fingernails pulled off the mask. “Gotcha!” Robyn laughed so hard she dropped her alligator mini-pack.

I stood up and shook my head. “Yeah, you got me” was all I could say. But then I cracked up, too. Why is it that getting scared-to-death actually feels hilarious afterward?

“Serves you right. Don't you return phone calls?” she asked. She was wearing paper clip earrings and her hair was pulled back into a braid with loose strands sticking out the sides.

Whoops. I remembered Gina telling me about a phone call. “Sorry, I didn't know it was you. And I went to sleep early.”

We stood there snatching glimpses of each other while pretending we were looking around the library. Robyn began saying something, stopped, and started again. A librarian wheeled a cart of books by. She noticed the mask in Robyn's hand, and smiled.

“I was talking to your friend Pete Nash the other day. I didn't know you read comic books. So do I.” Her voice was almost a whisper.

“
Read
'em? I could be president of the Spidey Fan Club,” I said. “I know everything about Spider-Man, from which superhero he met on Christmas Day to Peter Parker and Mary Jane's special love song.”

Robyn looked like she was about to burst. “He met The Human Torch and, duh, their song was ‘Kung Fu Fighting!' Spider-Man rocks, but Storm's
my
girl. She who controls the weather, controls the world.”

“I never knew that you liked comic books, Robyn.”

“I bet there's a lot we don't know about each other.”

Here was my chance. Yoda's words echoed in my head:
There is no try.

“Robyn, would you go to the Farewell Formal? With me, I mean?”

“I would, but—”

She stopped. Here we go again. Rejection City, two days straight. Maybe God was punishing me for saying I hated my birth mother.

“Don't even say it Robyn. I understand.” Why not spare us both the painful details of her excuse.

“Say what?” She looked hurt.

“Whatever you're going to say to let me down easy.” I tossed the
Mad
magazine back on the stack.

Robyn pouted her lips. Her face wasn't as furious as the three-eyed alien's, but it wasn't warm and fuzzy, either.

“So you're making up my mind for me? Is that how it works, Joseph?”

Now I felt like the president of Idiots-R-Us. “No, I misunderstood. I mean…what
do
you mean?”

“I was about to say I'll go with you, but not because you're funny. You
are
funny, but not funny looking. You're kind of cute, if you must know.” She folded up the mask and stuck it in her mini-pack.

“Really? I mean, thanks,” I said. How did she know about my humor dilemma? Nash must have said something to her. And whatever he said had helped, because she was going to the dance with me!

“Did you really think I looked put together last week in study hall?” she asked as we walked toward the front of the library.

“Very put together,” I said. I just knew my face was reddening from my goofy attempt to sound like a ladies' man.

We cut across a line of sixth graders checking out books at the circulation counter. I told her I'd buy our dance tickets tomorrow during lunch, since the dance was Friday. Nothing like waiting until last minute.

“Sure,” she said, distracted. Then she grabbed my arm—not exactly a yank, but firm enough—and pulled me into the side room where the microfiche viewers are kept.

Our faces were inches away from each other, so close I could count her eyelashes. I half expected her to tell me a dumb riddle, but she didn't say a word.

Instead, she grabbed my chin and kissed me.

“That was no joke,” she said. And she strolled away, the alligator tail on her mini-pack bopping up and down
behind her, leaving me standing in the library as limp as a rubber band.

 

I walked into Spanish, my last period class, feeling higher than the world's tallest man on stilts. Happier than a dog with a T-bone. I was the luckiest guy in Nutley, New Jersey. Robyn and I would have a blast at the Farewell Formal. Not that I had to daydream about her or anything, since she was sitting three desks over.

After class I was still in a daze and nearly ran into Mrs. Peroutka in the hallway. She asked if I'd come to her classroom.

I followed her, and she pulled a paper out of a folder. “Here's your makeup essay, Joseph. I wanted to talk about it privately.”

Privately? Did that mean more trouble? My eyes zeroed in on the top of the first page. All I saw was a big fat A.

Yowza!

“Thanks,” I said, reaching out to shake her hand.

“Describing yourself as an ethnic sandwich was funny and honest, Joseph. You seem to understand your layers better than most people.”

“I'm trying,” I said, shrugging.

“And I would agree that being adopted, as you wrote,
must raise a ‘boatload of questions that don't have easy answers.' You've shown insight that, for some, takes a lifetime to discover.”

Mrs. Peroutka was spreading the compliments so thick I felt bad for all the times I'd slept in her class. I vowed never to doze off in social studies again—at least not in the remaining two weeks.

Just as I charged out of the room so I wouldn't miss the bus, Mrs. Peroutka called me back.

“One more thing, Joseph. I'd like to display your essay on the bulletin board, if you're okay with that. The unit is over, but I think your classmates would enjoy reading what you wrote.”

“Sure.”

“Your writing showed courage and honesty. Even Sohn Kee Chung would be pleased,” she added with a smile.

 

“Hey, Mrs. Nash, is Pete home?” I shouted from the driveway after school. He hadn't been on the bus, and I really wanted to talk to him.

Mrs. Nash was watering the flowerpots on her front stoop. She was still dressed in her nurse's uniform. “He's out back, cleaning the pool.”

I unlocked the gate. “What's up, bro?” I called.

“I've got strange but true news, Joseph,” he said with a grin.

“What, did Frankie get a date for the dance?”

“Believe it or not, he did. Molly Palanski said yes on a dare, poor girl. But that's not it.”

“I give up.”

He was grinning. “I just got back from a doctor's appointment. I cracked the case of what's causing my migraines. Even my neurologist thinks I'm right.”

“What is it then?”

“Potatoes! Plain old potatoes. Can you believe it?”

I thought about all the gallons of mashed potatoes that he'd eaten over the years. I could only imagine his mom's shock at the news.

“Talk about a cruel twist of fate,” I said. “But it could have been worse. What if you'd been allergic to candy?”

Nash said he was registered for summer baseball for the first time in two years. “And I might even be able to play hockey next year if I lay off the taters.”

“Awesome! I've got news too. You and Ok-hee better save room on the dance floor for Robyn and me.” I jumped on the picnic table and started doing my best macarena moves.

“You won her over?” Nash's eyes twinkled.

“Yup. And I didn't use one single joke,” I said, patting my own back. “I owe you, too, man. For talking me up with Robyn.”

“Both our dates were collaborative efforts,” Nash said, using a deep spy voice.

“Never use that word ‘collaborative.' It's too teacher-ish,” I said, and we both laughed.

Nash said that he and Ok-hee would be riding to the dance with her brother. “You'll never believe who Yongsu's taking,” he said.

“Whitney the Wordless Word Queen?”

He nodded. “Did he tell you?”

“Just a hunch. Yongsu didn't say a word. And we both know Whitney's a good speller but a lousy talker!”

Nash finished cleaning the pool and tossed the skimmer on the grass. “Want to swim?”

“Sure,” I said. Nash belly flopped in and I followed, causing a tidal wave that drenched the picnic table.

I was wearing jean shorts, but I didn't care. In fact, we made so much noise acting like caffeinated dolphins that Mrs. Nash came out and offered us snacks just to get us out of the water.

Close to dinnertime, I dried off and put on my sneakers.

Nash crossed his arms over his chest, hesitated, and then spoke. “I'm sorry about the search, Joseph. That it didn't work out.”

I shrugged. “It's not your fault, Nash. The odds weren't with us that the right person would read my posting.”

To use Mom-speak, I'd taken a chill pill. I wasn't even mad at my birth mother anymore, whatever her name is. I mean, it's not like I got shipped to Slumsville, USA.

“It's up to you, Joseph. But if you want to keep searching, well, I'm here and I charge reasonable rates.”

I smiled and told Nash I'd keep that in mind.

 

As I walked up my driveway in my dripping wet shorts, I figured out why I've always loved Spider-Man. Throughout his whole life Peter Parker tried, but never uncovered, what happened after his parents disappeared behind the Iron Curtain as spies. It always bugged him that he couldn't get to the truth, and, yeah, a couple of times he followed false leads, thinking he'd found his parents when he hadn't. Still, it didn't stop him from being the coolest. Even better than Superman, if you ask me. Sure, Superman is invincible—nothing but a wad of kryptonite can take him out. But Spider-Man, well, he started out human like the rest of us. And he
rights the world using his web slinging and wisecracking.

Besides, my birth mother didn't go behind the Iron Curtain. She probably never even left her village in Korea. Someday I might find her. And this time I'll be sure to ask what religion she is
first
.

“D
on't drop those Whoppers,” Dad called that evening as I followed him to a table in the back of Burger King, where Mom was waiting with Gina and Sophie. Since Dad still had his cast on, I was the designated carrier. And this was the mother of all fast-food trays, piled high with supersized drinks, burgers, fries, and lots of ketchup in paper cups.

“Where's my fish fillet?” Sophie asked, scanning the wrapped burgers.

Mom dug it out from under the pile and passed it to her.

I looked at Sophie's sandwich and grasped at my chest. “How dare you eat a fish that was so cruelly hooked, skinned, and fried!”

“Not funny, Joseph. And neither is killing cow mothers in front of their puppies.”

“Calves, Sophie,” Dad said, biting into his burger. “If you're going to be an animal rights activist, at least get the names straight.”

Sophie was still on her animal cruelty kick. Was she a born-again vegan or was this a passing second-grade fad? Only time would tell. Time and Mom's risotto and sausage, which so happened to be Sophie's favorite meal.

After they'd finished, Sophie and Gina ran over to play on the indoor jungle gym. I got up to get more ketchup. Like Dad, I use tons of the stuff.

“By the way, Joseph. Nonna and Nonno Calderaro are flying up next week for your moving-up ceremony,” Mom said.

“Great! We haven't seen them since Christmas,” I said.

Dad sipped his shake. “Nonno wouldn't miss your last drum solo in middle school. He bought himself a digital camera so he could e-mail your picture to all his golf buddies in Florida. Don't be surprised if he makes
copies of your report card and that terrific essay to show off too. Those old fellows like to one-up each other.”

“Ah yes, Competitive Grandparents Duke it Out in Florida. Now
that's
a reality show,” I said, drumming my fingertips against the edge of the table.

Dad laughed. “Nonno's proud of you, Joseph; we all are. What a way to end the year: a band solo and high honors for your grades. High school will suit you well.”

“Speaking of suits, I permed Donnalee Carleton's hair this afternoon,” Mom said.

I gulped down a mouthful of fries. “As in Robyn's mother?” Guess Mom knows who I'm taking to the Farewell Formal on Friday!

“Robyn's grandmother.”

“I meant to tell you that I asked Robyn to the dance, Mom. It just happened today.”

“Don't worry, I knew before my two o'clock appointment showed up. Robyn called Mrs. Carleton from the school pay phone, and her mother called Donnalee on her cell phone while she was sitting under the dryer. The Carletons are nice people. Donnalee's a great tipper, too.”

Dad winked at me. “See? You were yourself and you got the girl.”

“Yup, I let my true colors show. Like Caruso.”

“How 'bout we go to the mall after school tomorrow and get you a suit?” Dad asked.

“Works for me,” I said, with my mouth full.

“Get a dark color,” Mom added. “The way things are going with Aunt Foxy and Dominick, you might need it for a winter wedding.”

I nodded. “Dominick can marry Aunt Foxy as long as he gets me tickets to a Yankees game.”

“Gets us
both
tickets,” Dad said, and I high-fived his good arm.

I grabbed a handful of Mom's fries, and she pushed the rest over to me.

“I was telling Mom that I checked out the college library today,” Dad said.

Dad likes libraries as much as I like comic book stores, so that was nothing new.

“And while I was there, I did some research on Korea and adoption searching,” he added.

I stopped chewing.

“Turns out they offer these group tours, for families and adoptees wanting to visit their birthplace.”

I started chewing again, but quietly, so I wouldn't miss a word.

“The tour groups don't guarantee they can reunite
adoptees with birth families, but they can connect us with Korean agencies that do these kinds of searches. Korea used to be close-lipped about this stuff, but that's changing.”

“So we'll go to Pusan?” I asked. Whoa, was this my dad or an alien impostor?

“That's right. We'll do our best to track down your birth relatives, and we'll see the city you're from.”

“With other adopted kids?”

“Sure, kids and their families. These tours aren't cheap, but I'm thinking we'll go the summer before your junior year. That's only two years out, and by then I'll be halfway done with my bachelor degree and ready for a vacation. Just think, you and me—Pusan bound,” he said, grinning.

In my whole life, Dad and I never traveled anywhere together, just us.

“Count me in.” I looked over at Mom. Her eyes sparkled in a way that said it all:
See, Joseph, he does care.

“You're in, son. Start saving your allowance for kimchi dinners. I read that Koreans have their own version of calamari, too.” Dad snatched some of Mom's fries from my pile.

He remembered about kimchi. We'd love kimchi and calamari!

“Before you two jet-setters book airfare, I want dates and times so I can check the astrology charts,” she said. “Laugh all you want, but no way are you flying on a bad day for a Taurus or a Scorpio.”

 

My déjà-vu dream returned that night. Only this time, there was a guest star. A man running up ahead on the dirt road slowed down and called me. “Joseph!”

I stared at him. Finally a face that
wasn't
fuzzy. It was Sohn Kee Chung!

“Good work,” he said, jogging in place beside me now and gesturing toward my wagon. “You're almost there. Keep pulling.”

“But where am I going?” I asked.

The sunlight flickered against something around his neck. His gold medal. “Where do you want to go?” he asked.

I shrugged, confused.

“Pusan is waiting for you, Joseph. Naples and Florence, too. You don't want to miss any of it. I'm glad I went to Germany.”

“But…”

“Happy traveling, Joseph,” he said, patting my back before he took off again.

“Thanks, Sohn…Grandpa,” I called in the faintest whisper.

 

A small brown package came addressed to me in the mail on the day of the Farewell Formal. Mom was out running errands when I opened it. The St. Louis return address gave it away: I didn't know anyone who lived there but Jae.

Inside was a small envelope, wrapped in bubble wrap, and a letter written on flowery stationery.

I held the
dojang
by its smooth wooden handle, and my fingers touched the ridges in the rubber mat.

This is my name. What my birth mother called me.
I thought back to that wave of joy that hit when I first learned about Jae's aunt. I really believed I'd found my birth mother.

I sighed. Then I said my Korean name out loud.

“Duk-kee.”

And for the first time, it sounded just the way Yongsu said it!

I carried the
dojang
upstairs to my room. My suit was already laid out on my bed. Dad had polished my black
leather shoes and pre-knotted my tie. And Mom had picked up a wrist corsage for Robyn, which was sitting on my dresser.

Just before I took a shower, I reached behind my bed and picked up the
corno
box.

I unclasped the chain and put it around my neck. Just like Dad and Nonno Calderaro and Uncle Biaggio, I was as real Italian as I could be too.

I'd wear the
corno
to the dance. And I'd use the
dojang
whenever I needed to sign my name in a fancy way. Maybe I'd bring it to the Jiffy Wash to show Mrs. Han, especially now that I could say my name like a real Korean.

Why not do both? There are worse things than being an ethnic sandwich.