Miracle

2

“Are you ready for today, Amie?” Mom pulled the car to the curb of the drop-off zone.

It was late August, a week after the day Ba-ba was supposed to speak at my school, and it was blazing Arizona-hot.

I adjusted my backpack straps and waved through the window to my best friend, Rio Alvaro, who waited down the sidewalk. “Definitely.”

“Do you have your lunch?” she asked.

“Yep!” I had my backpack, lunch, and violin.

“Have fun with friends. Have good thoughts.” She usually sounded as if she meant it, but today, she sounded like a robot.

“Okay, Mom. I’ll see you later. With Ba-ba, right?”

She nodded once with sadness in her eyes. “See you later,” she muttered and turned to the front so slowly, I thought she was operating in largo.

I tried to infuse her with enthusiasm. “It’ll be good!”

She didn’t answer.

I shut the door and sighed. When Mom was like that, I didn’t know how to make her feel better. She was so different from Ba-ba, and I could never understand her mood. I headed past the faded pink building and the JAMESON ELEMENTARY SCHOOL sign toward the gate to the playground.

Ba-ba and I convinced Mom to reschedule the talk. She thought he should stay at home and videoconference my school, but Ba-ba really wanted to thank everyone in person for their donations. Mom’s compromise was that he’d talk to my class for exactly thirty minutes. She was worried about him catching something. But his doctor said it was fine.

“What’s up?” Rio joined me at the gate, rolling his cello behind him.

I shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

He nudged my elbow. “Come on. Tell me.”

I didn’t stop walking until we crossed the entire playground and reached the olive tree that had four benches surrounding it. It was our spot for discussing music or plotting silly pranks against our friend Bella, who didn’t go to our school, or talking about serious things.

“Amie, come on.” Rio rested his cello upright as I set my violin case on the metal bench.

We both sat under the shady part because the bench was already warm from the heat.

Rio drummed his fingers on the top of his bright blue cello case. He was always composing his feelings into rhythms. I’d gotten pretty good at guessing how he felt. Slow and even tapping meant he was worried.

I didn’t want him to worry about me. I took a deep breath. “I’m excited for my dad to come today, but Mom is really nervous.”

He shook his head. “My mom thinks it’s a great idea.”

It was news to me that his mom supported Ba-ba. Usually she agreed with Mom since they were close friends. I asked, “You’re not sick, are you?”

“No.”

I squinted at the other kids on the playground. “Is anyone else sick?”

“I don’t think so.” Rio drummed two fingers really fast on his case. He had an idea. “Oh, wait. Didn’t Mia have something?”

“Did she?” I tried to remember if she coughed during last week’s orchestra rehearsal.

He started calling and waving across the playground. “Hey, Mia, didn’t you have vacation-itis last week?” Then he smiled goofily, which made me laugh.

Of course, I remembered now: She was in Hawaii for two weeks. “I don’t know why I’m freaking out.”

His face became serious. “Isn’t this the first time he’s been out of the house?”

“In a long time, yeah. Besides doctor’s appointments and hospitalizations.”

“Well, that’s a big deal.”

I nodded. It really was. Rio and Bella were the only friends who’d ever been to my house, and that wasn’t very often. Maybe deep down I was just as worried as Mom.

“Is he coming to orchestra?” Rio’s eyes were bright.

Immediately, my heart warmed at the thought of Ba-ba at rehearsal and finally meeting Ms. Sato in person and feeling all the music. We were probably going to play “Simple Gifts,” one of my favorite pieces. I nodded, and my smile spread wide. I was still more excited than worried about Ba-ba visiting my school.

“Awesome.” Rio smiled.

“Amie!” Cora, my stand partner in orchestra, waved at us. She brought two viola girls with her. “Hi, friends. Amie, is your dad really coming to school today?”

“Yes!”

“That is so cool. I wish my dad would be invited by the school to talk to our class.” She and the other girls burst with bright notes and gossip.

Rio listened to them for a little while, then out of the side of his mouth, he told me, “Last night, I started composing this special piece. Wanna hear the main melody?”

“Sure!” I leaned my ear into him.

He hummed three notes, but then saw the girls nudging each other and exchanging smiles. He blushed and took an obvious step away from me. “Well, maybe later.”

One of the girls asked, “What’s the secret, Rio?”

He took another shuffle backward. “Um, no secret.”

I sighed inside. The girls in my grade always thought me and Rio were boyfriend-girlfriend. We hung out all the time. But even though we didn’t like each other like that, Rio had become more aware of the rumors about us and tried not to give the wrong impression.

In fact, he was so aware, he let all three girls go between me and him when we headed for the lineup into our homeroom, so we wouldn’t be next to each other.

It didn’t matter. Filing into Ms. Wiley’s sixth-grade classroom was my favorite part of the day. I couldn’t wait for Ba-ba to see it.

Sparkles covered a papered black door. There was a magic-motion bulletin board that revealed Rio’s picture, but only from a certain angle; he was student of the week. Stars dangled from the ceiling above the whiteboards on the left wall and the front. Then came the curtained-off bookshelf corner framed with fake trees, like a fantasy portal. A poster of Mary GrandPré’s Harry Potter character art was a hint that Ms. Wiley loved the magical world of the book series.

Ba-ba, Rio, Bella, and I did, too. Ba-ba had let me read book seven, even though Mom thought it—and every one after book three—was too scary for a sixth grader.

I set my violin case under the homework turn-in table. Rio and Cora added to the stack.

I passed through the desk grid and went to the front row, near the poster of Harry Potter. Hanging my backpack on the back of the chair, I unzipped my pink hoodie. Ms. Wiley had set a cute star-shaped paperweight on my desk. For Ba-ba? I smiled. He’d love it.

Star stickers also decorated the whiteboard, where she listed our activities and classroom switching for the day: the Daily Prophet, ELA, Recess; Math & Geography, Lunch, Mr. Cheung Visit, PE/Band/Orchestra; Science.

Ba-ba’s name was on the board.

I caught a few people staring at me before they turned their heads. They saw the agenda on the board, too. I lifted the lid of my desk, selected my favorite blue pen, the one that had an eraser, and started the Daily Prophet.

The Daily Prophet was another clue that Ms. Wiley loved Harry Potter. It was always a journal question. Today’s was Hagrid told Harry, “But yeh must know about yer mom and dad.… They’re famous. You’re famous.” List the pros and cons of being famous.

I listed the pros, in Mom’s list-making style:

I couldn’t think of any cons. I stared at Harry on the poster. He smiled like he had a secret. We shared the same hair color, but I wore mine long, a little past my shoulders, and sometimes pulled back in a black headband. I lifted my chin. Maybe I had a secretive smile, too.

“Ms. Wiley,” came a voice over the speaker.

My teacher stood at her desk. “This is she.”

“There is a change of plan. Mr. and Mrs. Cheung have arrived in the office and have requested to do their visit early. Could you send an escort from your class?”

All eyes were on me. And suddenly, my secretive smile faded.

“Certainly, I will send someone. Thank you.” Ms. Wiley waited for a few seconds before she addressed the class. “Cora, I’m going to have you temporarily switch roles with Amie today, since her parents are here.” She took the hall pass from Cora’s assignment pocket on the bulletin board and handed it to me. “We’ll be excitedly waiting for your return.”

The hall pass shook in my hands as I left. Why did Ba-ba and Mom decide to come early? Was something wrong? Something had to be wrong.

My steps were dead thumps of a bass drum as I walked through the empty halls.

I tried to summon the magic of my classroom. Maybe Ba-ba had an appointment reschedule. Maybe Mom had an unexpected meeting at work. Maybe… maybe…

“Right around the corner, Amie.” The office assistant guided me through the entrance hallway doors and into the front lobby.

Ba-ba rose with the biggest smile, even though he had dark circles under his eyes.

“Hi, Ba-ba.” I rushed to hug him. I side-hugged Mom. “Why are you here so early?”

Mom’s brows were a line of concern. “Ba did not sleep well last night. I think it would be better for him to be here in the morning.”

That made sense. Ba-ba might need a nap that would interfere with the originally scheduled time. I pointed at the locked hallway doors. “It’s this way.”

Mom had one arm around Ba-ba’s right side, so I supported his other side and headed toward my classroom. It was slow going, very largo. I tried to take everything in like Ba-ba would: the university alumni flags of the teachers, the colored arrows pointing the kindergarteners to their classrooms, the fifth graders’ reports on the Boston Massacre, the posters for the upcoming book fair, and finally the sixth-grade cell posters.

And then I opened the sparkly door and led Ba-ba into the magical part of my world. My classmates reminded me of poised musicians, waiting for the drop of beat one.

Ba-ba’s eyes lit up as he took in the room. He smiled and said, “Amie was not exaggerating about her beautiful classroom.”

I beamed. The perfect start to his visit.

Ms. Wiley warmly welcomed him and Mom, and as I helped Ba-ba to the front of the room, I could feel the class watching our every move. Admirers and observers. Rio shot me a thumbs-up. It felt good to be famous.

“Class,” Ms. Wiley announced as she stood next to Ba-ba, “Mr. Cheung is going to speak for a few minutes, and afterward, he will have a little time to answer questions. Please give him your full attention.” She smiled at Ba-ba and backed away to her desk, motioning for Mom to follow, since there was an extra chair there.

“Thank you, Ms. Wiley.” Ba-ba’s voice was loud and confident. He drew a long breath and spoke softer. “Thank you for allowing me to be here. I want to talk to you today about hope.”

He launched into his speech like it was muscle memory. I hung on every word. He didn’t miss a beat. Then he hit the ending point: “I do not want to burden you with the many difficulties of cancer, because there are always more. I would rather leave you with this positive thought: Miracles happen every day, so find what will keep you hopeful and do not give up.”

The applause echoed off the walls. Even the fluorescent lights seemed to gleam brighter as I stood with the support of my whole class. Ba-ba seemed embarrassed, but I couldn’t have been prouder. I whooped while Rio clapped louder. I bounced on my heels. Trumpets rang in my head.

But then Ba-ba widened his eyes at me, took a step toward Mom, and dropped.

The next minutes were a blur as Mom, Ms. Wiley, and I rushed to him. People and chatter, echoing in my head. Pounding, crashing, jarring. EMTs hurried into the room to help him. He was so white. Like sheet music.

I followed him and Mom and the EMTs out to the front office, and the office aide asked for Mom to sign me out. But Mom shook her head. “I need you to stay here. We will be at the hospital. Have Isa take you after school to her house with Rio. I will let her know what is happening.” She pulled her car keys out of her purse and headed for the door. At the last second, she turned and said, “Do not worry, okay? You know this has happened before. Ba will be fine.”

I watched her drive off after the ambulance. Now she was the one reassuring me, and I was the one upset and moving in largo. Two emergency room visits in two weeks. That wasn’t normal.

The office lady pressed a button to allow me to enter the school halls through the locked double doors. “I’m sorry, Amie. It’ll be okay.”

I nodded. It had to be okay.

When I got back to Ms. Wiley’s class, the other kids looked at me with pity, but I wasn’t bothered. Ba-ba had spoken to my class, and that’s all he wanted. I did have to explain things to Rio at recess, and again at lunch when classmates asked me what happened, and again in orchestra. By the end of the day, I was tired of talking.

I noted one huge con to being famous:

I wasn’t going to let them make me worry.

3

“Bella wants us to come over,” Rio announced as he flopped down next to me on his living-room carpet. He’d already made his delicious popcorn with caramel and chocolate sauce (with Auntie Isa’s help) and played his new composition on his cello. This was his third attempt at getting my mind off Ba-ba while I waited for Mom to call from the hospital.

I wished Mom would have let me come. I didn’t mind being bored as I waited.

“She wants to play a new video game,” Rio said.

“Who?”

“Bella.” Rio looked excited. “She said it’s not a shooting game. It’s a logic game, with puzzles. You like those.”

His house always smelled like fried spiciness and tomatoes, which usually comforted me, but it didn’t feel right today. I hugged the sofa pillow tighter. I didn’t like when he worried about me.

“Did my mom call?”

He shook his head. “Do you want to go home?”

I thought about wandering around my empty house. No Ba-ba sitting in his recliner watching NHK World news or studying the Bible or listening to classical music. I shifted my head to the side toward Rio. “Let’s go to Bella’s.”

He went and told his mom, and we all piled into the car with my violin.

Going to Bella’s wasn’t a big deal because she lived right next door to my house. Sometimes I’d go over to hang out after her mom picked her up from her charter school. Her house always felt happy and warm, like Rio’s house, except she had Southern things like Zapp’s Spicy Cajun Crawtator chips in her pantry and dangling beads in the doorways.

Bella’s mom, Mrs. Howard, opened the door. A beam of sunshine and cool air-conditioning shot into my worried body. I tried to hold on to that bright feeling, like a fermata extending a note forever.

“Well, hello, y’all,” she greeted us. “LaBelle is right inside. Come on in.”

Bella was short for LaBelle. She hurtled into me and Rio like a blaring tuba, all energy and arms and dark hair. “You guys!” she squealed, and hugged us tight, forcing me to drop my violin case to the floor. She kept us in her strong grip as we bumbled down the hall lined with family pictures and school portraits.

The only thing that felt the same as my house was her room. There was a crooked GENIUS WORKING sign on her door, and inside was a world of pink, our favorite color.

The color was familiar and comfortable. Bella released us onto her cushioned window seat, grabbed a controller from the bed, and plopped between me and Rio. The little TV on her bedside table was on, as was the Nintendo below. The screen filled with a pretty landscape, lots of clouds, and the Zelda logo. Bella wiggled as the music swelled.

Rio reached over and pressed a button on the controller. “What’s the new game?”

Her voice was full of intrigue as she widened her eyes. “This is The Legend of Zelda.”

On cue, the first screen image dissolved into another. There was a bright light and a mysterious voice. The music changed to a dramatic melody, all echoing and scraping cymbal.

“Who’s Zelda?” I asked. Ba-ba didn’t approve of video games, and I was strictly disobeying him. He didn’t think they improved the mind.

Bella gasped like I’d insulted the fathers of classical music. “You haven’t heard of Zelda?”

I felt another twinge of guilt. I didn’t even have iPad games at home. And the kids at school never mentioned Zelda—Minecraft and Fruit Ninja, yes, but not Zelda or why she was legendary.

“Have you heard of it?” Bella asked Rio.