that afternoon. She described in great detail what everyone had been wearing and which stores she thought theyâd got the clothes from. Even though Iâm not very interested in that kind of stuff, I usually try to pay attention. But that night all I could think about was the letter and what it had said. I looked at the clock on the stove. It was just a little after seven oâclock.
Dinner that night was pretty ordinary. Ordinary for me, I should say. See, my parents were both born in Japan, so we eat a lot of things that most Americans wouldnât go anywhere
near
: seaweed, raw fish, all kinds of weird stuff. Of course, Iâve been eating Japanese food since I was a baby, so Iâm used to it. I donât even bother inviting Melissa to eat with us anymore, though. We tried that once and I donât think there was a single thing on the whole table that she liked. She probably made her mom cook her a whole new meal once she got back down to the sixth floor.
So it was just me and my parents that night, as usual, eating a dinner of baked salmon and white rice. Of course, I didnât know then that it would be the last meal Iâd have on Earth for about two weeks. Otherwise I think Iâd have eaten more. As it was, I sort of picked at my food and did my best to look like I was eating. The more I thought about the letter the more nervous I got, and it kind of made me lose my appetite. I looked at the clock on the wall to see what time it was. It was already seven-thirty.
I almost got through the whole meal without my mom asking me any questions. Almost.
âSo who was that letter from, Akiko?â she asked, heading into the kitchen for more rice.
âLetter?â I asked, trying to sound casual.
I glanced at my dad. He had the sports section of the newspaper folded up small enough to hold with one hand and was reading it while he slowly chewed and swallowed his food.
âYes,â my mother said, âthat letter I gave you today. It looked like something pretty important.â
âOh,
that
letter. Um, that was from a kid at school named Jimmy Hampton. He was inviting me to his, uh, birthday party or something. . . .â I probably shouldnât have lied about the letter, but Iâd already broken the rule about not letting anyone else read it. Somehow it seemed like I was supposed to keep this whole thing a secret. The fact is I still had no idea where that letter came from or what it was all about, and I didnât feel like trying to explain it to my parents.
âThatâs marvelous!â my mother said, beaming, as she came back from the kitchen. âItâs been a long time since you got invited to someoneâs birthday. Weâll have to get you something nice to wear.â
âActually I . . . I donât really want to go,â I explained. âJimmy Hamptonâs kind of a strange kid, and Melissa didnât get invited, so I wouldnât have anyone to talk to anyway.â Thatâs the problem with telling a lie: You have to make up all these other lies just to get people to believe you.
My dad handed his empty rice bowl to my mom, making her get up and go to the kitchen all over again.
âThereâs nothing wrong with going to a party by yourself, Akiko,â she called back to me. âYou need to get out more.â My momâs always trying to get me to make more friends. She knows that Melissa is the only friend I have, and I think sheâs worried that Iâm not very popular at school. Which Iâm not. But there are advantages to not being popular. For one thing, you hardly ever have to be in charge of anything.
âDad, can I be excused?â
I donât think my dad had really been listening to the conversation. He looked at me, then looked at my plate. My mom handed him his newly refilled bowl of rice, and he immediately popped some of it into his mouth with his chopsticks.
âAll
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