Akiko on the Planet Smoo by Mark Crilley Page B

that afternoon. She described in great detail what everyone had been wearing and which stores she thought they’d got the clothes from. Even though I’m 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 o’clock.

    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 wouldn’t go anywhere
near
: seaweed, raw fish, all kinds of weird stuff. Of course, I’ve been eating Japanese food since I was a baby, so I’m used to it. I don’t even bother inviting Melissa to eat with us anymore, though. We tried that once and I don’t 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 didn’t know then that it would be the last meal I’d have on Earth for about two weeks. Otherwise I think I’d 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.
    â€œSo who was that letter from, Akiko?” she asked, heading into the kitchen for more rice.
    â€œLetter?” 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.
    â€œYes,” my mother said, “that letter I gave you today. It looked like something pretty important.”
    â€œOh,
that
letter. Um, that was from a kid at school named Jimmy Hampton. He was inviting me to his, uh, birthday party or something. . . .” I probably shouldn’t have lied about the letter, but I’d 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 didn’t feel like trying to explain it to my parents.
    â€œThat’s marvelous!” my mother said, beaming, as she came back from the kitchen. “It’s been a long time since you got invited to someone’s birthday. We’ll have to get you something nice to wear.”
    â€œActually I . . . I don’t really want to go,” I explained. “Jimmy Hampton’s kind of a strange kid, and Melissa didn’t get invited, so I wouldn’t have anyone to talk to anyway.” That’s 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.
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong with going to a party by yourself, Akiko,” she called back to me. “You need to get out more.” My mom’s always trying to get me to make more friends. She knows that Melissa is the only friend I have, and I think she’s worried that I’m not very popular at school. Which I’m not. But there are advantages to not being popular. For one thing, you hardly ever have to be in charge of anything.
    â€œDad, can I be excused?”
    I don’t 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.
    â€œAll