Garden of Empress Cassia by Gabrielle Wang Page B

not?’
    â€˜He says I draw too much. I have to concentrate on school work.’
    â€˜My, that’s a shame. But maybe if you work really hard, he might change his mind and let you come back. Give it a go, all right? Why don’t you drop by the art room on your way home anyway. I’ve got something to give you.’
    After morning assembly, Mimi slipped into her wooden desk beside Josh Rudd. She liked Josh. Everyone did. He had a broad smiling face and spiky fair hair and his voice would crack in mid-sentence. But best of all, he never called her Smelly-Loo. Instead he called her M.
    Josh was extremely untidy. His books would start in a nice neat pile at nine fifteen. By nine sixteen, they would slowly spread, like molten lava, across both desks, onto the seat, then finally spill over onto the floor. By three thirty, Mimi’s feet would be surrounded by books, pencils, pens, rubbers and rulers all belonging to Josh. But Mimi didn’t mind a bit.
    At lunchtime, Mimi sat by herself in her usual spot under the peppercorn tree, swinging her legs to keep away the flies.
    â€˜Hey there, Smelly-Loo . . . what ya got for lunch today?’ chanted Gemma Johnson, the leader of the ‘cool’ group. She winked at her two offsiders Phoebe and Eliza. Gemma always wore her hair high in a ponytail which she would deliberately swing from side to side to attract attention. Especially the attention of Josh Rudd. She was jealous that Mimi got to sit next to him in class. ‘What a waste,’ she told everyone.
    Mimi grimaced, desperately trying to hide her thermos before Gemma could make fun of it. But it was too late.
    â€˜She’s eating flied lice!’ Phoebe pointed and laughed.
    â€˜Oh, puke,’ said Gemma sticking her fingers down her throat. ‘And look at these primitive eating sticks.’ She snatched Mimi’s chopsticks and rolled them under her shoe. ‘There, all nicely sterilised. Why don’t you use a knife and fork like civilised people?’
    Eliza and Phoebe giggled. ‘Seeya, Smells,’ they chorused and ran off towards the oval.
    Why won’t Mum give me a plain old sandwich like everyone else?
    Mimi had pleaded with her mum to pack
normal
lunches but her mum didn’t understand what the problem was. ‘Hot fried rice is surely better than a cold sandwich for lunch,’ she had told Mimi. ‘Cold food is not good for the stomach.’
    Suddenly, Mimi had lost her appetite.
    As soon as the bell rang for dismissal, Mimi grabbed her bag and raced to the art room. She loved the thick and slightly sickly smell of paint, and the brushes standing up in their containers like bunches of hairy flowers. The shelves were stacked with a new delivery of coloured paper, but it was the pure white paper that Mimi loved the best, lying there waiting to be given new life.
    Miss O’Dell stood on a bench pinning up giant papier-mache faces, with bulbous eyes and hairy noses.
    â€˜Hello, Mimi,’ she said, her lips studded with drawing pins. ‘Come in, I’ll just be a sec’ She spat the pins into her hand and climbed down, then cocked her head to one side as she looked into Mimi’s face.
    â€˜Something’s bothering you, I can tell.’
    â€˜It doesn’t matter.’
    â€˜Come on, what is it?’
    Mimi wasn’t used to telling
outside
people her feelings. ‘We Chinese keep them to ourselves,’ her mum always said, ‘that way we never lose face.’ But Mimi did feel a closeness with Miss O’Dell that she never felt with her parents.
    â€˜I hate being a banana.’ The words echoed around the art room.
    â€˜A banana?’
    â€˜You know . . . yellow on the outside and white on the inside. I wish I didn’t look Chinese because I don’t feel Chinese. I feel just like everyone else. I hate it.’
    Miss O’Dell smiled her soft smile. ‘I know it’s hard being