The Trouble Begins Read Online Free PDF Page B

twenty-five,” she says. Now she doesn't look at me at all. I go out the door. I take my time walking to the Counseling Center. I've been therefour or five times already. The lady who runs it is Ms. Whipple. I remember because the first time I went Jorge told me she's called Ms. Whipple because she whips you. I was scared. Now I know she doesn't even yell at you. She just talks sadly about whatever you did. I don't look at her face but I know she's leaning forward trying to see inside me. I don't want her to. I look at her hands with bright pink nails twirling a pencil. Ms. Whipple points at a corner near the magazines when I come in. All the little cubicles are full. I like it better here than in class. It's more interesting. Big kids and little kids come in, angry or crying. I look at old magazines.

    That night at home I run to answer the phone. I tell Ms. Whipple that my parents aren't home. True, but my grandma is. My grandma only knows about twenty words of English. I give her the phone. She says, “Yes, yes,” every once in a while. Then she says, “Good-bye.” This is easy. I'm glad my nosy sisters and brother are too busy reading their big fat books to ask what's going on.
    My grandma looks at me. “Tell me, Du,” she says in Vietnamese. I tell her about hitting someone at school. She's not satisfied. “Why?” she asks. I say he called me a name. “What?” she asks. I'm ashamed to tell her but she holds my sleeve and looks at me. I tell her how they change my name in English and what it means. I tell her they say I am dumb because I can't read. “Your name is Du,” she says softly, “andyou are smart.” She keeps hold of my sleeve. She goes to the kitchen and keeps me with her. I help her chop vegetables.
    I don't tell my grandma about the old man and how he ruined my shirt and my shoes with his tricks. She will say, “You were the monkey and you weren't careful about the snake. You took his berries. Now you're even.” But I don't think we're even. He called the police. My shirt's in the bottom of the garbage and my shoes still smell. And he's still a spy. Now what should I do to that old man to make it really even?

Tet-Trung-Thu
    I look at the clock on the wall. Thirty-five minutes till lunch. Mrs. Dorfman has her deck of cards with our names on them. “Alan.” She calls the name from the card. “What answer did you get for number fifteen, please?”
    “Three and five-eighths,” answers Alan.
    “Did anyone get a different answer?” she asks. She frowns like he's wrong. He's right because that's the same answer I got. She fools a bunch of kids, though, who wave their hands around. “Rosaria,” she says, and smiles, calling on one of the hands.
    “I got fifteen,” says Rosaria. Mrs. Dorfman does the whole problem on the overhead projector. This is going to take forever. I look around in my desk for something to do.
    “So Alan was right.” Mrs. Dorfman beams. “Now the answer for number sixteen, please, Du.”
    My paper's lost in a magazine I found in my desk. Everybody's waiting. I look sideways at Jorge's paper. “Four and three-tenths,” I say.
    “Speak up, Du,” says Mrs. Dorfman. Then everybody laughs because that's what happens whenever she says my name. She wants me to say what I said again, only louder, but it's harder to hear with kids snickering and whispering “doo-doo,” which the teacher also can't hear. Dumb Veronica starts telling Mrs. Dorfman what she thinks I said even though she doesn't know either.
    “Shut up,” I say. Then Mrs. Dorfman gets mad because she can hear that.
    She sighs. She pulls out another card. “Jennifer, the answer to sixteen, please,” she says. I find my paper. I got the right answer. I look at the clock. Twenty-six minutes until lunch.
    I hate school. I'm not going to talk again until I can speak American like my brother and sisters. At least, I'm not going to talk at school.
    In the cafeteria the lunch is ugly. It's cheese—stringy like