Project Mulberry (7 page)

"Oh, we don't need any today, sir," Patrick said. "We have to order the eggs first. It'll be a while before we're ready for any leaves."

"Why don't I take your number, Mr. Dixon," my mom said, getting a pen out of her purse. "Julia can call you before she and Patrick come over for the first time."

That reminded me of something.

"Mr. Dixon?" I said.

"Yes, Miss Julia?"

I felt my face get a little hot, but there was something I really did want to know. "Miss Mona said—she told us you didn't write down my number. At the gas station. How come you called
—
I mean, how'd you get the number?"

Mr. Dixon chuckled. "Oh, that. Just a little game I play. I saw your sign, and I memorized the number instead of writing it down. I use little tricks. Like with yours, the last four numbers are 2139. Two plus one equals three, and three times three is nine—that's how I remembered it."

"Cool!" Patrick said.

Mr. Dixon tipped his head toward Patrick. "Sometimes I make a picture in my head—whatever the numbers make me think of. Helps keep my mind sharp, young man. At my age I need all the help I can get with that."

We left a few minutes later, Mr. Dixon's phone number safe in my pocket. In the car, Patrick asked to see it. He looked at the paper for a few seconds, handed it back to me, and then stared out the window.

I knew what he was doing. He was trying to memorize it.

***

As soon as we got back to my house, Patrick went straight to the computer and started typing out a letter.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Ordering the silkworm eggs," he answered. "Now that we've found the leaves, we can get started."

Patrick used my address on the letter and had us both sign it. "Okay," he said, "all we need now is the money." Suddenly, he was very busy folding the letter so he didn't have to look at me.

Patrick hardly ever had any money. His parents didn't give their kids any allowance until high school. He earned a little by mowing lawns (summer), raking leaves (fall), and shoveling snow (winter), and sometimes he got money for his birthday (July) and Christmas. But he was always brokest in the spring.

My family wasn't rich or anything—not like Emily's family, who lived in a big house with an in-ground pool and went on a fancy vacation every school break. But I did get an allowance, ten dollars a month, and I also babysat for two families on our street. I almost always had more money than Patrick did.

He got embarrassed about it sometimes. Like if we wanted to see a movie and he didn't have any money, I'd offer to buy his ticket, and he'd only agree to go if we called it a loan. He always paid me back. Sometimes it took him a while—last year we went to a movie in March and he couldn't pay me back until lawn-mowing season—but he never forgot.

"How much do we need?" I asked.

"The eggs are only ten bucks," he said, "but the shipping is expensive—they mail them express. Altogether we have to send in twenty-two dollars."

Wow. That was a lot.

I had twelve dollars in my money box. I was pretty sure my mom would lend me ten bucks—I had two babysitting jobs coming up in the next few weeks plus my April allowance, and I'd be able to pay her back. And I knew Patrick would give me his half of the money when he could.

But to use up all I had ...
and
go into debt ... for a project I didn't even want to do?

No way,
I said to myself.

And then it hit me.

If we couldn't buy the eggs, that would be the end of things.

No eggs, no silkworm project.

It wasn't like with the mulberry tree, where there had always been another thing for me to worry about—Mr. Maxwell might know someone with a tree, Patrick might find the green car.... This was the perfect solution—absolute and final.

Agent Song going in for the kill.

 

I cleared my throat. "I only have twelve dollars," I said.

Patrick's face went red.

Talk about an awkward silence.

There was no way he could come up with his share on short notice. He hardly ever asked his parents for money; with all those kids, they were always hard up. And if I didn't offer to borrow the rest from my mom, he'd never ask me to do it.

"Urn, I guess we have to put off sending this for a while," Patrick mumbled. "I'll just—I'll hang on to it for now." He took the letter and went upstairs, probably to put it in his backpack. Then he came down again.

"I'd better go," he said, still not looking at me. "I should help Gram with the kids." He left.

Second day in a row without his bite of kimchee.

 

At dinner, Kenny buried a piece of kimchee in my rice when I got up to refill my water glass. I found it right away, but I didn't say anything. I just took it out of the rice and put it off to the side of my plate.

Kenny looked surprised that I didn't make a fuss. He started to chant, "Julia doesn't like kimchee, Julia doesn't like kimchee." He took a big piece of kimchee, tilted his head back, dangled it over his open mouth, and dropped it in. "Mmm," he said. "It's
so
good." He chewed noisily with his mouth open. Disgusting. Honestly, he really did have snot for brains.

But I didn't pay any attention to him. All I could think about was what had happened with Patrick that afternoon. I finished eating and helped my dad clean up, then went to my room and sat on my bed thinking.

The more I thought, the madder I got.

I hadn't lied to Patrick. I hadn't! I really
did
have only twelve dollars. And that was more than half of what we needed, and the other half was his responsibility, and it wasn't my fault he didn't have the money!

It didn't matter that I was secretly against the project. It was like when you got a dumb present from someone. You didn't say, "What a dumb present." You said something like, "Cool! Thanks!"—so the other person wouldn't feel bad.

It was the same kind of thing: me acting like I wanted to do the silkworm project when really I didn't.

Wasn't it?

 

Me:
What are you doing to me? That was the worst chapter yet!

Ms. Park:
Calm down, would you? We can't have a good conversation with you carrying on like that.

Me:
You have to rewrite that last chapter. I hate it, I hate it!

Ms. Park:
Hold on there. You want to get out of doing the silkworm project, don't you? This is the perfect solution—no eggs, no project. I would think you'd be pleased.

Me:
I do want to get out of the project] But there's gotta be another way!

Ms. Park:
If you think of anything, just let me know.

Me:
That's great, just great. You get to do the easy parts and leave the hard stuff to me.

Ms. Park:
Don't say I didn't warn you. You wanted to decide something big. Now here's your chance.

Me:
I didn't mean something like this!

Ms. Park:
Picky, picky picky.

Me:
You—you—just wait. I'll get you for this—

Patrick picked me up for school as usual the next morning. But things were still weird between us, and we hardly said anything the whole way there. We were having a science test that day, and he didn't even suggest that we quiz each other on the Animal Kingdom as we walked.

Patrick and I were on parallel tracks at school, which meant we had the same teachers and books and homework and everything. But we had only one class together—tech class, last period.

Science was first period. I took the test and was relieved that I knew most of the answers. I'd been worried about it, because I hadn't studied with Patrick the night before.

It was lucky for me that I got the test over with right away, because after that things started to go crazy. No, that wasn't right—everything was normal. I was the one that was going crazy.

Second period, social studies. The currencies of South America. Lots of pesos—Argentina, Chile, Uruguay. Reals in Brazil. Bolivianos in Bolivia.

Third period, math. Story problems. Sam makes three dollars an hour and works ten hours a week. Joe makes five dollars an hour but works only three hours a week. If Sam makes three hundred dollars, how many weeks does Joe have to work to make the same amount?

Fourth period, lunch. Three quarters for change. No Connecticut, of course.

I was starting to feel really paranoid.

Everything was about money.

Every period had something in it that reminded me of what I'd done to Patrick. I felt more and more guilty as the day went on. I had to keep telling myself that I was only being fair to expect him to pay for half, that I hadn't lied to him.

Thank goodness for English class. We were reading and discussing a book about a girl named Karana, who gets stuck by herself on this island where she has to make everything she needs to survive—her own little house, her own fishing stuff, her own clothes out of skins and feathers...

...which meant she didn't need any money.

Gak! Even the classes that didn't have anything to do with money were making me think of money!

By the time tech class came around, I felt almost panicky. I'd have to use money to pay for stuff
for the rest of my life.
Every time I thought of money I'd be reminded of what had happened.

I was going to feel guilty forever.

I got to class and sat down and started clicking and typing right away so I could pretend not to notice when Patrick came into the room.

We were learning to build a website, and the day's lesson was how to put an e-mail link on your site. I got mine to work almost right away. Mrs. Moran went around helping the kids who were having trouble, so that left me free to think some more.

Why did my mom have to bring up the idea of a silkworm project in the first place? Why did Patrick have to go and get so excited? Why did he just plunge right into everything and not even bother to ask me what I thought? Why couldn't it have been some other idea that got him all fired up? Why couldn't Mr. Maxwell have been less enthusiastic about it? Why did Mr. Dixon have to have a mulberry tree? It was like a whole bunch of people were conspiring against me, and I'd been forced to come up with a plot to fight them.

But in a corner of my brain, I knew that what I was doing
wasn't
the same as telling someone you liked their present when you didn't. Because with the dumb-present scenario, you were trying to make the other person feel good.

And what I was doing was making Patrick feel
bad.

Really bad.

It was almost as if I'd chanted at him: "Patrick never has money, Patrick never has money...." In my head I could hear a nasty voice saying that over and over.

My
voice.

I crossed my arms and pressed them over my stomach. Then I leaned sideways the tiniest bit so I could see Patrick, across from me at the other bank of computers. I could see only the back of his head, but it made me feel even worse.

I'd humiliated him. On purpose.

What a lousy thing to do to a friend.

All because the silkworm project was too Korean.

But Patrick didn't seem to think so. Neither did Mr. Maxwell. If
they
didn't think it was too Korean ... maybe it wasn't.

Maybe I was wrong.

No. I was right. It was a weird Korean project, that was for sure.

Another thing for sure: I was no good at being a secret agent. Acting one thing while thinking the opposite—I'd thought it was getting easier. Some times it had even been fun, coming up with the right thing to say on the spot without giving myself away.

But now this, hurting Patrick—this was no fun at all.

 

And I had to fix it.
I opened my e-mail program and started typing.

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Date:Thursday, March 29,2:12 PM
Subject:Wiggle project

 

duh what was I thinking I can get an advance from my mom on my next allowance that will give us enough $$ you can pay me back whenever

luv J

 

I hit Send, then leaned over again to look at the back of Patrick's head. I didn't have to wait very long.

He spun around in his chair and looked at me. I gave him a little nod. He didn't smile, but he nodded back and gave me a thumbs-up.

I went back to staring at my screen and let out a big breath. It was like a tight knot inside me had loosened up.

Top Secret Message to Headquarters:
AGENT SONG NO LONGER AVAILABLE FOR EVASIVE TACTICS. HAS ALREADY REPORTED FOR HER NEXT ASSIGNMENT—PROJECT MULBERRY.

 

On our way home from school, Patrick said, "I still have the letter. We can send it today."

"Okay," I said. And that was all.

I gave my mom the twelve dollars and asked her if she'd advance me my April allowance. She gave us a check for the total. Patrick and I walked to the corner mailbox to send off the order.

"I can't wait till they get here," Patrick said as he pulled open the mailbox's mouth and fed it the envelope.

"Well, we've got a lot to do while we're waiting," I said.

Patrick had been to the library the week before to check out silkworm books. He'd found only two. One was for younger kids; it was mostly about the silkworm life cycle and had lots of photos. The other was a really old book written for people who wanted to set up silk factories. It looked almost impossible to read—tiny print and lots of technical stuff—but Patrick was determined to get through it. He'd left the picture book at my house and told me I should read it.

It wasn't like everything had changed all of a sudden: I still wasn't crazy about doing a silkworm project. But I'd made my decision—that it was worth doing to keep things good between Patrick and me—and now I had to make the best of it.