Flying the Dragon Read online

  Flying the Dragon

  Natalie Dias Lorenzi

  To all the Hiroshis and Skyes who have ever walked through my classroom door. Your courage and resilience never cease to amaze me.

  The Japanese characters at the beginning of each chapter are the kanji for Hiroshi’s and Skye’s names.

  Copyright © 2012 by Natalie Dias Lorenzi

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. Charlesbridge and colophon are registered trademarks of Charlesbridge Publishing, Inc.

  Published by Charlesbridge

  85 Main Street

  Watertown, MA 02472

  (617)926-0329

  www.charlesbridge.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Lorenzi, Natalie Dias.

  Flying the dragon / Natalie Dias Lorenzi.

  p. cm.

  Summary: When Skye’s cousin Hiroshi and his family move to Virginia from Japan, the cultural differences lead to misunderstandings and both children are unhappy at the changes in their lives—will flying the dragon kite finally bring them together?

  ISBN 978-1-60734-529-9

  1. Japanese American families—Juvenile fiction. 2. Moving, Household—Juvenile fiction. 3. Japanese—Virginia—Juvenile fiction. 4. Culture shock—Juvenile fiction. 5. Cousins—Juvenile fiction. 6. Kites—Juvenile fiction. 7. Schools—Juvenile fiction. 8. Virginia—Juvenile fiction. [1. Japanese Americans—Fiction. 2. Family life—Virginia—Fiction. 3. Racially mixed people—Fiction. 4. Moving, Household—Fiction. 5. Japanese—United States—Fiction. 6. Culture shock—Fiction. 7. Cousins—Fiction. 8. Kites—Fiction. 9. Schools—Fiction. 10. Virginia—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.L885F1 2012

  813.6—dc23

  2011033620

  Display type set in Kid Captain and text type set in Adobe Caslon

  Color separations by KHL ChromaGraphics, Singapore

  Printed and bound February 2012 by Worzalla Publishing Company in Stevens Point, Wisconsin, USA

  Production supervision by Brian G. Walker

  Designed by Susan Mallory Sherman

  1

  Skye

  Skye had known something was coming. The way her dad had been acting lately was beyond his normal weirdness. She just never guessed the something coming would be a bunch of Japanese relatives she’d never met.

  The first sign of trouble was when her dad switched from silverware to chopsticks. Maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, her dad was Japanese. Sort of. He’d been born and raised in Japan but hadn’t been back since he married her mom. To Skye he was pretty much American. And since Virginia is about as far away from Japan as you can get, Skye didn’t blame herself for forgetting that she was half Japanese herself.

  But it wasn’t the chopsticks themselves that had started the whole thing. No, it happened when Skye had asked about them. Everything snowballed from there.

  “What are you doing, Dad?” Skye’s fork hovered above her spaghetti and meatballs.

  Her dad leaned over his plate, two strands of slippery spaghetti trapped in his chopsticks. He winked at Skye, slurped the noodles into his mouth, and chewed, apparently oblivious to the trail of sauce left behind on his chin.

  “I’m eating. What does it look like I’m doing?”

  From the glint in his eyes, Skye figured he was up to one of his usual jokes.

  Her mom handed him a napkin. “Your chin, honey.”

  He laughed. “Can you believe how rusty I am? Twelve years in America and I’ve forgotten how to eat.”

  Her mom laughed, too. “I never did get the hang of eating with chopsticks.”

  Neither had Skye. Come to think of it, Skye had never seen her mom use chopsticks. “Didn’t you learn when you lived in Tokyo?”

  Her mom shook her head. “Not even then. But it wasn’t for lack of trying.” She looked at Skye’s dad and smiled. “Remember when you bought me a set of kids’ chopsticks—with the ridges at the tips that make them easier to use? Supposedly.”

  Skye’s dad nodded, grinning through a mouthful of spaghetti. “You wanted to become an expert before I took you … home.” He lowered his chopsticks and set them on the table, their tips propped on a miniature, black lacquered wood version of a samurai sword.

  Her mom stared at her fork as she trailed the pasta around her plate.

  “What?” Skye took another bite. “So what happened? Did you learn how to eat with chopsticks?”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Skye.” Her mom set her fork down.

  Skye swallowed in one gulp. “Okay, so what happened, then?”

  Skye’s parents had never talked much about her dad’s family. She knew they lived in Japan and that her dad had three brothers and a father—Skye’s grandfather. Her grandmother had died before Skye was born. She’d always wondered about her Japanese relatives, but after years of unanswered questions, she’d given up.

  Tonight was no different. Her mom’s chair scraped against the tile floor as she stood and brought her half-full plate to the sink. Her dad glanced once more at the chopsticks, picked up his fork, and finished his spaghetti in silence.

  A week after the Chopsticks Incident came the Itadakimasu Disaster.

  Skye and her parents went out for pizza with her soccer team to celebrate their win against the West Springfield Sprinters. But it wasn’t the same without Lucy there. Skye’s best friend had moved away a month before, all the way to San Francisco. That afternoon Skye had scored the winning goal without Lucy. When All-Star Amber had kicked the ball right to Skye in a smooth, perfect pass, Skye had thwacked it into the net. And to finish off a perfect afternoon, Coach Tess had announced the All-Star list for the coming summer.

  Skye’s name was finally on it.

  Amber had been the team’s top player since forever—and now here she was at the pizzeria chatting away with Skye about All-Star summer camp and coaches and plays. It should have been Skye’s shining moment.

  When the pizza arrived, everyone grabbed a slice, and that’s when it happened. Skye’s dad called out, “Itadakimasu!“

  In front of everyone. He smiled as he said it, as if everyone at the table understood Japanese. What is he doing? Whenever Skye’s dad spoke to her in Japanese, it was always at home or when they were alone. Never in front of a crowd.

  Amber paused mid-bite, a tightrope of cheese stretching from her teeth to the tip of her pizza slice. She exchanged a look across the table with Kelsey. Skye thought it might have been a smirk, but it was hard to tell with their mouths full. Kelsey looked at Skye’s dad and cocked her head. “What is that—Chinese?”

  Skye wanted to roll her eyes. Japanese and Chinese sounded nothing alike.

  Coach Tess laughed and asked, “Does that mean you like the pizza?”

  That was all the fuel Skye’s dad needed. “It means enjoy your meal.” From his wide grin Skye could tell he was loving every moment. Skye glanced at Amber and Kelsey, who were trying—and failing—to muffle a shared giggle.

  Skye’s mom chimed in. “It’s Japanese, Kelsey.”

  “How do you say it, again?” Coach Tess leaned in from her seat at the head of the table. Everyone stopped talking and stared at her dad, but Skye kept chewing. Looking down and chewing.

  “Ee-tah-da-kee-mahs,” her dad said, drawing it out. Coach Tess repeated the word and was rewarded with a bow from Skye’s dad.

  Just. Great.

  Skye’s mom beamed, like she had the most clever husband in the world. Coach Tess was smiling, but it looked to Skye like one of those polite, oh-isn’t-that-(not)-interesting smiles. Kelsey and Amber didn’t muffle their giggles this time. Skye told herself she didn’t care that Amber
and Kelsey were laughing at her dad—even though she wanted to give his shin a penalty kick under the table. Her dad just sat there, eating and grinning, totally clueless.

  But that wasn’t the end of it.

  When everyone had finished their pizza, Skye’s dad turned to her and said, “Gochisou sama deshita,” with a satisfied pat of his stomach. Skye nodded without looking up from her plate. Okay, so you enjoyed the meal. Would it kill you to say it in English?

  When they were finally back in the car, Skye couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Dad?” She took a breath to keep herself from shouting. “Why were you speaking Japanese in there?”

  He kept his eyes on the road. Whenever her dad didn’t answer right away, it meant he was thinking, and there was no use hurrying him. Tonight was no exception.

  Her mom sighed. “We need to tell her, Issei.”

  “Tell me what?”

  Her dad glanced at Skye in the rearview mirror, then looked away.

  “Issei,” her mom said, her voice soft.

  Skye’s dad nodded, eyes still on the road. “I’ve been thinking lately that you and I should speak in Japanese more often, ne?“

  Skye frowned. “But we do.”

  “Not as much as we used to. And whenever I speak to you in Japanese, you answer in English.”

  Her mom turned and looked at Skye. “This is my fault, really. I should study more so you two don’t have to stick to English around me.” Even after she’d lived in Tokyo for two years, her mom’s Japanese had never been great.

  They pulled into the driveway. The conversation seemed closed, but Skye knew there had to be more. She’d had enough of secrets.

  2

  Hiroshi

  “Be careful, Hiroshi. That kite is too close to the dragon.”

  “I see it, Grandfather.” The winter wind skipped off Tachibana Bay, whipping Hiroshi’s hair in all directions at once. Hiroshi steered the dragon kite out of danger with a simple tug of his line. His eyes tracked the dragon now as it nibbled at the sky, swooping among the other villagers’ kites.

  “It’s perfect, Grandfather.” Hiroshi beamed.

  “We still have a month to make any changes,” Grandfather said with a nod. “But it’s flying well.” Grandfather closed one eye against the sun. “There are many fine kites up there on the wind. You must not let them distract you. Remember to focus on—”

  “The line, not the kite. Don’t worry, Grandfather—I’ll remember.”

  Hiroshi had dreamed of this year’s rokkaku kite battle ever since he was old enough to remember his dreams. Now that he was eleven, he could finally enter the competition on his own. Kites would knock each other from the sky. Lines would slice other lines, as kites and dreams fell to the ground like stones. The lucky ones would float back to earth, cradled in the cupped hands of a gentle breeze. The unlucky ones would crash, splintering into a hundred pieces. Only one kite would remain. Hiroshi prayed it would be his. A member of the Tsuki family had always won the master flier title ever since Grandfather had first entered as a boy. Hiroshi couldn’t disappoint his family. He had to win.

  “How do you think the battle will turn out, Grandfather?”

  The wind gusted, and Grandfather zipped up his jacket. “Do not fill your head with thoughts of winning or losing. You need to empty your mind and listen to what the wind and the kite are telling you.”

  Hiroshi pulled in the line then released it, urging the dragon to climb higher and higher. The wind rushed past his ears, but it wasn’t telling him anything. The only voices he heard belonged to the seagulls, who scolded the kites for invading their patch of sky.

  Hiroshi frowned. “But what if I can’t hear what the kite and the wind are saying?”

  “You will,” Grandfather said. “You will.”

  Hiroshi wasn’t so sure. Maybe Grandfather should fly the kite this year, and Hiroshi could be his assistant again.

  “Your time has come, Hiroshi. You are ready.” Grandfather chuckled. “It is time I became your assistant, wouldn’t you say? I will keep track of the extra line, and you will concentrate on flying.”

  Hiroshi nodded. He wanted to shield his eyes from the sun, but that would mean letting go of the line with one hand; he needed both hands to avoid the other kites. He would not dishonor Grandfather by crashing the dragon kite before the battle.

  Hiroshi remembered with a shiver what had happened last year to Yuki, the mayor’s daughter. In the last few minutes of the battle, a gust of wind had sent Yuki’s kite into a downward spiral. In desperation, she had reeled in some line—an amateur move. She should have given the line more slack. The kite dove straight into the ground, leaving months of meticulous work in scattered pieces on the grass.

  Hiroshi blinked away the memory. He wouldn’t let that happen to him. The wind swirled harder, and he struggled to tame the dragon.

  Grandfather placed his hand on Hiroshi’s shoulder. “Time to bring the kite in.”

  “Are you sure? I can keep going.” Hiroshi’s arms burned, but he’d never admit that to Grandfather.

  “The wind is getting too strong. Better to stop for today.”

  One by one the villagers coaxed their reluctant kites lower and lower. The kites flapped wildly in protest until they hung low enough to pluck from the air.

  As Hiroshi rolled up his line, he heard the mayor’s voice behind him. “Will you be giving the rest of us a chance at the title this year?”

  Hiroshi spun around to face the mayor and bowed, his body hinged at the waist, hands at his sides.

  “With a master kite maker and rokkaku champion for a grandfather, surely Hiroshi will have an advantage,” the mayor said, smiling.

  Grandfather snuck a wink at Hiroshi. “Our Hiroshi constructed this kite himself. He will bring honor to our family, no matter the outcome.”

  Hiroshi tried stuffing his pride back down inside his heart, but it didn’t work. It bubbled up and spilled over into a smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. He looked at the ground and hoped the mayor hadn’t noticed.

  Hiroshi knew he was expected to show his aiso warai, the pretend smile grown-ups sometimes wore to hide their true feelings. His expression should show his embarrassment at such a high compliment. But he couldn’t do it. Hiroshi wasn’t embarrassed by Grandfather’s words; he was proud. If he looked at the mayor now, he would surely give away his honne—his true feelings.

  “Some of us have made our kites with carbon tubes and nylon this year,” the mayor said. “Much stronger than bamboo and washi paper. Perhaps this will prove to be an advantage over those who still make their kites the old-fashioned way.”

  “Perhaps,” Grandfather said. “It does present a challenge for those who still follow tradition.” He put his hand on Hiroshi’s shoulder. “We welcome the challenge. Good luck to you and your family in this year’s battle.”

  The mayor walked away. When Grandfather bent to gather the line and reel, he whispered, “They’ll need luck.” Hiroshi laughed.

  “Come on, Grandfather! Mother’s making yakisoba for lunch.”

  Grandfather smiled. “You go ahead. I need to stop by the workshop first.”

  As Hiroshi sprinted through the village, he wished Grandfather were racing alongside him, like he used to. Grandfather tired easily these days.

  Hiroshi’s stomach rumbled when he thought of the tender pork and noodles awaiting him. He burst through the door and hopped from one foot to the other, pulling off his shoes. The nutty scent of yakisoba sauce drew him into the house, where he found his parents already at the table. But when he saw Father’s frown and Mother’s eyes glistening with tears, Hiroshi’s smile faded.

  3

  Skye

  “So what’s the something you need to tell me?” Skye stood with her hands on her hips.

  Her parents exchanged nervous looks. “I told you,” her dad began. “You and I need to speak in Japanese more often.”

  Skye shook her head. “It’s more than that, and you’re
just not telling me. You never tell me anything.”

  Her dad sighed. “Let’s go sit down.” He turned toward the living room.

  Part of her wanted to run past him and sit down—the part that was dying to finally know the family secret. The other part wanted to drag her feet—because maybe this secret was something she didn’t want to know.

  Her mom and dad sat on the couch, but Skye felt too jumpy to sit. Her parents looked like they didn’t know what to say, so Skye blurted out, “Why were you acting all Japanese at the pizzeria? Everybody was staring.”

  Now her dad looked angry. No, sad. Maybe something in between. “Acting Japanese? I am Japanese, Skye.”

  If it weren’t for the hurt look on his face, Skye would have laughed. “Yeah, but you’re mostly American now, right?”

  Her mom looked miserable. “Skye, your dad gave up a lot of things when we were married.” She took Skye’s hand and guided her to a spot on the couch between them. “He has sacrificed so much for us, and now we need to help him. His family will be coming here.”

  “What?” Skye blinked.

  Her dad cleared his throat, looking like he’d rather eat live squid than say whatever he was about to say. “Skye, my father is coming here, to Virginia. With my brother, his wife, and their son, Hiroshi.”

  All these years knowing almost nothing about her Japanese relatives, and now they were coming? Here? “How long will they be visiting?”

  Another glance between her parents, then her mom answered. “They’ll be living here.”

  “With us?”

  “No. We’ve found a house they’ll be renting here in the neighborhood.”

  So why did her parents look so down about the whole thing? Skye had always suspected there’d been some kind of family argument back when her parents got married. Wasn’t it about time they all made up?

  “That’s why I want us to speak in Japanese more,” her dad said, “so you can talk to your grandfather, aunt, and cousin. Your uncle already speaks English.”