Fresh Off the Boat Read Online Free Page A
Author: Melissa de La Cruz
tore a piece of paper from her notebook and left the little frayed edges on the ring. Unlike me, she hates to make a mess.
I glanced at paper on the top of my dad’s desk. It was a memo about Philippine lumber being a great source of wood for pencils and rulers. “Ask about our low prices and international delivery.” In the three months we’d lived here, he’d only been able to sell one order of pencils and one order of rulers to a school-supply company in Minnesota.
Brittany and I waited in the dim hallway while Dad locked up his office. He always wore a suit and a tie to work, even though he was the company’s sole employee. He looked tired and drained. His suit jacket was frayed at the edges. According to my parents, moving to America was supposed to be our “new adventure”—halfway between an exciting journey and a long-term vacation. We never really talked about home, and never once did anybody in my family ever mention how much they would like to go back there. Or how much we missed it. Not only was I homesick for my friends and our extended family but I also longed for our old life. But my parents made it clear that it wasn’t an option, although I still didn’t really understand why not.
In any case, leaving Manila did seem pretty final. My mom cried when we sold our house, and I’d sat quietly while neighbors and strangers appraised our things and put bids on them—my parents’ wedding china and silver, the custom-made carved napa-wood coffee table, the Viking range.
On the way out, like he always does, Dad stopped by Gino’s deli to buy a lottery ticket. He always plays the same numbers: 7, 29, 22, and 6—our birthdays. Dad was inspired by a Filipino man he knew who won the lottery. Mang Pedro used to be our gardener in Manila until he moved to Texas. After he hit the fifty-million-dollar jackpot, his grown children immigrated to America to be with him. When they arrived at the airport, they showed the INS officer the newspaper clipping of their father holding up the humongous check, to prove that they could afford to live here. True story. Dad still thinks this could happen to us.
Alfonse, who owns Gino’s deli, solemnly wished us good luck after handing Dad his daily lottery ticket, and the three of us walked to the garage under the building where the van was parked.
On the way home, I thought about my dad and the lottery obsession. He was so sure we would hit the jackpot one day. Maybe delusion ran in the family, because my knees still ached from almost being run over, but all I could think about was howClaude’s hand had pressed gently on my shoulder. If he hadn’t almost killed me, we would never have met. Claude Caligari—I savored the syllables in my head. He has the nicest eyes , I thought. And he had really looked concerned about my welfare, not just scared that he might get in trouble or anything.
We drove by the marina before we hit the freeway. In the distance, I could see boys in brightly colored orange-and-blue jerseys shouldering their sticks and walking off the field. A few girls in Gros uniforms were walking toward the dependable yellow school bus parked on the corner. I squinted, but I couldn’t see a silver convertible anywhere.
The game was over. I wondered who won.
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
SENT: Monday, October 5, 9:30 PM
SUBJECT: lacrosse queen
Guess who just called? Claude Caligari—the cute guy from the movies! (BTW, he really does look like Tobey—except he has blue eyes and blond hair, but other than that—twins, talaga !) Omigod, he has the cutest voice on the phone. This afternoon he picked me up from school so I could watch him play lacrosse. (He’s the Montclair Academy team captain!) The game was so exciting—St. Augustus was in the lead, 1–0 for four quarters, but at the last minute, he scored two goals!! Lacrosse is kind of like soccer meets jai alai (except no betting). After the game, we went to get burgers at
I glanced at paper on the top of my dad’s desk. It was a memo about Philippine lumber being a great source of wood for pencils and rulers. “Ask about our low prices and international delivery.” In the three months we’d lived here, he’d only been able to sell one order of pencils and one order of rulers to a school-supply company in Minnesota.
Brittany and I waited in the dim hallway while Dad locked up his office. He always wore a suit and a tie to work, even though he was the company’s sole employee. He looked tired and drained. His suit jacket was frayed at the edges. According to my parents, moving to America was supposed to be our “new adventure”—halfway between an exciting journey and a long-term vacation. We never really talked about home, and never once did anybody in my family ever mention how much they would like to go back there. Or how much we missed it. Not only was I homesick for my friends and our extended family but I also longed for our old life. But my parents made it clear that it wasn’t an option, although I still didn’t really understand why not.
In any case, leaving Manila did seem pretty final. My mom cried when we sold our house, and I’d sat quietly while neighbors and strangers appraised our things and put bids on them—my parents’ wedding china and silver, the custom-made carved napa-wood coffee table, the Viking range.
On the way out, like he always does, Dad stopped by Gino’s deli to buy a lottery ticket. He always plays the same numbers: 7, 29, 22, and 6—our birthdays. Dad was inspired by a Filipino man he knew who won the lottery. Mang Pedro used to be our gardener in Manila until he moved to Texas. After he hit the fifty-million-dollar jackpot, his grown children immigrated to America to be with him. When they arrived at the airport, they showed the INS officer the newspaper clipping of their father holding up the humongous check, to prove that they could afford to live here. True story. Dad still thinks this could happen to us.
Alfonse, who owns Gino’s deli, solemnly wished us good luck after handing Dad his daily lottery ticket, and the three of us walked to the garage under the building where the van was parked.
On the way home, I thought about my dad and the lottery obsession. He was so sure we would hit the jackpot one day. Maybe delusion ran in the family, because my knees still ached from almost being run over, but all I could think about was howClaude’s hand had pressed gently on my shoulder. If he hadn’t almost killed me, we would never have met. Claude Caligari—I savored the syllables in my head. He has the nicest eyes , I thought. And he had really looked concerned about my welfare, not just scared that he might get in trouble or anything.
We drove by the marina before we hit the freeway. In the distance, I could see boys in brightly colored orange-and-blue jerseys shouldering their sticks and walking off the field. A few girls in Gros uniforms were walking toward the dependable yellow school bus parked on the corner. I squinted, but I couldn’t see a silver convertible anywhere.
The game was over. I wondered who won.
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
SENT: Monday, October 5, 9:30 PM
SUBJECT: lacrosse queen
Guess who just called? Claude Caligari—the cute guy from the movies! (BTW, he really does look like Tobey—except he has blue eyes and blond hair, but other than that—twins, talaga !) Omigod, he has the cutest voice on the phone. This afternoon he picked me up from school so I could watch him play lacrosse. (He’s the Montclair Academy team captain!) The game was so exciting—St. Augustus was in the lead, 1–0 for four quarters, but at the last minute, he scored two goals!! Lacrosse is kind of like soccer meets jai alai (except no betting). After the game, we went to get burgers at
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