Young Writers Society

The best part of the year is summer; the worst is everything else. I love going to Nai Nai’s house in Hong Kong; seeing her dog (because I get tired of being around my cat Milo all the time); eating everything on the table because it’s rude not to; going to the zoo, park, or garden by day and catching fireflies by night. For two entire months, I don’t have to worry about anything at all. But then before I know it, it’s September and my parents and little sister go back to the city and I have to go to school.

But Halloween is the second best part of the year, right next to summer.

It’s chilly outside, and I’m on my way to school. Chilly, crisp, cool. Almost cold, because I live in Seattle and it’s always either cold or dark or both. I have my sweater on and my coat and my fuzzy socks, which is crazy because it’s only October and I’m already dressing like it’s December. I like to take my time on the way to school, because I live only a few blocks away and there are a lot of pretty sights, like colorful apartments and perfectly paved streets and flower shops and hidden bookstores, the glowing street lamps illuminating the dark street. Also, my best friend’s house is on this block, and usually he comes out at about 7:23 AM.

I check my watch. He is already two minutes late.

“Kitty, wait!” someone shouts behind me. I turn around and there he is, running up behind me on the sidewalk. “I thought you were about to leave me.”

“I thought you were about to not show up.”

“Oh, I thought about it,” says Max, blowing on his hands and rubbing them back together.

I laugh, turning back around to walk to school. “It’s Monday and it’s cold outside and it’s only October. Who would want to go to school?”

“Certainly not me,” Max agrees.

Max Wang is my best friend for many reasons. First, our moms were both friends in college and decided to move to the same city, so we’ve known each other since birth. Second, we’re both Chinese American, which means our households are basically the same. Almost literally, because every house on the block is built the exact same, just in different colors. My house is pink and Max’s house is light brown. Each house is skinny and tall and has two stories, with three windows on top and some sort of shrubbery on the front steps. But my house and Max’s are especially the same. Queen Anne Middle School has a respectable number of Asians, but most of them are so American they only speak English. Max and I both speak, eat, and breathe Chinese all the time. We went to Chinese school together as kids. The third reason Max and I are best friends is that we are alike in many ways and different in the right ways. We are like Yin and Yang; we balance each other out.

“Guess what,” I say.

“I won first place in the science fair,” Max says.

“Nope.”

“You won first place in the science fair.”

“No.”

“The science fair was canceled? Please, please, please don’t say yes.”

“OMG, Max, it’s not always about the science fair!” I say, shooting him a look like, boys.

“Then what is it?”

“Halloween is in only three days and sixteen hours. Well, fifteen hours and a few minutes.”

Max looks at me like I’m crazy. “Halloween is so unimportant, Kitty.”

Max and I are mostly similar, except when it comes to Halloween. “Yes it is! It’s the only part of fall I will tolerate. This year, you have to go trick-or-treating with me.”

“No,” says Max, just like he says every year.

We finally make it to school, with fifteen minutes left until the bell rings. The buses aren’t here yet and the halls still feel empty. The only people here are teachers in their classrooms setting up for class, draining their coffee cups like they always do, and the occasional student or two in the hall. This early in the morning, nobody is yelling and the teachers aren’t mad yet.

“Why not?” I ask as we make our way up to the library. “You could be…Max the Magician. Or Max the Madman. Or Max the Merman. Or—”

“If I had to dress up, I would never ever ever be a merman,” says Max defiantly. “If I had to, I would probably be a bedsheet.”

“You mean a ghost?”

“No, I mean a bedsheet,” says Max as we opened the door to the media center. The librarian waved at us, and we chose our normal table in the back next to the window. Before school sometimes, if we were early, the library was a nice place to sit and talk.

I take off my coat. “What are you even going to do on Friday night? Stay home and study?”

“Of course not,” says Max, and I know he is only half-telling the truth.

I blow my bangs out of my eyes. “You are no friend of mine if you stay home and study.”

“What if I won the science fair?” says Max, shooting me a sly look.

“Even worse.” Max and I talk for a few more minutes, about how gross the lunch has been lately and about the new P.E. teacher that everyone loves. She doesn’t seem that great to me. After a while I look out the window and I see the yellow school buses pulling into the school parking lot. “We’d better get to class soon,” I say, standing up.

My first class is science, and Max’s is math. I say goodbye to him outside of the library and we go our separate ways, promising to meet back here before lunch. The bell rings and Max shouts, “Don’t be late today, Kitty Mei!” over his shoulder.

“Relax, Max!” I shout back. We have been saying this since the first day of first grade, when I was late to my very first class.

~~~

I remember feeling so embarrassed that I cried. The boy next to me handed me a tissue and said, “What’s your name?”

I sniffled and said, “Katherine Mei,” I said, trying to sound mature. Then I studied him for a few seconds. “But my friends call me Kitty.”

“Why are you crying, Kitty?” the boy said.

“I was late.” I sniffed again.

“Maybe you won’t be late tomorrow.”

The next day, I woke up early and ran to class as soon as I could. I even skipped going to the bathroom so I could be on time. The boy was waiting outside the classroom. “You weren’t late today, Kitty Mei.”

“What’s your name?” I said.

“Max.”

“You need to relax, Max.”

He laughed. I smiled. And that’s when we became best friends.

~~~

“Katherine?”

My head snaps up from doodling in my journal. My science teacher, Dr. Wilson, is looking right at me expectantly.

“Mmm?”

“Are you even paying attention?” she says rudely. “We are going over the homework.”

“Of course,” I say, pulling out my homework worksheet from my folder. “Which one are we on?”

Dr. Wilson sighs. I know she doesn’t like me because I hardly pay attention and still make good grades. “Number seven.”

“I got C.”

“Do you mind explaining how?” Dr. Wilson asks as students around me sigh and erase their answers. Nobody bothers to ask if I’m right; in science class, Kitty Mei is always right.

“Plant cells have three extra parts in their cell; the vacuole, chloroplast, and cell wall,” I say. “They have many functions, too. The function of the cell that breaks down waste material and digestive enzymes, or centrosomes, is the lysosome, so the answer has to be C.”

Sierra Pratt beside me sighs. “Explain to me later,” she whispers.

“That’s correct,” says Dr. Wilson, giving me the evil-eye. “But we still haven’t covered the extra parts in the plant cell.”

This is why I am going to win the science fair for sure. Science is my best subject, then math, then history, then English. I hate grammar. There are few things in science we know for sure, but I like how straightforward it is. Scientists have found out a lot about animal and plant cells and human bodies and functions, and they will keep finding out more. That’s why I don’t believe in magic. It doesn’t make sense, or follow patterns, or exist.

It’s the intercom that snaps me back into focus. “All students, please report to the auditorium,” booms a voice. The intercom crackles and then is out.

Everyone jumps out of their seats, and Dr. Wilson frantically tries to get us in a straight line. What is going on? Why are we going to the auditorium? Is this a fire drill? Questions float down the line and into the hallway, where all the eighth graders are trying to run down the stairs. I try to spot Max in the crowd, but he is nowhere to be seen.

The teachers are trying to keep us orderly, but what is the point? Even I am excited to get out of class and see what the buzz is about. Across the building, we see the sixth and seventh graders coming down the same hallway, doing it in a much more chaotic fashion.

Queen Anne’s auditorium is really giant, but it is still a squeeze to fit the entire school. I find an aisle seat on the very back row, next to Sierra Pratt. On the stage, our principal is waiting with Mrs. Jones, the history teacher. Everyone knows Mrs. Jones is like Dr. Wilson but worse. She is scowling at the students already.

Where is Max? I stand up and scan the crowd, but I don’t see his middle-parted brown hair anywhere. Almost no one has the same haircut.

“Settle down, students,” says the principal into the microphone. “We have a few very important announcements.”

Why didn’t they just make the announcements this morning on the intercom? I wonder. I scan the crowd again. Still no Max.

“As you know, Halloween is in only three days,” says Mrs. Jones.

“And while we know it is exciting—” starts the principal, narrowing her eyes. There is no way she finds Halloween exciting.

“—there is no reason for us to act immaturely and pull pranks,” finishes Mrs. Jones, scowling again. “Whoever is responsible for the prank pulled in the boys’ bathroom, we are very disappointed in you.”

The auditorium breaks out into chatter and whispers. “What happened?” “Who got pranked?” “Didn’t you go to the bathroom this morning?” “I’m a girl!”

Meanwhile, my stomach drops. Where is Max? Is he in the bathroom? There are no teachers on the back wall, guarding the door, so I am considering running out when—

“Psst! Kitty!”

I turn around sharply. I would know that voice anywhere. There he is, waving at me in the doorway.

“Where were you?” I whisper.

“I’ll explain later. I have something big to tell you!”

“What?”

But then a teacher spots Max, and tells him to find a seat, so he whispers, “I’ll tell you at lunch,” and then sits three rows in front of me.