Flying the Dragon by Natalie Dias Lorenzi Read Free Book Online Page B

to the computer station right after ESL each day? I’d like you to help him navigate his way around the Kid Science site. Go ahead and show him the interactive cell page we did last week.”
    Skye leaned in closer to Hiroshi, wishing Kevin wasn’t witnessing this whole exchange, yet knowing he was. She translated the best she could, then risked a glance over her shoulder. Sure enough, half the class was staring, including Kevin. And even Amber.
    Come on, people! The show’s over. Back to cell parts!
But vacuoles and cell membranes apparently weren’t as much fun as gawking at the new kid or listening to Skye stumble her way through another language.
    “It should only take a few minutes to show him how to log on, and then you’ll have plenty of time to finish your quiz,” Mrs. Garcia said. Skye nodded, feeling the flush of red to the roots of her hair. “Oh, and would you please tell Hiroshi that if he has any questions at any time, he should feel free to ask you?” Skye didn’t have to glance over her shoulder this time to know the whole class was staring at her back. No pencil scratching. No eraser rubbing. Silence.
    She leaned in closer to Hiroshi, then remembered Kevin’s idiotic comment about Hiroshi being her boyfriend. Taking a tiny step back, she translated Mrs. Garcia’s words, keeping her voice as quiet as she could. She knew she was making mistakes, but she just wanted to get this over with.
    Hiroshi nodded.
    “Thank you, Skye,” Mrs. Garcia said, finally ending the translation torture.
    Skye led Hiroshi to the computer station, which was, thankfully, about as far away from Kevin as possible. She showed Hiroshi how to get to the Kid Science site, then walked back to her desk, eyes down.
    She knew it had to be hard for Hiroshi—being the new kid and not speaking English.
But it’s no picnic for me, either.

10
Hiroshi

    Hiroshi smelled the cafeteria before he saw it. Walking in line with his class, he caught the odor of some kind of meat mingled with lemony-scented floor cleaner. Voices bounced from one wall to the other, up to the high ceiling, and back down again.
    This was nothing like lunchtime in his classroom last year.
    As his class filed by the tables, Hiroshi didn’t see any place mats—the other kids just set their trays right on the tables. The line snaked into the kitchen area, where several kinds of food sat behind a Plexiglas barrier. Ladies in uniforms did the serving—not classmates in white aprons, masks, and hats.
    As he waited in line, Hiroshi dug his hand into his pocket and came up with his lunch money. He stared at the American coins and tried to remember how much each was worth. The only numerals on them were years. That was no help. He knew the quarter was worth the most because it was the biggest. The second biggest had to be worth ten cents. The next smallest must be five cents, and then there was the one-cent penny.
    “Hello? You’re next.”
    Hiroshi felt a poke in his back. He turned and saw a red-haired boy standing there.
    “Take one. You’re up.”
    Hiroshi looked past the boy to where Skye stood. She nodded toward the trays, then went back to talking to the girl next to her.
    When Hiroshi didn’t move, the boy rolled his eyes. He picked up a pink Styrofoam tray and handed it to Hiroshi. “Here—you need these, too.” He put a napkin and a plastic fork and spoon on Hiroshi’s tray.
    Hiroshi nodded. “Thank you.” He listened as the boy spoke to the cafeteria lady and pointed to the spaghetti. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, then dug a huge spoon that looked like an ice cream scoop into the mass of wet noodles. She dumped the spaghetti into a Styrofoam bowl.
    “Sauce?” The lady sounded bored.
    The boy shrugged. “Yeah.” She plunged a ladle into a pot splattered with red sauce, poured some onto the mound of noodles with a practiced turn of her wrist, and plopped the bowl onto the counter. The boy set the bowl on his tray, then slid it