Listen, Slowly by Thanhha Lai Read Free Book Online

to my toes. The most tingly, comforting scent there is.

CHAPTER 7
    I hear whistling—the kind humans make when trying to sound like a bird. I crawl out of the net, then jiggle to make it hard for rebellious, day-hunter mosquitoes to stab my exposed skin. Mom packed for me, all capris, as I was too busy seething. I can just hear her reasoning: skirts too impractical, shorts too revealing, pants too hot, so let’s do capris. Mosquitoes all over Vietnam cheered.
    Thinking of Mom, I run to my luggage, yank free the velcroed pocket, and unzip it to find a palm-sized something inside bubble wrap. Rip . . . revealing a cell phone and a charger. I take a deep breath and stare. This must be what it felt like to find gold. I actually kiss the cell. I should have known Mom would find a way to circumvent Dad’s ban on anything electronic, as not to show off. But I need this. Why did I not find it immediately after talking to Mom yesterday morning? Because life in Vietnam is one body-crushing, must-do, crowd-throbbing, mind-heavy event after another. It takes all my energy just to react.
    I zoom around trying to find an outlet. Nothing. Can life be this cruel? Control, I tell myself, control. I will find a way to charge the phone, then I’m practically back in Laguna.
    I run outside and stop short. A pouting Út stands in the courtyard in yesterday’s crumpled pants and T-shirt. Three teenagers, all clutching sun-blocking umbrellas, surround her as if she might run off. I bet they had to pull her toward me the whole way. They wave, a skinny boy and two long-haired girls, all wearing long pants in this sticky heat. Of course they’re not scratching or jiggling. Út is, surprise surprise, cradling her pet. The others each hold a basket.
    With his umbrella hand, the boy reaches out for one of the older girls’ baskets. She’s got to be Út’s sister, Lan. The same perfect oval face, same movie-star eyelashes, but Lan seems prettier because, let’s face it, a buzz cut takes down even the best of us. The boy looks straight at Lan and smiles, not just smiles, but beams the universal signal for “Interested.” She looks down, turns really pink, smiles at the ground. Even I’m not that bad in front of HIM. I catch her smile just in time to see a slight overbite.
    Before Lan can give him her basket, the other girl jams her basket into his hand. The universal gesture for “You Better Not Be Interested in Her!” This girl looks right at him and wiggles her hips. She actually does that, bold and mocking—such a Montana-ish move. The boy swallows; the knot at his throat runs up and down. He decides to carry the umbrella and one basket on the left, and the other two baskets on the right. Poor guy, I can tell this triangle is nowhere near over.
    The boy steps forward. “Good aft’noon, miss. My name is Minh. I would be honored to serve as your translator if you can forgive my incompetent English. I am studyin’ on scholarship and will return as a junior to a boardin’ high school near Houston. As you can witness, I am still in the learnin’ stage.”
    My mouth falls open. I want to hug this knotty, sincere boy who’s wearing way cool John Lennon glasses. My personal translator! A Vietnamese who speaks superproper English with a Texas accent. You can’t make this up.
    “Hey, I’m Mia, oops, I guess I’m Mai here. Thank you, thank you, there’s so much I want to say. First, please tell Út I’m so sorry.”
    Bless him, he doesn’t ask about what but just does his job. Út answers by blowing air out her nose in a quick puff. What does that mean? She has yet to open her mouth. Bet you anything she hates her braces. Wearing them is a two-year torment, but I’m not about to walk around for the rest of my life with the top row parasailing over the bottom one. Might as well wear my braces loud and proud.
    “Xin lỗi,” I add for extra sorriness. Út nose-puffs again. I’m going to take that as forgiveness. Onward.
    “Could