Ruby’s Magic Madness was never the same again. It became Ruby’s Magic Madness, Featuring the Amazing Oscar. It was famous on 20th Avenue South, where Ruby was truly amazing and Oscar was pretty clever too. But most important of all, Ruby loved Oscar and Oscar loved Ruby, and they loved being together … at least for now.

  3 All About Chinese School

  Ruby’s mother was also very talented.

  She could sew. She made magic capes with striped insides. Magic capes with polka-dot insides. Magic capes with tie-dyed insides. Even magic capes with fuzzy, furry insides.

  She could stay up late (sewing).

  And get up early (to call her sister in China).

  She never told Oscar to go away or Ruby to hurry up.

  She never got tired or hungry.

  Or sick.

  She always remembered her pleases and thank-yous.

  And everyone’s birthdays.

  She could put raisins in the oatmeal and transfer the laundry from the washer to the dryer and wash the rice and wipe Oscar’s drippy nose and water the plants all at once. In addition, she could mop the kitchen floor three times before 11:00 A.M.

  If that wasn’t enough, she was also elegant. She wore movie-star shoes once in a while and combed her hair every day.

  And she always knew what Ruby needed, even before Ruby knew.

  She knew when Ruby needed new boots.

  She knew when Ruby needed just a little help—but not too much—with her shortcut division.

  And she always seemed to know when Ruby needed a hug and a kiss.

  But she didn’t know everything.

  “Ruby,” she said one day, “wouldn’t you love to go to Chinese school?”

  Ruby had heard about Chinese school. It was held on Saturdays, which was a bad idea. The building was cold and dark. A fire-breathing dragon lived in the dungeon. The teachers were former prison guards from China. They served snacks of roasted snakes. Children who forgot their homework turned into crickets. Children who learned Chinese spoke English with an unshakable Chinese accent.

  No, Ruby wouldn’t love to go to Chinese school. The very thought of it gave Ruby an itch, she couldn’t reach.

  “Wouldn’t it be great for you to understand PohPoh and GungGung?” her mother asked.

  But Ruby understood her grandparents fine. They loved her and she loved them. They brought her treats and she ate them. They took walks in the park and Ruby led the way. Everywhere they went, Ruby went. They spoke in Chinese and she spoke in English. Ruby didn’t know most of what they said, but she understood them completely.

  “I’d rather stay home with Oscar,” Ruby said, reaching for her brother. She clutched him like a winning lottery ticket. “We are inseparable.”

  So on Saturday, Ruby and Oscar went to Chinese school.

  The building was warm and sunny.

  It smelled like apples and cinnamon.

  Grandmas were learning tai chi in the basement.

  Grandpas were “Cooking with Han, the Dim Sum Man” in the kitchen.

  Ruby’s mother took up Chinese fan dancing.

  And Oscar went happily to Songs and Games.

  But Ruby wore her most mysterious magic cape, the one that made her look as old as ten and very sophisticated. It was the only cape in which she could turn into a yellow-eyed tree frog at school and into a scarlet-bellied tree frog at home. Ruby held apart the doorway of her classroom with her strong, amphibian arms.

  “Cool,” said a boy. “Nice cape.” The boy also wore a cape. It was not mysterious like Ruby’s, but it was as red as a stoplight.

  “I’m Superman,” he said, smiling. Superman was practicing his Chinese name with ink and brush.

  “I’m a tree frog,” said Ruby.

  “Are you Ruby the Tree Frog?” a voice asked.

  Ruby turned her frog eyes to see a beautiful princess standing in front of her. Her hair was as black as the night sky. Her eyes glittered like stars when she smiled at Ruby.

  “I’m Miss Wu,” the princess said. “Welcome to Chinese school.”

  Ruby’s tongue fell out.

  “When I was your age,” Miss Wu said, “I could turn into a mermaid.”

  Ruby usually knew exactly what to say. But she had never met a princess before who could turn into a mermaid. Ruby was speechless.

  “I have the perfect tree for you to sit in,” Miss Wu said, leading Ruby to a desk between Superman and a girl about Ruby’s age. “Ruby the Tree Frog meet Ruby the Fat-tailed Gecko.”

  “Your names Ruby too?” Ruby asked the girl sitting next to her.

  “Yup,” said the girl. She wore the most beautiful brown-speckled stockings Ruby had ever seen. She was totally lizard. “I’m an African Fat Tail. I store my food in my tail. I love crickets. I eat them every day.”

  “I like flies,” said Ruby. “I swallow my food whole. If I eat something that is bad for me, I can vomit up my entire stomach. Then I wipe myself clean with my right front leg.”

  Ruby demonstrated, then she sat down in her tree. She could swing her hind feet just above the floor. It felt just right.

  “Ever eat chicken feet?” Ruby the Gecko asked.

  Ruby shook her head.

  “It’s yummy,” Ruby the Gecko said. “Better than bear claws. Nice crunch. Sometimes they serve it here.”

  Miss Wu began the day’s lessons.

  But all Ruby could think of was snacktime. She could hardly wait for her chicken feet.

  4 Brave and True

  The best thing about Chinese school was everything.

  Ruby liked the snacks. There was something different every Saturday. Ruby sampled shrimp chips and grass jelly. She learned to eat pumpkin seeds like the children in China do—without using her hands. She cracked the seeds with her teeth, spat out little bits of shell, and kept the yummy part on her tongue. She also enjoyed juicy dragon eyes and crunchy chicken feet.

  Ruby liked her teacher. Miss Wu had soft hands like a true mer-princess and wore perfume that smelled like lemonade. Ruby wondered if the prisoners in China missed her.

  Ruby liked the way Miss Wu said her Chinese name. Ruby never could remember how to say it herself, but she knew that it meant “beautiful lake.”

  Ruby liked imagining. Often in class, she would be sitting in a tree as a blue tree frog looking down at a beautiful lake. She breathed quietly through her skin and tried not to blink.

  Ruby liked her new friends. Superman was good at holding his ink brush, while Ruby was not. He gave Ruby lots of tips and helpful hints.

  “I couldn’t do it at first either,” he said. “Just keep your eyes on the brush and don’t look away—not even for a second. And don’t wobble your hand too much.”

  But most of all, Ruby the Tree Frog liked Ruby the Fat-tailed Gecko. She remembered what Tiger had told her. She smiled and looked her smack in the eye. After that they were best friends. They sat together and snacked together and ran errands down the hall together. They wore their hair alike, dressed alike, and even stomped the same foot when they were mad. Ruby had her mother make Ruby a matching striped magic cape. And Ruby the Gecko gave Ruby the Tree Frog a pair of the most beautiful green stockings Ruby had ever seen.

  Now she could wipe her stomach with a real frog leg. And everywhere that Ruby went, Ruby was sure to follow.

  Ruby and Ruby got wooden nickels for perfect attendance.

  Ruby and Ruby got wooden nickels for sharing language tapes.

  Ruby and Ruby got wooden nickels for bringing in the balls and ropes after recess.

  Together, they were better than they were apart.

  The two were often at the Chinese schools General Store. They spent their wooden nickels on many things. Ruby the Tree Frog bought a pencil made in China and erasers that smelled like fruit, also made in China. Ruby the Gecko bought a pretty teacup made in China and a postcard of the Great Wall. When they found the most exquisite ruby ring—the only one of its kind—instead of fighting over it, they agreed to share it.

  Ruby liked Chinese school more than she could have ever imagined.

  But Ruby was not learning Chinese.

  She had trouble with her numbers. And her colors. She couldn’t tell up from down or left from right. She couldn’t say hello or good-bye. She couldn’t remember the word for “please,” but she knew duo jiee meant “thank you” because her pohpoh used it often. Poor Ruby, she couldn’t even remember her Chinese name, though she remembered it meant something like “beautiful tree leaping into froggy lake.”

  To make matters worse, when it was time to make ink for the brush lesson, Ruby could never get it right. She rubbed her ink pebble with a little water like everyone else, but her ink always turned out as lumpy as tempura batter or as runny as tears.

  But the worst thing about Chinese school was Oscar.

  Oscar was learning Chinese. “Lyang jiak lo fwu, lyang jiak lo fwu,” Oscar sang over and over. He loved the little tune he learned to a nursery rhyme about two tigers.

  “Siaang,” he said, using the word for “up” and pointing up.

  “Haa” he said, using the word for “down” and stomping his foot.

  PohPoh and GungGung were very impressed. PohPoh gave Oscar thirty-one extra kisses, and GungGung gave him a ride on his back. Ruby was not impressed.

  She found some rocks and put them in his shoes.

  “I can go to Chinese school by myself now,” Ruby told her mother. “Oscar should stay home. He’s fluent.”

  Ruby’s mother looked at Ruby.

  “Please, Mom. I’ll give you one hundred and twenty-seven hugs.”

  Ruby’s mother looked at Ruby upside down and right side up. Then she looked at Ruby inside out.

  “I’ll take the hugs anytime,” Ruby’s mother said, giving her daughter a squeeze.

  A tear rolled down Ruby’s cheek.

  “Learning something fast is not important,” she told Ruby. “It takes a long time to learn a language. And it’s easier for a very young child like Oscar to learn Chinese.”

  Then Ruby’s mother held Ruby in her lap and told her a when-I-was-your-age story.

  “When I was your age in China,” she began, “my mother wanted me to go to English school. I had heard that it was a terrible place. It was held on Saturdays, which was a bad idea. The building was cold and dark. A monster lived in the dungeon there. The teachers were American crossing guards who had lost their jobs for being careless. Children who didn’t do their homework got fed to the hungry monster at snacktime.”

  Ruby giggled. It made her feel better that her mother was not so brave as a little girl.

  “I know it’s frustrating, but you’re off to a much better start than I was,” Ruby’s mother said, kissing the top of Ruby’s head. “I’m very proud of you.”

  Ruby thought about how brave she was to go to Chinese school. She was brave and true to smile and look someone in the eye. She was very brave to try chicken feet. And she was even braver to be Oscar’s sister. Yes, she was truly brave.

  Then Ruby remembered. She gave her mother one hundred and twenty-six more hugs.

  5 Sweater Weather

  Although Ruby’s father—an A.B.C. (American-born Chinese) who was also an F.O.B. (Flunked Out Badly—from Chinese School)—couldn’t speak Chinese as well as Oscar or cut a deck of cards like Ruby or cross the street and remember where he was going at the same time, he was a great authority on many different subjects, which made him very useful.

  Cars. Change the oil every 3,000 miles. Change the brakes every 30,000 miles. Change the baby every 30 miles.

  Driving. Usually, Ruby’s father was a good driver. He stayed in his lane and almost never exceeded the speed limit on the highway. But when Ruby’s mother was about to give birth to Ruby, her father drove past the hospital. Way past.

  Scrabble. Ruby’s father was the Scrabble king. He knew important Q words that don’t require a u: faqir, inqilab, qadi, qaid, qintar. And he was learning a list of 1,228 three-letter words to improve his game.

  Knitting. He could cast on better than any granny on the No. 3 bus. He could cast off, too. And he was fast. His needles slipped and clacked, slipped and clacked, slipped and clacked, like a starving man’s chopsticks at a feast.

  Of course, he could also purl.

  He knew the garter stitch. He knew the cable stitch. He knew the fisherman’s knot and the basket weave. He even created his own stitch: the tofu block.

  He made scarves and booties and hats. He made cozies to keep the tea warm and pot holders to keep your hands cool. He made cardigans and pullovers, V necks and boat necks. Sometimes, his sweaters were seamless. Other times, they were sleeveless.

  Ruby’s father’s knitwear was all the rage on 20th Avenue South. And Ruby herself, clothed head to toe in one-of-a-kind masterpieces, was the epicenter of fashion.

  Until Christina moved in from California.

  Christina dressed as though she lived at the beach. Every day she wore sunglasses and summer clothes and the kind of sandals that showed her wiggly little toes. Often she was white with SPF 60 sunscreen, which smelled like coconuts. Christina sunbathed even when there was no sun. When it was cold, she said she was hot. No one on 20th Avenue South had ever met anyone so cool.

  But she was also mean. When the ice-cream truck came down the street, Christina was always the first in line. Even if she wasn’t, she’d push to the front and buy the very last Triple Chocolate Bomb before anyone else could. She twisted Wally’s bonsai and laughed at Sam’s mummy finger. No one on 20th Avenue South had ever known anyone so mean.

  “Why do you all dress like old people around here?” she asked one day when everyone was wearing their knitted things that Ruby’s father had made for them.

  It was a typical, drizzly, cloudy day on 20th Avenue South. It was not particularly warm, but Christina was toasting herself anyway.

  “This is surfing weather, people!” she declared. “Wake up and hang ten!”

  Everyone looked to Ruby. But Ruby was speechless.

  “Ruby’s father made these for us,” Wally said, showing off his W for Wally sweater.

  “See,” Oscar said. “Poof!” Oscar believed his specially knitted sweater made him invisible.

  Christina pulled at a sleeve here, poked at a hat there. She squeezed a mitten and snapped a sock. Then she spun Oscar completely around.

  “You’re not invisible!” she taunted. “And there’s nothing magical about an ugly sweater.”

  “Sweaters,” Christina continued, “are for old people.”

  “Not!” shouted Oscar, and he began to cry.

  A hush fell over 20th Avenue South.

  Nobody moved.

  Nobody knew what to say.

  Ruby could feel herself getting warm. Drums pounded inside her chest. Her hands balled into fists. Then she felt absolutely hot. She was hotter than microwave popcorn.

  Then she popped.

  “This is sweater weather, you big bully!” Ruby yelled. “Wake. Up. And. Bundle. Up!”

  Emma gasped.

  Tiger hid behind the plum tree.

  And Christina hissed.

  Then, to everyone’s surprise—especially Ruby’s—Ruby hissed back.

  “Your father’s a knitting machine!” Christina began to chant. “Your father’s a knitting machine!” Then she laughed her terrible laugh.

  Ruby wanted to punch Christina, but her father had taught her that when you’re angry, count to ten. Ruby counted to twenty. When she got to thirty, she was still madder than a one-eyed alligator. But Ruby also began to feel very, very small in the specially knitted magic cape that was supposed to make her feel seven feet tall. Finally, she grabbed Oscar and ran into their house.

  The next day only Oscar and Sam were still in their sweaters. It was okay for them to be bundled, they were the little kids. It was foggy on 20th Avenue South and a bit chilly, but no one said a word about how cold they felt without their knitted things on.

  “Surfing weather, isn’t it?” Emma shivered.

  “O-only on the Internet,” Ruby chattered.

  It was time for Ruby’s magic show, but Ruby was frozen. And so was all of her hocus-pocus. Emma and Tiger tried to keep warm by playing tag. Wally tried thinking warm thoughts. But after a while everyone just huddled together. And Christina didn’t once come out of her house.

  Christina did not come out the next day either. Or the day after that. Or for the entire next week. No one missed her. No one said her name, not even once. It was almost as if she had never moved there in the first place.

  One by one, the knits came back out. Emma’s scarf. Tiger’s mittens. Wally’s W sweater. And Ruby felt tall enough again in her specially knitted magic cape to try out a new trick: Ruby’s Tahitian Escape. Ruby put Oscar into a box marked for Bora Bora. She closed the lid very carefully … stuck on lots of stamps … turned it around three times … then, with her magic wand tapped the box … and poof! Oscar jumped out—wiggling in a little grass skirt!

  The applause was thunderous and utterly transporting.

  Just as Ruby’s father’s knitwear was becoming the rage once again on 20th Avenue South, Ruby got the news. “Christina’s very sick,” Ruby’s father said. “Her mother says she’s in the hospital with pneumonia.”

  Ruby tried very hard not to smile. She tried very, very hard not to do a back somersault. She concentrated on looking sad. But she felt so happy, she could hardly stand it. Just when Ruby thought she would die if she didn’t do a handspring, her father said, “Let’s take her one of these.” He was holding one of his knitted blankets. It had a mermaid on it, with a green and blue and orange tail—more beautiful than any mermaid Ruby’s father had ever made.

  “No!” Ruby cried. “I’ll give you one hundred and twenty-seven hugs!”

 

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