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    Learning to Fly
    Learning to Fly
    Learning to Fly
    Ebook68 pages57 minutes

    Learning to Fly

    By Paul Yee

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    About this ebook

    Jason is an outsider. A recent immigrant from China, he lives in a close-minded town with his mother and younger brother. Falling in with the wrong crowd, trying to fit in, Jason takes chances and ends up in trouble with the police. Holding on to his friendship with an Indigenous boy, also an outsider, Jason finds he needs to fight to belong and to find a new home.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOrca Book Publishers
    Release dateOct 1, 2008
    ISBN9781554696604
    Learning to Fly
    Author

    Paul Yee

    PAUL YEE was born in Spalding, Saskatchewan, and grew up in Vancouver's Chinatown. A former archivist, he now writes full time. His books have won many awards and honors, including the Governor General's Award (Ghost Train), the Ruth Schwartz Award (Ghost Train and Roses Sing on New Snow), and the Canadian Library Association Book of the Year Award (Tales from Gold Mountain). He has won the Vancouver Book Award and been shortlisted for the BC Book Prize, and his books have been named to several lists, including NYPL Books for the Teen Age (Dead Man’s Gold), ALA Notables and Booklist's Top Ten Historical Fiction. Most recently, Paul’s young adult novel Money Boy was named a Stonewall Honor Book and he won the Vicky Metcalf Award for a body of work. Paul lives in Toronto.

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      Book preview

      Learning to Fly - Paul Yee

      going.

      Chapter One

      Three more hours. One hundred and eighty minutes.

      Milson Mall is busy on weekends, so I am forced to help at my mom’s deli.

      Ten thousand, eight hundred seconds. Ten million, eight hundred thousand milliseconds. Then the mall closes, and I can go roll a joint and inhale those sweet, sweet fumes. Then all the crap in my life will float away, just like the smoke.

      From below, a little girl hands me two dollars. Is she mumbling or am I stupid? I lean over the counter and ask, politely as usual, What can I get you?

      This time I think I hear cookies.

      What kind? Now my words are loud, and strained if you listen hard.

      She looks away and strands of yellow hair swirl up.

      What kind? I ask again, wanting to reach out and twist her ear hard.

      After we exchange oatmeal cookies and cash, she runs off. Her mother, a plump woman guarding a stroller, stands far back. It is as if she’s worried that just standing close to the baking will make her fatter.

      The next person has a belly that pokes out like a prize-winning pumpkin. He orders coffee and apple pie.

      What do you take? I ask.

      Huh? He frowns.

      How do you take your coffee? I speak louder. Black? Cream? Sugar?

      Oh! Just milk.

      My English is not bad, but people do not hear me. They see a Chinese face, and right away they think my English will be poor and broken.

      Bland music fills the mall. Bland shoppers stroll through, licking ice-cream cones. The air in here is stale. This whole town is stale.

      Four kids from school enter through the main door. Right away I squat and pretend to straighten the trays of squares and tarts in the display case. I pray that none of the kids will come near the deli. Through the glass I see one I think of as sweat-shirt girl because she is always wearing the same shirt. She is looking over here, searching for a target. Usually she nudges and calls to her friends, and then they all stare at me, giggling or laughing. I don’t even know their names.

      "Jie-xin, where are you?"

      I stand up as Aunt Mei hurries in with Josh. She watches my little brother on weekends.

      I need to pee-pee, he says.

      You take him, I say, turning away. Aunt Mei and I speak Chinese.

      You take him! she retorts. In the washroom, women do not like to see little boys running around.

      I’m too busy.

      You have no one here!

      Ma calls from the back, Jason, take him!

      I edge away from her voice.

      Right now! Ma shouts.

      I swear under my breath and rip off my apron. Josh smiles at me. I march him past the shoe shop, the drugstore and the crafts place. I press him so close to the walls that he squeals in protest. Maybe we can get through the food court without the kids seeing us. Why are the washrooms right by the eating tables?

      I slow down to keep pace with strolling shoppers so that we will not be noticed. My eyes stay down and watch the ugly brown tiles rush by. Then I hear the guys’ voices.

      Hey, Jason-baby!

      Daddy!

      I need to go pooh-pooh too, Papa! Can you take me?

      We rush into the washroom and into a stall. I slam the door and stand Josh on the rim of the bowl. Someone did not flush the toilet. Spongy brown coils float below. Ugh!

      Hurry! I growl.

      His eyes are big. Were those people laughing at you? he asks.

      Who?

      Those people.

      Don’t know them. Come on, hurry!

      Josh is only three. He is fourteen years younger than me. No one in my class has a brother or sister who is so many years behind. Everyone pretends to think I am Josh’s father because it is so funny, and because my dad is not living with us. When I arrived in this town, Celine Lapointe, the girl who was assigned as my buddy, told me that a thirteen-year-old in grade eight got pregnant. I acted as if it was no big deal.

      When we come out, the kids are waiting. They sit close to the entrance. I can see their faces clearly, all pale and white. They jeer at me.

      Daddy, bring the kid to school.

      Show us how you change diapers and wipe ass!

      Hey, are you breast-feeding, Daddy?

      I check my watch. Time is crawling. Back at the deli, Ma asks brightly, Did you see your friends?

      Friends? What friends? I make a grunting sound.

      At school you must make friends, Ma adds. With no customers at the deli counter, she speaks Chinese too.

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