Shadow of the Dragon by Sherry Garland

Author:Sherry Garland
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

Chapter Eight

The misty dragon’s breath of February turned into the billowy winds of March without event. Bà tilled the soil in a flower bed near the abandoned pool and planted her garden of onions, cilantro, Chinese radishes, mint, and lemon grass. Her bitter melon vine had already established itself at the foot of the concrete stairs. By the end of the summer it would coil over the rails and poke its vivid green leaves onto the rooftop, letting its crinkled cucumber-sized orbs dangle over the concrete landing.

Danny marked the days off on his calendar one by one as time crept toward his “official” sixteenth birthday. He practiced his parallel parking and taught his cousin to drive, too. Though Sang Le had turned eighteen and drove with the eye and hand of an expert, he could not pass the written test. He memorized the multiple choice answers on Danny’s test, but the exams kept changing. After the third time, he refused to go back, saying he would take his chances and drive without a license, if ever he had the luck to own a car. But first he had to find a job.

Danny knew exactly how his cousin felt. So many of his hopes and dreams seemed to rely on finding a job, too—any job. But the part of town he lived in had none of the normal sources for sixteen year olds—no movie houses, no fastfood restaurants. So, when Danny saw the “Help Wanted” sign in Tilson’s Grocery Store, a small brick building that had been there since the 1960s, Danny did not hesitate to grab his cousin and hurry to the back of the store where Mr. Tilson was watching a produce truck back up to his loading dock.

Danny watched the plump man lean against the alley wall, take a long draw on his stubby cigar, and slowly exhale.

“I’m sorry, son,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d like to hire you, but I can’t.” A trail of cigar ashes spilled to the pavement as the heavy man wiped a shirtsleeve across his damp forehead. He turned and barked orders to the driver of the truck. As the tailgate lowered, the sweet aroma of fruit drifted into the alley and blended with the smell of last week’s rotting vegetables in the dumpster.

“But you have a ‘Help Wanted’ sign out front,” Danny protested. Mr. Tilson was the uncle of a boy he knew at school, Jason Tilson. His was the only small privately owned grocery store in the neighborhood. Danny visited often to play video games. And he always bought something and never caused any trouble. Mr. Tilson had always acted friendly, but at the moment all of that didn’t seem to matter.

“You’re not old enough. I can tell that. What are you, thirteen or fourteen?”

“I’m the same age as your nephew, Jason—fifteen. I’ll be sixteen in two weeks,” Danny replied and straightened his back so he would look taller. He glanced at Sang Le, who stood by, his hands hanging at his sides as he tried to follow the conversation.

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