The Many Meanings of Meilan by Andrea Wang

Author:Andrea Wang [Wang, Andrea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2021-08-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Six

Even though it’s not due for a while, I’m taking notes on the Vietnam War for the Veterans Day project. Writing a fake interview is a lot harder than just interviewing a real person and writing down their answers. It feels like I’m writing a history paper. But to have any chance of getting the best grade, I’m going to have to put in the work. I finally found a person I can use as the veteran I’m supposedly interviewing, and I’ll only have to change his name a tiny bit. He did a lot of stuff, so the interview will hopefully be really interesting and impress Ms. Brown.

A breeze carries the sound of voices through my open window. Bàba put my desk under the window so I have a view. I look up from my notebook and spot two figures standing in the yard underneath the dragon tree. One of them is Gōnggong, gripping a shovel in his hand. The other is one of the twins. He’s turned slightly sideways, so I can’t tell who it is. It’s not until he runs a hand through his hair that I realize it’s Logan. I feel a little bad that I haven’t talked to him in over a week, but those are Mist’s rules. Plus, if my plan works, I’ll be moving back home soon, so maybe it’s better this way. But what is he doing talking to Gōnggong?

I strain to hear their conversation, but the wind has shifted, taking their voices away. Logan points to the tree, then down to the ground. Gōnggong tilts his head, and Logan makes a circular motion with his hand, holding it palm-down. Then he picks up a fallen branch and snaps it in half, showing it to my grandfather, who shakes his head. I’m mystified, too. Then Logan gestures over to the other side of our yard, near the fence with our other neighbors, whom I haven’t met yet. Gōnggong nods and they both walk over there. With the tip of the shovel, Gōnggong draws a line through the grass and dirt, sketching out a large rectangle. Then he starts digging and weeding inside the rectangle. Logan climbs back over the fence and heads toward his house.

It’s a garden, I realize. My grandfather, who refused to leave his apartment after Nǎinai died, is making something where he’ll have to spend a lot of time outdoors.

I’m just about to go out and help Gōnggong when there’s movement on the street to my left. Logan reappears, pushing some sort of machine across our yard. It’s not a lawnmower like the old one our landlord left us. Instead, it looks like the snowblowers that people use to clear their driveways and sidewalks back home. But there’s no snow.

Logan leans over the machine and yanks a long cord. The engine sputters and dies. He tries again, and this time I hear the loud chug of a motor. Motioning for Gōnggong to stand back, Logan slowly pushes the machine across the rectangle, leaving a trail of churned-up dirt and weeds behind him.

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