Storms 01 - Family Storms

practice.”
    “Yes. You start by practicing the Chinese character
yong
to master the eight basic strokes.”
    “And what does
yong
mean?”
    “Forever,”
I said.
    “Now, what does the one you’re working on represent?”
    “It means
mother
,” I said.
    “I know you must really miss her.”
    “Yes.”
    He nodded, keeping his eyes on my calligraphy. “Well,” he said, “your art teacher should be happily surprised once he learns what you can do. He’ll probably have you teach the class.”
    “Oh, I couldn’t do that,” I said.
    “Sure you could. Let me see this when it’s finished,” he told me, and started to turn to leave. He stopped, and I looked at the doorway.
    Kiera was standing there. From the look on her face, I knew she must have been there for a while and heard what we had been saying.
    “What’s up?” he asked her.
    “Nothing,” she said sharply, and hurried away.
    He hesitated, and then he walked out.
    Not long before our accident, after Mama and I had spent most of our day on Venice Beach’s boardwalk selling her calligraphy and my lanyards, she had paused while we were getting our things together and just sat there staring at people.
    “What’s wrong, Mama?” I had asked. “Are you feeling sick again?”
    “No, no,” she had said. She’d smiled at me, and for a moment, I saw through her bloated face and tired eyes and saw the smile on her face years ago when she was beautiful and energetic. Nothing made me happier. I could go all the rest of the day without food and still feel content because I saw this smile.
    “Then what, Mama?”
    “I was just thinking how when they look at the calligraphy, they change.”
    “Who changes?”
    “The people, the ones who pass by. It isn’t until they’re looking at the calligraphy that they suddenly see us as people. They look at both of us then, Sasha. Did you notice that?”
    Now that she had said it, I realized it was true, and I nodded.
    “Why is that, Mama?”
    “The calligraphy, like anything beautiful, reminds us all about what we share as people. That’s what your grandmother once told me,” she had said. “But it wasn’t until just now, today, that I realized what she meant.”
    She had smiled again and then continued gathering her things.
    I looked down at my unfinished work and nodded, thinking about Mr. March, his softer tone of voice, his curiosity, and his smile.
    “Now I understand, too, Mama,” I whispered.
    It was truly as if she had reached from beyond the grave to speak to me through my own calligraphy. It filled my heart with warmth and gave me the strength even to face the jealous face of Kiera March.
    Someday, I thought—no, vowed—I wouldn’t hate her as much as I pitied her.
    But I knew that the journey to that place would be a long one and over a road full of many traps and dangers. I just didn’t know how soon it would all really begin.

15
Judgment
    A few days later, I learned that despite how powerful and influential Mr. March was and despite how good his attorney was, they couldn’t put off Kiera’s court hearing again. With only a week left before school began, she would have to go to court. No one discussed it in front of me, but I overheard enough to know the details, and by now, I understood that both Mrs. Caro and Mrs. Duval knew everything. In fact, Mrs. Duval apologized to me one day when I was sitting out on the patio that faced the pool, reading. Without my asking, she brought me a glass of Mrs. Caro’s famous lemonade.
    “Thank you very much, Mrs. Duval,” I said, surprised. I started to drink, expecting her to leave, but she stood there looking out at the cabana. I could tell that she wanted to say something, and I waited.
    “When you were first brought here,” she began, “we all thought some organization had chosen you or singled you out for a special opportunity because of your accident andterrible loss and that Mrs. March had volunteered to take you in. She and Mr. March have done many wonderful charitable things. No one told us what or who caused the accident you and your mother suffered. We had some suspicions, but no one thought it was necessary for us to know the truth, so no one asked any questions.”
    I didn’t say anything.
    She shook her head. “If we had known the truth, we would have treated you better when you first arrived.”
    “You treated me just fine, Mrs. Duval. Everyone has.”
    “Not as fine as we would have if we had known how you lost your