Finally Seen: Chapters 56–79

Pete walks into the kitchen with his gigantic ledger, banging the counter with his cane to get our attention. “All right, folks. Party’s over, this isn’t an auto shop waiting room. Some of us have work to do.” He lifts his big book.

“Actually, I thought I’d make you dinner…,” Mrs. Muñoz says. “We have a lot of vegetables left over from the farmers’ market.”
“Dinner?” Pete asks.
Mrs. Muñoz nods earnestly.

Tonight, the fire roars from the study’s brick fireplace, beckoning me.

I put the book back and walk out to join Pete, hoping the buttery smells of pureed squash and freshly baked croissants will soften his edges and he’ll let us look inside his sliding door...if only for one night.

I look around the table at the great bounty of food that my dad and Mrs. Muñoz lovingly grew.

Mrs. Muñoz ladles out the squash soup.

Pete’s face instantly tightens. All his joy shrivels up. Uh-oh. I can tell from his deep frown that I’ve stepped on a tender crack.

What if her time in the waiting room comes to an abrupt end before I’m even close to ready?

Finn takes me across the hotel suite on his phone to show me. The door to his dad’s bedroom is closed.

“I’m so sick of trying to live up to his sports mania. Feeling like I’m not man enough because I don’t care about the Rams. What kind of forty-seven-year-old locks themselves in a room when their team loses...and doesn’t come out for the entire weekend!?”

I was so mad I ordered the truffle pizza. I thought it was going to be a normal pizza, but it had flakes of feet on it—it smelled so bad!

He will walk over and hug Finn and tell him he’s so sorry. That Finn’s enough, just the way he is. I hold my breath waiting for this pivotal scene, drawing it in my head.

Instead of Mom, Carla, and my sister, I find a tall, burly, gum-chewing man with a thick beard, in a tan jacket and sunglasses, standing in our doorway.

“Because! The security deposit’s for damages...and from the looks of this place, you’re going to need it!” Mr. Beezley says, pointing to the blemish on the carpet from all the mica powder. “Look at this place! The stains on my carpet!”

I feel Mom’s wet apology in my hair and all I can do is nod, buoyed by the hope that finally...she knows.

In her plan, Mom’s listed all of our products, the profit margin, and the levels for investment and potential profit return.

I sketch smiling kids covered in foam, and frothy puppies swimming in bathtubs.

The stern tone of Jessica’s mom’s voice lets us know Mrs. Carter’s in trouble.

We all turn to Jessica, who shrugs like she doesn’t know what’s up but sits there looking all smug. Oh, she totally knows.

“That was humiliating for Jessica, and completely unacceptable.”
“I’m sorry, what’s unacceptable?” Mrs. Carter asks.
“For her to get singled out and piled on like that. She was distraught when she came home. Did you know that she refused to come out of her room—not for SSAT class? Not even for a trip to Sephora?”

“Why would you pick such a divisive book in the first place?” Jessica’s mom asks.
“Divisive?” Mrs. Carter’s eyebrows jump. “It’s a book about a Chinese American girl who runs a flea market shop. I’m sorry...what’s divisive about that?”

“Mrs. Scott has...concerns. About the relevance of this text to our students.”
“Can’t you see? It’s not relatable. It’s not appropriate!”

Flea Shop is the most relatable thing I’ve ever read. As for appropriate, if she thinks Flea Shop’s not appropriate, I hate to think of what she thinks about my life.

She says that each person who wants to speak will have two minutes. It’s important to not dawdle because the two minutes will go by like that.

As I’m fretting over what to say, Millie appoints herself my stylist.

I’m Jessica Scott, a longtime advocate of literacy and parent of two children in this school. Anyone who knows me knows how much I love books.

I am a staunch believer in access to books, which is why I give so generously, year after year, to make sure our schools can afford books for all our kids.

“Now, I understand that that may be her interpretation. But that’s not my interpretation of the world. As a parent, I encourage my kids not to see color. When I look at the world, I see people. Experiences. Tastes. Interests. Places you like to go on vacation. I see individuals. And that’s the world view I want my kids to have. Bottom line, that’s what this is about. It’s about my right, as a parent, to have a say in the world view that my kids get taught.”

We need simply to go to the Census Bureau to see this fact. Books like Flea Shop are so incredibly valuable because they allow children to step into the shoes of another person from a different culture and understand what they’re going through.

But adrenaline pushes me forward as I remind myself that I have worked too hard and waited too long for this moment.

“And now, without further ado, let’s continue with our read-aloud!”

In that moment, my dad finally sees him for who he is. Not a world-saving farmer. But a coward. A coward who duped my trusting parents.

Dad laughs and takes a pic of me with his phone while I chase the crashing waves, forgetting all about the bleak news of the day.

At dawn, I flutter open my eyelids to see dolphins frolicking in the water.

“Truth is, I wanted to apply for you, I really did,” Pete says. “Even went and talked to the lawyer about it. But he told me that in order to get it approved, I’d have to start paying you at the prevailing wage of a farm manager. And I couldn’t afford that.”

As Mom grabs her bag and Dad takes his keys, looking dapper in his white shirt and khakis, I look around for Millie.

I just start a company, created a killer product line, entered into joint venture, and market it like fire on Etsy.

As he skulks away with our check, Mom turns to me, Millie, and Dad.

“Lina!” Lao Lao’s warm voice greets me. “Or should I say esteemed author who happens to be my granddaughter?”

Mom chuckles at my floored, ecstatic face, while Dad high-fives, fist-bumps, shakes, snaps, and hugs me!