The Many Meanings of Meilan: Chapters 18–22

Not taking off my shoes means I’m not allowed to go any farther into the house, so I flop down on the bench beside the door and fiddle with the small charms hanging from my backpack zipper. Xing gave me the jade butterfly on a red silk cord last Christmas, and my friend Caitlin made the tiny bāozi out of polymer clay.

Not taking off my shoes means I’m not allowed to go any farther into the house, so I flop down on the bench beside the door and fiddle with the small charms hanging from my backpack zipper. Xing gave me the jade butterfly on a red silk cord last Christmas, and my friend Caitlin made the tiny bāozi out of polymer clay.

On the last day of school, Zach Tsai surprised me with a red enamel lobster charm with a silver clasp. To remind me of Boston, he’d said.

Just as I’m thinking that Māma has forgotten all about me, she pops out of the kitchen doorway holding a plastic container. My heart leaps; I can’t wait to see what she’s made for me.
I pry off the lid just as Māma says, “Give to Gōnggong. He is fishing at pond.” My heart sinks back down into my chest. She didn’t make anything for me. I’m just Basket, her errand girl.

I find Gōnggong sitting on a log next to Bonnie Pond, his floppy-brimmed hat
askew.

Then the boy slowly raises one hand off the bike in a wave and smiles tentatively. I let out the breath I was holding. Just as slowly, I wave back, realizing with relief that it’s Logan, not Liam.

I’m back in Earthsea, the wind tangling my hair as Ged fills the sail with magewind and the boat speeds across the water toward Pendor Island. The wizard looks back at me, and suddenly I’m staring into Logan’s face underneath the hood of a sweatshirt and not Ged’s beneath his wizard’s cowl. I snap back into reality, covering my gasp with a coughing fit.

“They have fair complexions,” Fiona says, “like me.” It’s true — she has the whitest skin out of everyone in the class.

In Māma’s world, having white skin is a sign that you belong to the ranks of wealthy nobles instead of the poor, sun-browned peasants.

In Māma’s world, having white skin is a sign that you belong to the ranks of wealthy nobles instead of the poor, sun-browned peasants.

The teacher nods. “That’s right. People with paler skin don’t have as much melanin. Melanin is the pigment in your skin. The more melanin a person has, the darker their skin color is.”

“Now, now,” Mrs. Shaughnessy chides, but she sounds more amused than scolding. “That’s true, Cassidy. Melanie does indeed have more melanin than you do. It absorbs and dissipates UV radiation. That’s why the rest of us need to wear sunblock — so we don’t get too dark.”

Māma made a tsk sound that managed to convey both irritation with my lack of Mandarin comprehension and my bad attitude.

Māma nodded. “Yes, that is what I said already. We must accept the ways of the local people.”
“I’m pretty sure that they don’t rename every new student,” I persisted. “I hate the name Melanie. People are going to call me Mel. Can’t you just tell the principal that you changed your mind and everyone should call me Měilan?”

Logan makes a face. “You’d be surprised by how many people call me Liam. They just can’t be bothered. Liam is louder and more outgoing, so that’s who they remember. Even Foxman does it, and he’s, like, my dad’s best friend.”

“You didn’t want to be in all the same classes as Liam.”
“Right. But Mrs. Perry nixed that idea. Said it ‘wouldn’t be fair’ to the other kids.” He makes an aggravated sound. “So now I’m stuck with Liam literally twenty-four seven...."

“You didn’t want to be in all the same classes as Liam.”
“Right. But Mrs. Perry nixed that idea. Said it ‘wouldn’t be fair’ to the other kids.” He makes an aggravated sound. “So now I’m stuck with Liam literally twenty-four seven...."

“Sounds like we both had a wonderful first day of school!” I say, mimicking Foxman’s fake cheerfulness. I try to re-create his pointy sneer, too.
Logan laughs — a real, authentic laugh.

“Sounds like we both had a wonderful first day of school!” I say, mimicking Foxman’s fake cheerfulness. I try to re-create his pointy sneer, too.
Logan laughs — a real, authentic laugh.

“Thanks. Orchids are nice, too. They’re, you know, exotic.”
Without thinking, I shove Logan. He loses his balance and falls off the log with an oof.

“So, think about it this way. What do you, Liam, Cassidy, Fiona, Anita, and practically everyone else in our class have in common?”
He mulls it over and finally shrugs. “Except for all being in the same class at the Cliff, nothing. We’re all really different people.”
“You’re all white,” I point out.

Try having people question your culture, your family, your existence. Even in Chinatown, with all the tourists gawking at us. And here, in Redbud. Every. Single. Day.

Logan’s face reddens. “Your hair. It’s so black it looks blue in the sunlight, like...” his voice trails off.
I’ve heard this before. “Like an ugly crow in a comic book.”
“No,” he says, shocked. “I was going to say, like...a starling.”
A starling. That sounds much better than a crow.

I admit to Logan that I don’t know what a starling looks like, so he pulls up a photo on his phone and shows it to me. I’ve seen them in Boston before, a bird with dark-teal, indigo, and brown feathers. There are white speckles all over it, like fairy lights against a deepening night sky.

Blue. Now I have a name for who I am outside of family and school. Out from under the gaze and expectations of Māma, Bàba, and Gōnggong. Out here, where I can be sadness and sky and the iridescent sheen of a starling.