When You Trap a Tiger, page 5
Somebody groans behind me, and I turn to see a girl about Sam’s age, with medium-brown skin, freckles, and curly hair, pushing an empty library cart. “Joe, are you really kids-these-days-ing this poor girl?”
“I am not wrong,” the librarian—Joe—says.
The girl shakes her head at Joe and sticks her hand out to me. “Hello! Welcome to Sunbeam’s world-famous library! I’m Jensen.”
When I shake her hand, her grip is strong and warm. The splatter of freckles across her cheekbones seems to dance as she smiles. Halmoni always says freckles are lucky.
“This is Jensen,” Joe adds, unnecessarily. “She is my employee.”
Jensen laughs. “What an eloquent introduction. Now that you know all there is to know about me, what’s your name?”
“Lily,” I tell her.
She smiles. “Well, Lily, nice to meet you. Have you been here before?”
I shake my head, and her smile grows even wider. “Cool. Honestly, most people in this town probably haven’t. We’re looking for ways to drum up some life in the place. Remind people we’re here and such, but, well, who knows?” She shrugs, then leans over Joe’s desk to read his computer screen. “Tigers. Cool. Come with me—I can give you a tour and show you the wildlife section.”
Joe returns to his computer, and I follow Jensen through the stacks of books.
“Spoiler alert: the library is pretty sparse, so the tour won’t last very long.” She laughs. This girl is quick to smile, quicker to laugh.
As we weave through the aisles, I’m reminded of Halmoni’s basement. Before she moved all the boxes and cabinets upstairs, they used to form a maze of memories. I breathe in.
Jensen turns to me. “Are you new in town?”
I tell her I’ve moved in with Halmoni, and she grins.
“I know your grandma. Everyone loves her.”
“Really?”
She tilts her head, looking a bit confused. “Yeah, of course. She’s, like, super nice and interesting, and she always wears the best clothes.”
I feel a rush of pride, because of course everybody loves Halmoni. They should love Halmoni.
But at the same time, weirdly, my chest tightens. I don’t know anything about Halmoni’s life in Sunbeam. Aside from my early years here, I’ve only known her in California. And in California she was there just for us. She was ours.
The jealousy that bubbles up startles me—just like my anger at Mom this morning. I don’t like it. These are feelings I shouldn’t be feeling.
I refocus on Jensen, who keeps talking. “I tutor for middle school language arts. So if you’re ever looking for help, let me know.”
My voice scratches when I speak, like it always does when I talk to strangers. “Yeah, okay. Thank you.”
The tour ends with a small room in the back of the library. Inside I see a mini-refrigerator, a cupboard, two chairs, and the back door of the library. On the wall by the door is a faded poster of a cat hanging from a tree, with the words HANG IN THERE written in white bubble letters. I don’t know who put that up, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Joe.
“This is the staff room,” Jensen explains, “but I always tell my tutees they can come back here. This room is chock-full of sweets, and everyone could use some sugar.”
She pulls a chocolate cupcake out of the refrigerator and hands it to me.
Flash-fast, my childhood fear flares up—Hansel and Gretel were lured in by sweets. But I shake away my panic and thank her as I accept the cupcake.
Jensen leans in and lowers her voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret: Joe made it.”
I raise my eyebrows, and she laughs.
“I know, right?” she says. “He doesn’t seem like the baking type. But don’t judge him too harshly. He’s not so bad once you get to know him. I always say that Joe is, like, a metaphor for this whole town. Kind of a bummer on the outside, but really wonderful when you dig a little deeper.”
I get the sense that Jensen is what Mom calls an unrelenting optimist, but her happiness is infectious. I smile and take a bite, and the chocolate lights up my whole body. “It’s really good,” I tell her. For some reason, the cupcake reminds me of Halmoni’s rice cakes, even though they don’t taste similar at all. “He could sell these.”
She gives me an odd look, and I’m instantly embarrassed. I don’t know why I said that. Halmoni may have sold her rice cakes, but she did it because she needed money when she moved here.
Jensen grins. “That’s a brilliant idea, Lily.”
“Oh, okay,” I say. I can’t tell if she really means it or if she’s just being nice.
“Anyway,” she continues, “feel free to sneak some whenever you visit. And I hope you do visit. It gets a little lonely around here.”
I like Jensen. She’s nicer than I thought teenagers could be. She is, basically, the anti-Sam. And I don’t know what, exactly, she sees when she looks at me, but I know she sees me—which feels nice and also a little itchy.
Jensen leads me over to the wildlife section, and I flip through the tiger selection. It’s pretty dismal—102 Tiger Facts! and 102 MORE Tiger Facts!
I skim them, looking for any information to help—something like: There’s a certain breed of tiger that can magically disappear! Or: If a tiger is hunting your grandma, here’s how to stop it!
But what I get is:
A tiger’s canine tooth can cut through bone!
If you look a tiger in the eye, it might be less likely to kill you—but beware!
The roar of the tiger has such a low frequency that it can paralyze you!
I push the books back onto the shelf. This isn’t what I need and it’s not making me feel so great about being hunted by a tiger.
“Actually”—I swallow, nervous now—“do you have any stories about tigers?”
Jensen twirls a curl around her finger. “Well, we have the Narnia books. Although, I guess that’s a lion….Do you have any stories in mind, in particular? Maybe you can give me a better sense of your tastes.”
Obviously, I can’t tell her about the magical tiger and the stolen stars, but I can tell her Halmoni’s original tiger story.
I give the shortest summary possible. “Well, there’s this one story about a tiger and he eats, um, a grandma, and then he dresses up in the grandma’s clothes and tries to eat her granddaughters. And then he chases them and—”
“That sounds like ‘Little Red Riding Hood’!” Jensen interrupts.
“No, that’s a wolf,” I say. “And this story is from Korea.”
She runs her finger along the book spines, absentmindedly. “I’ve never heard the Korean version. Isn’t that interesting, though? There are different versions of certain fairy tales from all over the world—even in places that don’t overlap. And yet the stories are essentially the same.”
I want to explain that this story is completely different. That this is a story about sisters and the sun and the moon and a tiger. It’s special.
But Jensen continues, “It’s kind of like these folktales have a mind of their own. Like they’re floating around the world, waiting for somebody to come along and tell them.”
My insides go icy. I imagine that the stories Halmoni stole are alive, locked away somewhere, desperate to escape. “Right,” I whisper.
“I doubt we have a book of Korean folktales in this library, though.” She raises an eyebrow. “To be honest, this town is pretty white, so you’re not going to find much about other cultures. Like, sometimes I pick up waitressing shifts at the only Asian restaurant in town—you know, Dragon Thyme? And I know, it’s a pretty cheesy name, and there’s no thyme in Asian food, but that’s just the town we live in….” She clears her throat. “Anyway, I’ll ask Joe to place an order for a book of Korean folktales. Depending on the budget…”
I stop listening, because out of the corner of my eye, I catch a flick of a tiger tail—a flash of orange-black, disappearing into the next aisle.
My heart stumbles.
The superpower of invisible girls is to hide, to disappear. To stay out of trouble. That’s what I’m good at.
Run away, I tell myself. Hide.
But my legs ignore me. I’m already moving down the aisle as I stammer to Jensen, “Actually, I think—uh—there might be a book. Over there!”
I chase the tiger, winding through the aisles, following glimpses of its tail…until I slam right into a blur of black and orange.
It’s not a tiger. It’s a boy.
A short white boy, wearing a bright orange shirt, black jeans, and an old-fashioned newsboy hat over shaggy brown hair.
“Sorry!” I blurt. I look over his shoulder. I could have sworn I saw a tiger tail, but there’s nothing. We’re just standing in one of the aisles, surrounded by comic books.
The boy laughs and tips his hat. “Hello, I’m Ricky. I’m sorry we had to meet in a collision situation.”
Before I can respond, he shouts to Jensen, who runs up behind me. “Hey, Jensen! You know I ran here? From where my dad dropped me off in the parking lot? Because I know you hate when I’m late.” He wipes pinpricks of sweat off his upper lip, for dramatic affect. “So it was really considerate of me, just saying.”
Jensen sighs. “Ricky, please keep your voice down.”
When Ricky grins, the corners of his eyes crinkle, and little dimples form on his round cheeks. I can tell he’s one of those sticky people, because I like him right away.
He turns back to me. “So, hello, who are you and what is your story and why are you in this sad little library?”
“I’m Lily,” I say, and then my mind goes blank. He stares at me, waiting for more, and I wish my invisibility would kick in right about now.
Jensen saves me. “Lily just moved in with her grandmother, in the house across the street from here.”
Gesturing to Ricky, Jensen adds, “Lily, this is Ricky, one of my summer tutees. We meet every Tuesday and Thursday.” She turns directly to Ricky and says, “And the library isn’t sad. It’s just a little run-down.”
“Is she getting tutored with me?” Ricky asks Jensen, as if I’m not there. I get the same feeling I have with Mom and Sam sometimes—like I’m in the way, or I’ve walked into a conversation I don’t belong in. Or, I guess, ran into it.
I dig my toe into the floor. “No, I’m just looking for books.”
His eyes go wide, and he looks at the shelves of comics. “Do you like comics, too? I love them. I’m reading through the original Supermans right now. Well, the issues that Joe has here, at least. I know a lot of people think Superman’s not cool. And I’m not saying he’s my favorite superhero. He’s just canon, you know?”
“Yeah, he’s…” I pause, trying to think of something to continue the conversation, anything I know about Superman. I draw a blank.
Thankfully, Jensen chimes in. “Lily likes tigers, so she’s looking for books about them,” Jensen tells him. Which is kind of embarrassing. I want to correct her: I don’t like tigers. But I shrug and force a smile.
Ricky’s grin returns. “Whoa. I’ve never met a girl who likes tigers before.”
“Well…yeah.” If I were more like Sam, I would tell him that boys don’t have dibs on liking tigers. But I don’t say anything. I just wish we could go back to talking about comics.
“I mean, not that many girls talk to me, I guess,” he continues, unaware of any awkwardness. “But tigers are cool. They’re, like, sleek and elegant, but in a ruthless way.”
I don’t exactly want to think about how ruthless tigers are. “You can’t trust a tiger,” I say.
He nods slowly. “You can’t trust a tiger,” he repeats, like I’ve said something fascinating and he’s trying to commit it to memory. “I like that. My great-grandpa was a tiger hunter. But that’s actually really bad, because tigers are endangered and that’s illegal now, so my dad doesn’t want me to tell people about that.” He pauses. “I mean…”
“Okay, that’s enough stalling for now,” Jensen says. “Let’s get to work, Ricky.”
She drags him away, and they leave me standing in the aisle, head whirling.
Maybe I imagined the tiger, but I don’t think so. The tiger was here. I know it was here.
What would have happened if Ricky hadn’t interrupted? What would have happened if I’d caught it?
A sleek, elegant, ruthless, magical tiger is hunting my family, and I chased it.
I can’t tell if that was incredibly brave or incredibly dangerous. Or maybe a bit of both.
The next afternoon, Mom’s at another interview, and Halmoni naps through lunch—which is unusual, because even though Halmoni loves to sleep, she loves eating even more.
Sam’s upstairs on her computer, and I have nothing to do but snack on peanut butter cups, pace, and think about the tiger.
Here’s what I know:
The tiger found Halmoni. Or at least, the tiger found me, which means it will find Halmoni soon enough.
Tigers are determined. It wants the stories, and it will do whatever it takes to get them back. The kosa should have kept the tiger away, but I saw it in the library, so that obviously didn’t work.
We need more protection, and even though talking about the tiger upsets Halmoni, I need to tell her.
When I can’t pace any longer, I slip into Halmoni’s bedroom. The dust dances in the air, catching in the windowlight, and the misty light from outside makes the room hazy. It feels like I’ve stepped into a separate world, like a little mini universe, trapped in time.
I pull back the covers and gently shake my grandmother awake. “Halmoni,” I whisper. “Halmoni, wake up.”
She mumbles and turns over in bed, so I shake her again. A little harder. Maybe a little too hard.
She cracks her eyes open. “Lily Bean?” she murmurs. “You hungry?”
“Not really,” I say. Honestly, I’m pretty full on peanut butter cups.
She climbs out of bed—slowly and intently, like she’s climbing out of quicksand. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she stretches, and I can almost see the sleep sliding off her.
She looks weak.
“Halmoni,” I blurt, my tiger questions temporarily on hold, “is the bug gone? Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I am better than okay. My family is here. That is all I ever want.” She smiles, but her words wobble. “You stop worry.”
“Speaking of worrying…” I tug at one of my braids. “I think we need more protection than just kosa. I saw the tiger again.”
For a second, fear ignites in Halmoni’s eyes. But then she closes them and shakes her head. When her eyes open again, she is soft and smiling.
She opens her nightstand drawer and pulls out a sheaf of dried herbs. Then she breaks off a piece and places it in my palm. “This for you. This make you safe, okay? So you don’t worry anymore.”
I stare at the shriveled plant and look up at her. “What is it?”
“This mugwort,” she explains. “This my medicine to eat, but you don’t eat. You keep in you pockets, and it give you protection.”
I thank her and slip the dried herb into my pocket.
“And this…” She hesitates before reaching behind her neck and unlatching the necklace. The silver chain with the pearl pendant—her special necklace, the one she wears every day, the one she rubs between her fingers when she’s trying to find the right English words. “This help, too. You wear for protection, and it keep you safe.”
My pulse beats in every limb as she fastens it around my neck. It’s heavier than it looks. “But this is yours,” I say.
“Yes, and now it is yours.”
I press my palm against the pendant. It’s warmer than I expected. It warms my chest, and I like the way it feels, heavy above my heart. “Did this really keep you safe?”
“I am here, yes?”
I pinch the pearl between my fingers, and it seems to buzz with energy. “But what about you? Don’t you still need protection? The tigers are hunting.”
She smiles, but it’s not a regular Halmoni smile. It doesn’t match her eyes. “I be safe, Lily. I am not worrying.”
I’m not so sure, and when she sees that in my eyes, she says, “Okay, we go grocery now. We get even more protection, extra help against bad spirits. We buy pine nuts to burn and rice to scatter under full moon. Also, I need fresh ingredient for rice cake.”
I smile, feeling better.
She leans closer. “And I buy you favorite treats, because I am best.” She pauses. “Well, you mother is best. But…I am best best.”
I laugh. “You are.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Now go tell Sam.”
After I call Sam downstairs and tell her where we’re going, she leans on the dining table, crossing her arms. “That’s not a good idea. Didn’t Mom say you’re not supposed to drive?”
Halmoni’s eyes dart away, and I get the urge to pinch my sister. Sam is a black hole for happiness.
“You can drive if you want,” I tell Sam.
She recoils. “I don’t know….” She could drive. She has her permit, and Halmoni’s a licensed driver. Mom keeps bugging Sam to practice.
But, of course, she won’t. Sam tried two lessons with her driving instructor and refused to get behind the wheel after that. Nothing bad happened, but she won’t do it because of Dad’s car accident.
Halmoni presses her palm against Sam’s cheek. “Life is not for waiting. We go now. We be okay.”
Sam tugs at her white streak. “But Mom said—”
