When You Trap a Tiger, page 7
“I need to take Halmoni to the hospital,” Mom says. “Sam, can you drive Lily back?”
Sam’s frozen. She can’t even answer.
Mom swears. “Fine. Fine. I’ll drop you at home first. We’re close enough. All of you, into the car. We’re going now.”
Sam and I get into the back seat of Mom’s car without question, and Mom lifts Halmoni into the passenger side.
“Is Halmoni okay?” I ask.
Mom doesn’t answer, so I stare out the window. Above us, the first few stars peek out of the evening sky, and I ask them a silent question: What do I do?
The stars seem to dance as we drive past, and even though they are light-lifetimes away, I can almost hear them, singing their stories.
What do I do? I ask again.
They wink at me. Fix it.
I wake up in the middle of the night. Sam’s still sleeping. She was up later than me, waiting for Mom and Halmoni. I don’t know if they came home.
And I can’t stand not knowing. I can’t stand feeling helpless—like I have to fix it, but I don’t know how.
Quietly I walk downstairs. Mom’s sleeping on the couch, and I crack Halmoni’s door open. Inside, she’s wrapped in a cocoon of silk sheets, and I feel dizzy with relief. Halmoni’s okay. I press my hand against the wall to keep from tipping over. I want to go to her, but the image of her in the road burns in my brain. Leftover fear sits in my chest.
For now, it’s enough just to know she’s all right. So I shut the door.
As I do, the house groans, shattering the silent night. Shadows dance around me.
And from behind me, someone says, “Hello, Lily.” It’s a gravelly female voice. It scrapes against my ears like claws on rice paper. “I’ve been searching for your family for a long, long time.”
I spin around, trying to find the source of the voice.
But there’s nobody else in the room except for Mom, who’s still sleeping.
My rabbit heart panics, pounding against my ribs like it wants to escape.
“Oh, come on now. I’m not that scary.” The voice seems to come from all around me—from inside me, even. It echoes in my chest.
The shadows in the kitchen start to take shape, shifting and stretching. And then they come together, forming one shape. The giant shadow steps forward, into the starlight, and it becomes the tiger—big as a car, filling the whole hallway.
“You talk,” I whisper. And then, without meaning to, I add, “And you’re a girl.”
I clamp my lips shut, because what a ridiculous thing to say.
She scoffs. “Typical. You hear one story about a male tiger and think we’re all the same? Humans are the worst.”
She takes a step toward me and I press myself back. My shoulder blades dig into Halmoni’s door.
Maybe I’m trapped in an elaborate dream—but I don’t think so. I feel the chill in the air, the brush of goose bumps on my arm, the warped wood beneath my feet, and the pinch in my shoulders as I press them back.
Dreams are not made of details. Are nightmares?
I glance over at Mom on the couch, but she just snores.
“Don’t worry,” the tiger says. “Your mother won’t be bothering us.”
My whole body clenches, but the tiger rolls her eyes. “She’s a heavy sleeper.”
A not-small part of my brain is screaming, You are talking to a tiger! A tiger is talking to you. This is for-sure impossible.
I feel a little dizzy. “Go away,” I tell her.
The tiger steps closer, tail swishing back and forth. She tilts her head and flicks an ear. “Why so hostile, Little Egg? I am not going to eat you, just so you know. I’m on a kimchi diet.”
I stare at her. This is the monster Halmoni warned me about.
She makes a sound that’s halfway between a purr and a growl. “Your halmoni stole the stars, and I am here to collect them. That is all. Will you help me, little one?”
My mouth is so dry, I can barely form the word, but I manage. “No.”
She sighs. “You humans understand so little of the world, and your halmoni can’t see what she’s done. She doesn’t see what’s harming her. I only want to help her. Trust me.”
I shake my head, because Halmoni told me not to trust tigers. And it’s pretty clear that the tiger is harming her. The tiger was in the road when Halmoni got sick. The tiger scared her.
But the big cat continues, “Story magic is powerful, powerful enough to change someone. And when a story is locked away, its magic only grows. Sometimes it grows sour. The magic becomes a kind of poison. Do you understand?”
I refuse to respond. I won’t let her twist lies around my heart.
“Lily Bean, if you return those stories to me, your halmoni will feel better. If they stay locked away, they will make her sick. They will”—her teeth flash—“eat her up.”
“You’re lying,” I say, but my voice cracks.
“I’m offering a deal. You help me find the stories, I’ll return them to their place in the sky, and you never have to think about them again. I get my stars back, and we help your halmoni. You don’t even have to hear the stories. Everybody wins.” The tiger shifts her weight, paw to paw, and her fur glistens in the starlight. “Don’t you want to be a hero?”
Here’s the scariest part: something deep inside me says yes. I am never the hero—not like Halmoni—and part of me wants to be.
I bite my lip so my yes won’t escape.
“You should know”—her voice is so deep it vibrates through me—“this is your one chance to help your halmoni. I won’t offer again.”
Halmoni told me to be careful, and just the thought of making a deal with the tiger rips my stomach to shreds. But there’s so much Halmoni didn’t tell me. There’s so much she’s kept hidden—so much I want to know.
What if the tiger’s right? What if these stolen star stories are making Halmoni sick?
I am frozen, trapped in my own thoughts. This is my problem. This is why Sam calls me a QAG. I’m so afraid of saying the wrong answer that I don’t say anything at all.
For a few stretched-out moments, the tiger waits. Then she shakes her head. Already she’s fading into shadow. “I was hoping you’d surprise me.”
I think of Halmoni tonight, and how helpless I felt, and how I need to fix this. “Wait!” I call out. “I’ll do it!”
But I’m too late. Her stripes blur into blackness, and she’s gone.
Obviously, I don’t sleep after that. I sit up in bed, chewing my nails, staring out the window until the sun comes up, until I hear a strange noise downstairs—like a whispering through the walls.
The sound persists, and I lean forward, ears straining. This house is full of noises. I tiptoe down the stairs. It could be the tiger, and if it is, I have to accept her offer. Even though I’m still not sure, even though I’m afraid.
But there’s no tiger.
When I reach the bottom, it’s only Mom and Halmoni, sitting in Halmoni’s bedroom with the door cracked just-barely, talking so quietly that their words are a slush of wisps and hisses.
Mom says, “Nobody’s offered yet. I’m still looking. But it’ll happen soon. I’m hopeful.”
“You getting job will be good,” Halmoni says. “That is good for you.”
“Good for us, you mean,” Mom says.
“Good for you and the girls.”
“Don’t do that,” Mom says. Her voice cracks, and I can barely hear her. “We have time. I can buy more time.”
“No, no. You don’t worry about that,” Halmoni says. There’s that scolding tone in her voice, the one she always gets when she talks to Mom. But there’s something else, too. Something softer. “And don’t make that worry face. You going to get wrinkles.”
“Mom—”
“You wearing sunscreen? Sunscreen help with wrinkle.”
“Mom—”
“What about hat? Hat help, too.”
“Mom! I don’t need a hat. I need you.” Mom’s voice breaks. When she speaks again, her voice is quiet. “Please just try the other treatments. Don’t give up.”
Treatments. Hospitals. Buying more time.
An understanding settles in my gut—one I can’t quite put into words.
The softness in Halmoni’s words evaporates. “You think I just give up? No! I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave you. I am not ready. But I don’t get to decide. The only thing I decide is how I be right now. So you don’t take that away from me.”
I’ve never heard Halmoni sound so angry. She is strong and fierce and kind. But now she’s different. There’s a scary side of her, like there’s a tiger hiding just below her skin, straining to get out.
I hear another strange sound, and it’s so out of place that I don’t recognize it at first. Until I realize: Mom’s crying.
But Mom never cries.
“Joanie,” Halmoni says quietly. “You be strong, for girls’ sake.”
My stomach twists. I shouldn’t be hearing this. I don’t want to hear this.
“I can’t do this,” Mom whispers. “Not again. Not after Andy. I can’t be strong again.”
“I know you can,” Halmoni says, “because you are my daughter.”
I take a few steps back up the stairs, cloaking myself in the shadows. Halmoni’s illness must be really serious, if Mom’s crying.
I wish now that it really was the tiger downstairs. Because the truth is, this is scarier than any tiger.
When Mom eventually comes out of the bedroom, I automatically call on my invisibility. But then I change my mind. I don’t want to be alone.
I shift my weight, and when stairs creak beneath me, Mom looks up.
“Oh,” she says when she sees me. “Oh.”
Very quietly I ask, “Is Halmoni okay? Are you okay?”
Mom’s eyes are still red. “Did you hear us talking?”
When I don’t answer, she opens her arms and I run down the steps. She crushes me into a hug, and as she takes a breath, I feel the shudder in her lungs. “She’s going to be. Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.” Then she straightens up, pulls herself back together. “Would you like some tea? Some breakfast? I’ll make you whatever you want.”
“I want to know what’s going on.” I try to sound strong, but my voice is very small.
Mom fiddles with her glasses. “Halmoni’s sick, Lily. But we’re still hopeful, okay? I’m looking for a new job, so that should bring in money for special treatments. And even if we don’t do those treatments, we’ll—we can keep her comfortable.”
“What kind of sick?” I ask, even though I already know it’s the bad kind.
Mom grimaces, then pulls me over to the couch. I thunk down next to her, sinking into the cushions.
For once, it isn’t raining. Happy sunlight spills through the windows, like the weather is mocking me.
Mom says, “Halmoni has brain cancer.”
For a few seconds, my insides go ice-numb. I can’t feel anything except for cold and a strange tingling.
“Lily, did you hear me?”
I keep very still, as if I can hide from the pain. As if the truth is a tiger, and if I don’t move, maybe it won’t find me.
“Honey?”
Except I guess I can’t hide for long, because that strange tingling turns jagged, like broken glass. I nod my aching head. I try to say it out loud—brain cancer—but I can’t.
Mom continues. “That’s what’s causing the symptoms you might have seen: the nausea, the paranoia, and all the—Well, sometimes with this type of illness, patients can have, uh, hallucinations.”
“Hallucinations?”
“This is a lot. I understand. I want you to know that I’m here for you.”
“What kind of hallucinations?”
“Oh, Lily.” Her eyes soften and she grabs my hands. “It’s nothing too scary. Just the little things. Confusing dreams with reality. Like how she thinks the basement flooded—things like that.”
So that explains why the basement was so dry. But the other stuff—I saw the tiger, too. I know that was real.
“What if there’s a way to help?” I ask.
“Oh, Lily. Let me handle this. And you don’t worry. You just spend time enjoying your halmoni and keeping her company. That’s why we moved here. So you girls can enjoy her.”
Mom squeezes my hands. “I talked to Sam about this last night, when you were asleep, so you can discuss it with her, if that helps. This isn’t going to be a onetime conversation. It’s an ongoing dialogue, and I’m here anytime, to answer any questions you have.”
Questions claw up my throat, but I don’t think Mom has the answers. Halmoni said it herself: Mom doesn’t believe in stories. Her world is small.
But I know there’s a way to help—something that Mom won’t, or can’t, see.
The tiger can cure Halmoni.
I wasn’t brave enough, before, to trust her magic. But this time, I will be.
This time, I’ll be ready. The tiger said she wouldn’t come to me again, so I’ll have to go to her.
Lucky for me, I happen to know a family of tiger hunters.
Hyped up on New Plan energy, I run upstairs to tell Sam. Barely awake, she’s sitting up in bed with her laptop perched on her knees, wrapped in the glow of her screen.
I rush over to her and push her laptop closed, snapping it shut like the jaws of a tiger.
She pulls her fingers back and stares at me, eyes wide, but before she can get mad, I say, “Sam, there might be a way to make Halmoni better. In the story she told me—”
“No,” Sam interrupts. The word thumps against my chest, heavy and cold. “Not right now, please. I’m just not in the mood for stories right now. Stories want you to believe that magic is real and—it’s just not.”
“Actually…” I’m afraid of what she’ll say when I tell her, but I don’t want to hold this secret by myself. “I’m not sure it’s just a story.”
She sighs. “Lily, what are you talking about?”
“I think…a tiger, like from the story…actually came to me. And talked to me. And the same tiger was in the road yesterday, when Halmoni…you know.”
She’s silent for so long that I think maybe she saw the tiger, too. Maybe she thought she was the only one, and now she’s relieved.
But then she says, “You need to get it together. This is some kind of mental stress reaction, or something, because what you’re saying is impossible.”
“Things are only impossible if you believe they’re impossible. The tiger—”
“Lily!” she snaps, tugging at the white streak in her hair. “Just stop with this tiger stuff, okay? There’s actual real-life stuff going on right now. Don’t make it worse.”
Where is the Sam from the grocery store? The sister who wanted to hear the stories?
I should have known that wouldn’t last long.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I lie. “I probably imagined it. I’ll see you later.”
I turn away from her as I change out of my pajamas and into jeans and a sweatshirt. I can find Ricky. I can learn how to hunt a tiger. And I don’t need Sam’s help.
“Um,” Sam says. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere.”
“Wait—” Sam says, but I pretend not to hear her and I thunder back down the stairs. I tell Mom I’m going out, that I don’t want to talk anymore. She tries to stop me, but I don’t listen.
I run until I reach the heavy library doors, and then I take a few deep breaths, steadying myself.
I have to do this. Halmoni needs me.
I grab the big handle, yank the door open, and slip inside.
Joe’s sitting at his desk, and I assume he doesn’t want to talk, but he stops me as I pass. “Lily.” He clears his throat, halfway between a grunt and a grumble. “I just want to say, you had a good idea.”
“Oh,” I say, breathless. I have no idea what he’s talking about. For a second, I think he discovered my tiger plan, but of course that’s impossible.
His mustache twitches. “Jensen said you suggested a bake sale. Not sure how much money that would actually raise, but it does seem like a good way to get the community engaged.”
“Oh,” I repeat. When I suggested selling the cupcakes, I didn’t realize Jensen had taken me seriously. “That’s good.”
He nods in a way that says, This conversation is over.
“Are Ricky and Jensen here today?” I ask.
He gestures to the back of the library, and I make my way through the stacks until I come to a cluster of tables. Ricky and Jensen are sitting together, with an open notebook, a pile of flash cards, and an empty pudding cup between them.
Ricky looks up and grins. Today he’s wearing a beanie that says BEANS, pulled down to his eyebrows. And if he feels awkward after the grocery-store incident, he doesn’t show it.
Maybe that’s his superpower—the unpleasant, uncomfortable things don’t bother him.
“Lizzie!” he shouts.
It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me, and Jensen smiles apologetically. “It’s Lily,” she corrects. “Hi, Lily, how are you?”
“Um, good.” My words come out a little shaky. I’m nervous now, because what I’m about to ask makes no sense. It’s impossible. And I’m going to ask anyway.
Before I can, Jensen says, “I’ve been meaning to tell you about the bake sale! I didn’t want you to think I stole your idea and didn’t give you credit for it.”
“Oh, I don’t—”
“But you can help make flyers and set up and stuff!” She smiles wide, all her freckles lighting up.
“I’m helping, too,” Ricky says. Then, in a dramatic whisper, he adds, “We’ll get free cupcakes!”
“Uh, yeah, sounds good,” I say.
