I drove the car into the parking lot. I twisted halfway in my seat to look at my child. Really look at her, in a way only a mother could.

She sat with her hair tied back into a tight, high ponytail. Her posture was stiff. Her toes pointed upward like they were straining to reach the sky. Her hands were locked around her backpack straps.

She looked as well as any kid could who was about to enter sixth grade at a new school that spoke a foreign language. The nervousness her body showed did not reflect on her calm face.

A surge of pride went through my body. I smiled. 

“Good luck!” I said in English. I threw every ounce of excitement into those two words.

I studied English literature at Guangdong's state university in China. That was back in the late eighties. It was a time when I was too busy making sure I filled my stomach every night to care about my educational progress.

If I had known that our survival would now depend on it, I might’ve tried harder.

Adeline tried to smile, and wordlessly got out of the car.

We’d only been in our new apartment for three days, but I’d already made myself look like a fool more than I’d done my whole life. This morning, a few strangers watched with their lips curled as I made the cashier repeat five times how much the change was. Finally, she grabbed a piece of paper from under the desk, wrote two large numbers with a red marker, and dangled it in front of my face. I quickly paid and escaped from the store. 

I felt my face heat again. I made my quick retreat from that part of my mind. Pressing a palm to my forehead, I shut my eyes.

I need a break, I thought. The Bahamas sounds like a mighty good idea…

Then I drifted into a peaceful nothingness.

“今天怎么样? How was the first day?” I asked in both Chinese and English.

Adeline mumbled something under her breath.

“什么? What?” I asked again.

Am I losing my mind? I wondered. First the cashier, now Adeline.

“Fine,” she said, louder this time. 

“Okay,” I said, copying her one-word answer.

I was too relieved that she spoke in English to think about the vague answer. 

Sitting up from a slump, I started the car and drove us home. Though there were a thousand questions in my mind, we stayed silent.

When I could take it no longer, I took a deep breath. I looked at the reflection of Adeline in the rearview mirror.

“Adeline,” I started.

My eyes narrowed. They focused on a rectangular, sharp-edged object held against her chest. 

“那是什么? What is that?” I asked.

“A book,” she said, tightening her arms. 

I blinked. 

It’s the first day of school, and already she wants to read an English book? I wondered.

In college, our readings were all children’s books — The Cat in the Hat was my favorite.

I shook my head.

This is too good to be real, I thought.

I focused on Adeline in the rearview mirror again. She was peeking at me from under lowered lashes. She was most likely waiting for my reaction. 

My lips parted, and a wide grin broke across my face.

Her hunched shoulders relaxed. She really had nothing to fear. Quite the opposite.

Never mind about the Bahamas. I knew, deep down, that even the softest sand and the bluest ocean couldn't get rid of my fear that my sweet Adeline would refuse to give our new life a chance. Just the sight of her with an English book made my head swim with relief. I could hardly stay in my lane as I finally pulled into the garage.

Unbuckling the seatbelt and twisting around, I said, “Adeline—”

She was already out the door and running for the house. 

My eyes dimmed a bit.

It’s fine, I decided. She brought a book with her. An English one.

That was all I needed to sleep soundly that night.

The next week was the same. Adeline would go to school, clutch a new book to her chest in the car, and run up to her room as soon as I unlocked the car door. The only time she left her room was to eat at 6:00.

I stayed silent, of course. I didn't want to risk breaking whatever magic she found in those books.

My attempts at conversation failed anyway. Any questions I asked in Chinese were ignored. Any I tried in English got almost the same response. It’s hard to keep a conversation going when all you get are one-word grunts. 

It was yet another Friday when I banged on Adeline’s bedroom door. I was gathering every last bit of motherly authority to tell her to join me for dinner.

Silence answered me.

Stomping and huffing in frustration, I went back to the dining table. I started eating the food. Let her get lost in her damned books. 

Another half an hour passed before I finally heard the opening click of a door. I looked around as Adeline came down the stairs. With unusual grace, she walked to her seat across from mine.

I studied her. Her eyes were wide and unfocused. She looked like her mind and body were in two different places. I guessed that her mind was still in all the pages she was flipping through.

She looked down at the food. She blinked, then frowned. 

I was getting a little unnerved.

“What?” I asked.

She blinked again. Confusion flashed in her eyes for a split second. Then they cleared completely.

“Nothing,” she said quietly, and picked up the chopsticks.

Conversation over. 

I kept staring at her. I felt like I was peeling away an invisible mask that had been carefully weaved. It was strange for her to keep this silence. I hadn’t let it bother me for the past few days, but now…

Why is she acting like this? My mind started to race. Is she closing in on herself? Has she given up?

Each question was more unsettling than the last. I scrambled to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling in the room. 

“学校怎么样？How was school?” I asked in both English and Chinese.

I remembered how well she had once responded to Chinese only.

Her chopsticks stopped in midair as her chewing slowed.

I held my breath.

After a few, painful seconds, she said, “It was raining cats and dogs the whole day, so we didn’t play outside. But math class was…”

She finished the sentence with a word I didn't understand.

In fact, the whole sentence made little sense. My brain worked hard to translate each word, but I quickly stopped.

“It was raining cats and dogs?” I echoed.

There’s no way those books are taking away her ability to speak correctly, is there? I wondered.

“Oh, yes,” she said. She nodded like she was making a point. 

My expression must have turned worried.

Adeline snapped, “What?” 

I had the feeling that I was on dangerous ground. I thought about letting it go. Right now did not seem like a good time to fight with each other. But my mouth betrayed me. 

“你能不能正常说话,” I said. (Can you talk normally?)

I had put down my chopsticks and snapped right back. My eyes shot invisible daggers across the table. 

She just stared blankly back and tilted her head.

That move made my blood boil with anger.

She will not pretend she doesn't understand, to make me speak English, I thought. Not this time.

So I stared right back, using the same weapon: silence. Two can play the game. 

Except Adeline refused to break.

I snorted. At least she kept that spark of defiance, no matter how many books she read. A wave of sudden relief washed over me. It was so strong that I gave in.

I asked again in English, “Can you talk normally?” 

“I am,” she answered.

I was on edge all over again.

Now, it was her turn to look at me with worry.

Before I could say anything else, she set her chopsticks down. She pushed back her chair. She walked past me and went upstairs to her bedroom, where another world was waiting for her. 

I stared down at my plate, at the half-eaten pop-tart.

I lost all my appetite.