The moment had arrived, Munch stepped into the church beside Mama. She had a firm grip on Mitzi’s hand. Puccini was smelling a bit ripe. He was flecked with Cheeto dust. The Duongs were already seated. He saw the back of Thahn Ho’s head. Her hair reflected the multicolored light falling through the stained glass windows. Mama knelt beside their pew, as did Mitzi. As Munch knelt and crossed himself, panic ripped through him. What if when Thahn Ho looked at him, all he saw in her eyes was friendship? It took all the courage he had to meet her eyes as he slipped passed her. She glanced up at him. It was too swift for him to read whatever her eyes were saying. He took his seat. Mrs. Duong smiled at him and said, “Good Morning Michael.”

“Good Morning.’

Thahn Ho leaned forward so she could see him. She said one word, “Hi,” but it was enough. She was happy to see him. He smiled and she smiled and then she turned away. Munch felt her mother’s eyes upon him. He turned and faced the front. Had he just given himself away?

Le climbed past his mother and sister and asked him, “Can I sit by you?”

“Yes.”

Mitzi slid around Mama and asked Le, “Did you bring colors?”

Le nodded.

“Munch,” said Mitzi, “Move over so I can sit by Le.”

Instead of being one person away from Thahn Ho, he was now three people away. Maybe it was better. He knew he looked too happy and too scared at the same time. The service began and he tuned out. In his head appeared an entire scene of what he hoped would happen when he went to his ink brush painting class. It was too rosy and too unrealistic. Imagination could be a dangerous thing.

When church was over, Mitzi wanted to go home with Duong’s too. Mrs. Duong said, “It is fine. She and I will will have tea with Thahn Ho.”

The back seat of the Volvo was packed. Mitzi, Puccini and Le were strapped into the same seat belt, while Munch and Thahn Ho were on either side of them. In the rear view mirror, Mr. Duong’s eyes met Munch’s. He did not smile. There seemed to be a trace of warning in those eyes. Munch began to feel a little sick. The car took off.

Once they reached the house, Mrs. Duong said, “My father’s studio is in the back yard.” She pointed at the gate.

Disappointment filled Munch. He had imagined the lesson would take place in the dining room in full view of Thahn Ho. Le said, “This way,” and took his hand. They went through the gate. The backyard contained a garden in progress. Over turned dirt ran along each fence, but had not yet had anything planted in it. There were small pots of plants lined up in rows. The studio, stood in their midst. It was just a glorified shed. At least that is what Munch thought until he walked inside. All at once he felt like he entered a sacred place. Framed rice paper scrolls hung on the walls with sharp black strokes painted on them. Were these Vietnamese characters? On a small table was a slender gold statue of Buddha. Above the Buddha a large window let in natural light. In the center of the room, was a drafting table with four wooden stools. On it were, bamboo brushes, ink blocks and rice paper. There were also small wells of water.

Ong noi bowed and said, “It is good to see you Michael. Please sit.” To Le he said, “You are doing well thus far chau tria.”

The three of them sat down. The texture of the rice paper was fragile. With hands that shook, Ong noi dipped his brush into the water and then bushed it across the block. Despite the tremor, the brush stroke he placed on the paper was true. He looked at the boys and said, “Now, you try.”

By the way Le held the bamboo brush it was obvious he had done this before. In Munch’s hand the brush felt too big and clumsy. Still he did as he was instructed. Stroke by stroke they covered the page. It was not a painting, it was a lesson in learning how to manipulate the ink and brush on the paper. Munch glanced at Le’s work. He was only six, but his strokes were steady and fluid. When the lesson was finally over, Munch felt like he had been running the whole time. He took in a slow breath of air.

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Ong noi held up the paper he had covered with strokes. He placed it beside the boy’s work. He told them, “You both have done well. Practice what we have learned today Michael.” He handed Munch a memo graphed sheet of paper with the strokes on it. Little arrows on the paper showed him the directions to make each stroke. Ong noi said, “When you have mastered these strokes, we will have another lesson.”

This was a tall order. The technique was harder than Munch had thought it would be. “Thank you Sir. I will.”

With a pent up burst of energy, Le hopped off his chair and grabbed his rice paper. “I’m gonna ask Mama to put this on the refrigerator.” When the studio door closed behind him, Ong noi sighed.

He asked Munch, “Please could you fetch my cane. I fear my knees have locked up from sitting in one position too long.”

Munch got the cane and handed it to him. When Ong noi stood, Munch realize he was the same height as he was. It was the first time he had met a full grown man of his stature. Slowly, he walked with Ong noi into the house. He saw Mitzi and Thahn Ho setting the table. She cast a shy glance in his direction and smiled. He nodded, fearful that if he smiled it would be big goofy and OH SO OBVIOUS. He sniffed the air. It smelled peculiar. What were they having to eat?

Mrs. Duong brought in a metal tray with bowls and ramekins. She placed it in the center of the table. In the bowls were cooked white rice, chicken, some kind of vegetables, broth, and grilled tofu. Beside each plate were chopsticks, except for where Munch and Mitzi would be sitting. There were chopsticks and a spoon and fork. They sat down. Le was across from Munch. Mrs. Duong was on one side of him and Mitzi was on the other. He did notice that Puccini was not with her. At one end of the table sat Mr. Duong. At the other end was Ong noi.Thahn Ho was beside him. She looked so beautiful in the light that was falling though the window. Aware of Mr. Duong’s gaze, Munch had to work very hard to contain himself.

The meal was eaten in quiet absorption. Munch tried his hand at chopsticks. Of course Mitzi got the handle of them before he did. She mostly just at rice. To his relief she did not ask questions about the food or make comments about its flavor. From time to time, Munch cast what he prayed were covert glances at Thahn Ho. It was so hard to keep his eyes off of her. She was eating rice, broth and chicken.

When the meal was finished, Le hopped off his chair and said, “LEGO time!” He rushed around the table grabbed Munch and Mitzi’s hands and drug them to his room. To Munch's delight, Thahn Ho followed them into her brother's room.

Mitzi placed her hands on her hips and studied the room. Ca Sau, the toy alligator, sat at the foot of Le’s bed. Beside him was Puccini. All the Cheeto dust had been wiped off of him. She asked, “How come you don’t have more toys?”

“I have LEGOs and Ca Sau, what more do I need?”

Mitzi made a little humph, in her throat and joined them at the table. All the buildings were precise and color coded. Mitzi grabbed a fist full of LEGOS and began to build a random colorfed house. Munch worked on a lego car. Beside him, almost close enough to touch, was Thahn Ho. She was building a small wagon with wheels. Munch breathed in her scent. She smelled of orange blossoms and soap. There was a slight blueness beneath her lovely eyes from being so sick and she had lost a bit of weight.

All was going well, until, Mitzi tried to attach her colorful house into Le’s orderly world. Bluntly he told her, “That house is ugly.”

“Is not.”

Thahn Ho warned, “Le, be nice. They are our guests.”

“Yeah, I know but her house don’t match.”

Firmly, Thahn Ho said, “Everything does not have to match.” She cast a glance in Munch’s direction. Was she referring to more than LEGO houses?

Le argued, “Yes it does. At least in MY town.”

Mitzi stood up from the table and said, “YOUR TOWN IS DUMB.” To Munch she said, “I want to go home.”

No! Munch was not ready to go home. “Come on Le, let her put her house in your town. If she goes, I have to go.”

For a moment, Le considered this, then he said to Mitzi, “You can put your house in my town.”

The question was, would Mitzi agree. As always she stood weighing her options. Finally she said, “Okay.” She put her house along a blued street with yellow stripes.

When Thahn Ho leaned over to set her wagon on the street, her arm brushed against Munch’s. She lifted her dark eyes to him. Something like electricity seemed to jump between them.

The door bell rang. Munch heard Mama’s voice in the living room. Dammit, he wasn’t anywhere ready to go home. Mrs. Duong called to them. Mitzi with Puccini in her arms shot out of the room. Le was close behind. Thahn Ho hesitated a moment, in that moment Munch managed to say, “The card you made me was beautiful Thank you so much.”

The smile she gave him, started in her eyes and traveled to her lips. “You are welcome.”

Never in all his life had he wanted to kiss someone so badly. He was lost in her eyes. He was lost in her.

She headed for the door and said, "I will be in the art room before school starts tomorrow."

"I will see you there."