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noisy boys and girls crowded around an old lady with white hair and a wrinkled face. A rope that looped behind her neck held up a small wooden tray in front of her. She was selling five-spiced watermelon seeds, rice candy, and two-inch-long purple sugar canes. Mother would never allow me to buy anything from street vendors. She said the treats were covered with germs.
    Squeezing through the crowd, I ran inside the school courtyard. Three boys from my old third-grade class were dribbling white liquid from teakettles onto the ground, drawing lines for a basketball game. They stopped when they saw me. I smiled at them. They grinned and looked away.
    A big cloth picture of Chairman Mao with a group of Young Pioneers hung from the three-story building. In it, the Young Pioneers huddled around Chairman Mao as he extended his arms over them. I thought of baby ducklings and an old duck. I looked forward to joining the Young Pioneers and wearing a red scarf around my neck, just like the older kids in the courtyard.
I had used Father’s red silk tie to practice making the knot.
    I found my name on the list beside the second classroom on the first floor. Someone tapped my shoulder. It was Hong, my friend from third grade. Her smile dimpled her round cheeks.
    â€œSo are you really skipping a grade?” she asked.
    I nodded.
    â€œI’ll miss you,” she said.
    â€œWe can still play together.” I patted her arm. “I have to go now.”
    I couldn’t wait to meet my new classmates. Taking a deep breath, I walked in. Rows of wooden desks and long benches filled the room. A group of boys and girls stood near the door beside the blackboard. Although I was skipping only one grade, the fifth-graders were much taller and bigger than I was. Half were dressed in Mao’s army uniforms and wore red scarves. I forgot the greetings I had practiced.
    A girl with dark skin standing in the center of the crowd called out, “Look, look, here comes the bloodsucking landlord!” The crowd turned toward me and laughed loudly. I froze. The girl’s short hair barely
showed under her blue cap. Her blue shirt and pants had different-colored patches at the elbows and knees. She wore an old pair of army shoes with her big toes sticking out. She looked like a peasant.
    â€œI bet she can crow like a rooster,” said a rabbit-faced fat boy. The brass buttons on his new Mao’s uniform shone in the sunlight. My face burned. Another wave of laughter filled the room.
    They were comparing me to the landlord in the movie Midnight Rooster. I had seen it last summer when it was playing in all the theaters. In the movie, the cruel landlord always wore an outfit with large flowers. She and her husband ordered the workers to get up when the rooster crowed. At midnight, she crowed like a rooster, tricking the peasants into starting work hours before dawn.
    I bit my lip to stop my tears. My outfit had large flowers, but I wasn’t an evil landlord! I couldn’t crow like a rooster—I didn’t even like roosters. Tears rolled down my cheeks. The crowd didn’t quiet down until the bell rang.
    Through the morning, we studied four different subjects: Chinese writing, Chinese history, math,
and drawing. During recess no one talked to me. Sitting by myself, I stared at the whitewashed wall where a huge portrait of Mao hung above the blackboard. I wondered what I had done wrong.
    Laughter and the noise of dribbling basketballs came through the windows. Why were they so happy? How stupid I was to look forward to this all summer. How was I going to survive the rest of the school year?
    I couldn’t wait to tell Mother when I went home for lunch. Last year, a boy stepped on my new shoes. Mother talked to his parents, and the boy said he was sorry and stopped bothering me.
    After morning classes, I raced home and told Mother about the mean kids. “Could you talk to their parents?”
    Mother frowned and said