Cherry Blossom Baseball by Jennifer Maruno Page B

filled with trophies, silver cups, and statues of men swinging bats. When the school bell rang, the building echoed with children’s voices coming from every direction.
    â€œI wish to enrol my daughter,” Eiko said.
    A man turned to look at her through glasses that caught the light and shone like mirrors. He removed the wire-framed spectacles, pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket, and began to polish them. “I’m the principal, Mr. Nott,” he said. “What was the last school she attended?”
    â€œIt was a private school,” her mother responded with her head held high. “She began her education in Vancouver before we moved to a small town. The following year she transferred from the village school to a private institution.” No mention was made of the fact that their non-government school was only for Japanese students. Michiko’s mother handed the principal a sheaf of papers.
    â€œHer marks are quite good,” the principal commented as he riffled through the documents. “I assume you also have a birth certificate?”
    Her mother opened the clasp of her black leather bag, removed it, and handed it to him.
    Mr. Nott studied the certificate with a frown. “Your daughter appears to have two different names,” he said. He looked over to Michiko. “Why is that, young lady?”
    Michiko stood and shot to attention. “I used my Japanese name in Japanese school, and my English name in English school,” she said with a nervous glance in her mother’s direction.
    The principal sorted through the reports, selected one, and handed the certificate back to Eiko. “Well,” he said, “this is an English school, and therefore we will use your English name.” He opened his desk drawer, removed a piece of paper, and pushed it toward Eiko. “Fill this out, please, while I take your daughter to class.”
    She nodded and picked up a pen.
    â€œThis way,” Mr. Nott said to Michiko as he strode into the foyer.
    Michiko waved to her mother and followed the principal to the last classroom in the corridor. He pushed open the door without knocking and swept his eyes across the rows of desks facing the chalkboard.
    The teacher rose from her desk. The students jumped from their seats and chanted, “Good morning, Mr. Nott.”
    â€œMiss Barnhart, you have a new student,” Mr. Nott boomed across everyone’s heads. “Do you need a desk for …?” he hesitated, looked at the paper in his hand, and said, “Millie.”
    Michiko didn’t have to look around to know she was the only one in the classroom with a Japanese face; the raised eyebrows and whispers behind hands told her. For a brief moment, she considered turning on her heel and running away. Instead, she raised her eyes to the samples of cursive writing on large green cards that marched across the top of the blackboard. Then she watched the thin red hand of the large clock next to the Canadian flag jerk past the minute lines.
    The teacher shook her head. “No, thank you, Mr. Nott, we have an extra desk,” she said. A necklace of seed pearls peeked between the turquoise buttons of her sweater set, and dark-framed glasses hung from a silver chain. Her blond hair formed a twist above the nape of her neck.
    Miss Barnhart gestured that Michiko was to come to the front of the room. “You may sit here until I determine your reading group,” she said, indicating Michiko was to take the stool beside her desk.
    Michiko sat with the heels of her shoes resting on the bottom rung, proud she had not one spot of white polish on the brown sides of her saddle shoes. She arranged her new three-tiered flounced skirt with care and looked up to see some of the students whispering behind their hands.
    â€œAs always on Monday morning, we begin with current events,” Miss Barnhart announced as she tapped the blackboard with her pointer. “Are there