Project Mulberry by Linda Sue Park Page A

(July) and Christmas. But he was always brokest in the spring.
    My family wasn't rich or anything—not like Emily's family, who lived in a big house with an in-ground pool and went on a fancy vacation every school break. But I did get an allowance, ten dollars a month, and I also babysat for two families on our street. I almost always had more money than Patrick did.
    He got embarrassed about it sometimes. Like if we wanted to see a movie and he didn't have any money, I'd offer to buy his ticket, and he'd only agree to go if we called it a loan. He always paid me back. Sometimes it took him a while—last year we went to a movie in March and he couldn't pay me back until lawn-mowing season—but he never forgot.
    "How much do we need?" I asked.
    "The eggs are only ten bucks," he said, "but the shipping is expensive—they mail them express. Altogether we have to send in twenty-two dollars."
    Wow. That was a lot.
    I had twelve dollars in my money box. I was pretty sure my mom would lend me ten bucks—I had two babysitting jobs coming up in the next few weeks plus my April allowance, and I'd be able to pay her back. And I knew Patrick would give me his half of the money when he could.
    But to use up all I had ...
and
go into debt ... for a project I didn't even want to do?
    No way,
I said to myself.
    And then it hit me.
    If we couldn't buy the eggs, that would be the end of things.
    No eggs, no silkworm project.
    It wasn't like with the mulberry tree, where there had always been another thing for me to worry about—Mr. Maxwell might know someone with a tree, Patrick might find the green car.... This was the perfect solution—absolute and final.
    Agent Song going in for the kill.
    Â 
    I cleared my throat. "I only have twelve dollars," I said.
    Patrick's face went red.
    Talk about an awkward silence.
    There was no way he could come up with his share on short notice. He hardly ever asked his parents for money; with all those kids, they were always hard up. And if I didn't offer to borrow the rest from my mom, he'd never ask me to do it.
    "Urn, I guess we have to put off sending this for a while," Patrick mumbled. "I'll just—I'll hang on to it for now." He took the letter and went upstairs, probably to put it in his backpack. Then he came down again.
    "I'd better go," he said, still not looking at me. "I should help Gram with the kids." He left.
    Second day in a row without his bite of kimchee.
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    At dinner, Kenny buried a piece of kimchee in my rice when I got up to refill my water glass. I found it right away, but I didn't say anything. I just took it out of the rice and put it off to the side of my plate.
    Kenny looked surprised that I didn't make a fuss. He started to chant, "Julia doesn't like kimchee, Julia doesn't like kimchee." He took a big piece of kimchee, tilted his head back, dangled it over his open mouth, and dropped it in. "Mmm," he said. "It's
so
good." He chewed noisily with his mouth open. Disgusting. Honestly, he really did have snot for brains.
    But I didn't pay any attention to him. All I could think about was what had happened with Patrick that afternoon. I finished eating and helped my dad clean up, then went to my room and sat on my bed thinking.
    The more I thought, the madder I got.
    I hadn't lied to Patrick. I hadn't! I really
did
have only twelve dollars. And that was more than half of what we needed, and the other half was his responsibility, and it wasn't my fault he didn't have the money!
    It didn't matter that I was secretly against the project. It was like when you got a dumb present from someone. You didn't say, "What a dumb present." You said something like, "Cool! Thanks!"—so the other person wouldn't feel bad.
    It was the same kind of thing: me acting like I wanted to do the silkworm project when really I didn't.
    Wasn't it?
    Â 
Me: What are you doing to me? That was the worst chapter yet!
Ms. Park: Calm down, would you? We can't have a good