Free 1001 Cranes by Naomi Hirahara

that’s dark and musty-smelling. He tells me to sit down at a Formica table and then he leaves for a moment. He returns with a package of graph paper and a roll of aluminum foil.
    “Do you think you can remember what that design looks like?” he asks.
    Tony says that he loves to draw and wants to be a cartoonist someday. I tell him that I want to be a writer of manga books, and he jokes that we should collaborate. I draw the star on one corner of the graph paper and he works fast to replicate it on the entire sheet. Meanwhile, I’m supposed to fold cranes with squares of aluminum foil. It’s not going to work that well, but I do so anyway.
    I don’t even check the time because we’re working as fast as we can. Before we know it, we’re finished. I’ve taped the malformed cranes to a piece of cardboard and he has graphed Kawaguchi’s family crest. I’m surprised, because his drawing looks almost as good as Aunt Janet’s. For a moment I think that I can pull it off.
    Tony borrows his uncle’s bicycle, an old three-speed with a dorky basket on the front of it. Before we leave, I tell him about the dirt on his face. “You have something here,” I say, pointing to my cheek.
    He rubs his face but he misses. “Where?”
    I brush the dirt away with the tips of my fingers. His face feels warm, like he’s been out in the sun.
    He holds the bicycle still so I can sit on the handles with my thighs hanging over the basket. Tony has put our designs in a backpack for safekeeping. When we arrive at the Buddhist temple, he steadies the bicycle so I can get off. He’s strong, much stronger than he looks. He unzips his backpack and it smells like cigarette smoke. He then hands me the crane-taped cardboard and the graph paper.
    “Thanks,” I say. I cannot believe how nice he’s been.
    “Do you want me to come in with you?”
    I shake my head. There’s already enough explaining I have to do. How would I explain Tony?
    “Come to the school this Sunday.” He presses down on my wrist, and my arm begins to tingle.
    I make no promises, but I know that nothing will keep me away from him on Sunday.

 

M ICHI’S 1001-C RANES F OLDING T IP N O . 4: Be careful about the edges and the corners of your origami. Those are the places that are the most visible.

Broken Butsudan
    For some reason, when I’m nervous or doing PE, I don’t sweat where most people do. All my sweat goes through my body and lands on my nose and my upper lip. Like right now in front of the Buddhist temple. Salty drips run down the middle of my face onto my T-shirt. I know that they are salty because some of my sweat lands on my lips and goes into my mouth.
    I hesitate a moment in front of the gate and then open it before running up the concrete stairs. Once I reach the temple building, I almost crash into a man wearing a polo shirt and shorts.
    “Sorry, sorry,” I tell him. He’s Japanese American, with skinny eyes and big, thick tree-trunk arms. “I need to find Mrs.—I mean Ms. Kawaguchi. She has a meeting here.”
    “You look like you’ve been running in a 5K.” The man laughs. “I don’t think she’s here yet, but you can wait for her in the sanctuary.”
    I beat Kawaguchi? I could have spent more time gluing the cranes! There isn’t anything I can do about it now, though.
    I walk down a hallway with the man.
    “Are you her niece?”
    “Oh, no,” I say, maybe a little too emphatically. I made it sound like being her niece would be horrible. Well, actually, it might. But I wasn’t trying to make Kawaguchi out to be evil. Really.
    “I’m here to deliver this.”
    The man frowns at the wilted cardboard and the taped aluminum foil origami cranes.
    “I know that it looks kind of bad. Had an accident.” Maybe it’s all Tony’s fault, but words begin to spill out of my mouth again, like sludge from a sewer pipe. The man listens as I tell him about Kawaguchi, the envelope in the sewer, and how Grandma Michi doesn’t think I can do much