Free Paper Wishes by Lois Sepahban

do not wear silk robes. They wear their best suits even though it is so hot.
    Mother motions for me to sit on the floor beside Ron. She sits on the floor between Father and Grandfather.
    We face our family altar. A framed photo of Grandmother is joined by carved fruit and paper flowers. A glass jar filled halfway with sand holds a candle, the flame shining against the jar’s glass.
    I think of Grandmother. I never met the other ancestors, but Grandmother was quiet and strong. She made the softest salty-sour rice balls. She drew pictures for me in the sand—pictures of flowers decorated with rocks and shells, pictures of sea lions and boats, and my name. Grandmother’s hands smelled like cucumbers and herbs. Her smile was small and warm.
    I wonder if Grandmother’s spirit knows we are in this prison-village and not on the island.
    When it is time to stand up, I take a deep breath. The smell of cucumbers fills my nose.
    *   *   *
    We eat at the mess hall and then go outside to the open space for more dancing and drumming. Kimmi runs up to me and grabs my hands. “Dance with me,” she says.
    She spins us in a circle, and we dance until she asks, “Do you want to get some cookies?”
    We go to the mess hall, with its door wide open and tables covered with food. I pick up a rice ball, and Kimmi picks up three crunchy cookies.
    A grandmother brings a fresh pot of tea from the kitchen, but I am too hot from dancing and running to drink tea. Kimmi and I drink water from our cups after we finish eating, and then we go back outside.
    There is a group of girls giggling and dancing, and Kimmi pulls me toward them. But I do not want to join these girls. Sometimes, these girls look at me like I am strange. I see Grandfather setting our lanterns on the steps leading to our barracks, and I run to join him.
    When the sky is completely black, Mother lights a short candle. She uses it to melt wax from the bottom of another candle, letting the wax drip onto the middle of the cross that covers the bottom of the lantern for Yujiin. Mother sticks the candle into the pool of hot wax and hands it to me. Next, she prepares Ron’s lantern and Father’s lantern and Grandfather’s lantern and, finally, her own. We take our lanterns to join the other families in the open space where candlelit lanterns are set here and there on the ground.
    I raise my lantern high over my head. For many minutes, I watch Yujiin’s dark eyes look down on me. Then I place the lantern on the ground with everyone else’s and I think, Maybe Yujiin will see. From far away, maybe he will see the flickering lights. Maybe he will know I am thinking of him.
    Then someone starts a steady drumbeat. It is deeper than the clack of the drum Grandfather made. A rush of wind makes the candlelight flicker and sputter.
    My heart drops. The flame from Yujiin’s lantern is gone.

 
    SEPTEMBER
    As soon as I hear that Miss Rosalie has returned, I run to the school. It takes me a while to figure out which is her new classroom. But I peek in windows until I see a familiar stack of books on a table. Miss Rosalie is not there, but I go inside the building and slide a painting of lanterns spilling across the ground under her classroom door. I think she will like this painting.
    Father joins us at dinner. When Mother sits and I have poured tea for everyone, we all look at Father. He pulls an envelope from his pocket.
    â€œA letter from Keiko,” he says.
    Mother reads the letter. She starts to speak, but then stops and hands the letter to Grandfather.
    Grandfather waves his hand to Ron, and Mother gives the letter to Ron instead.
    Ron scans the letter and looks up.
    â€œKeiko writes that Professor Greene has held my place,” Ron says.
    I am glad Ron does not keep secrets like Mother and Father.
    â€œHe can try to get a pass for me to attend college again,” Ron says.
    Grandfather forms his hands into a