Swimming to Tokyo Read Online Free Page A

a computer program that’s pretty good.” Dad goes over to his desk and roots around until he finds a copy of Rosetta Stone for Japanese . “I’ll leave it for you. You’ll probably be fluent before you get there.”
    “I’ll learn some key phrases, but I’ve got a little thing called college going on right now and I might be a little busy.”
    “Well, you have all summer to learn. And don’t worry, some of the other ex-pats have kids, so it’s not like you’ll be stuck on your own all the time while I’m working.” Dad smiles, the lines in his forehead receding as he does.
    I roll my eyes. “Great, I can babysit. What’s the going rate in yen? Any idea?”
    Dad laughs. “I’ll find out, but there are a few older kids. One of my colleagues, Eloise, has a boy who’s around your age, and he might come out.”
    “Is he cute?”
    “I’ll find that out, too.” Dad turns serious. “It’s going to be good, Zo. It’s a great opportunity for both of us.”
    “Yeah, Dad. I know.” I get up and smooth my shirt across my stomach, which growls underneath my hands and gives me the perfect out. “Babci said she saved me some food. I’m going to go find some. You want anything?”
    “No, you go ahead.” Dad opens his laptop and is already lost in the screen by the time I’m out the door.
    I pad down the hallway to the kitchen and pull out the meatloaf, still in its Pyrex dish, the grease congealed at the sides. I grab a fork and take a bite, closing my eyes as I chew. When I open them, Babci is leaning against the doorway, looking at me. I open my mouth to apologize for eating right from the pan, but close it again when she shakes her head. Her voice is soft.
    “Jesteś mocne.”
    “ Będę .”
    You are strong .
    I will be .
    Babci comes and places her hand over mine, and I take another bite of cold meatloaf, even though it’s turned to sawdust in my mouth.

chapter three
    B y the time Memorial Day weekend comes around, I’m actually starting to get excited about Tokyo—in between severe pangs of nostalgia. Dad’s home, and judging by the murmurs of conversation I’ve overheard drifting from behind his study door, it seems possible he’s spoken to the renters, but no one’s shown up with suitcases, so I don’t know what’s happening and I’m not asking. In fact, aside from his suggestion that I might want to work a little harder on cleaning out my closet before we leave on Wednesday, I’d hardly know we were preparing for renters to move in.
    Dad and Babci have invited Mindy and Liz over for a Memorial Day barbecue, keeping up the tradition we’ve had forever. When Mom was alive, she’d spend all day Monday making pierogies and weird appetizers that tasted better than they looked. This year, Babci’s bought some weird appetizers because she can’t cook much with her arm, and while her, Dad, and Liz relax and drink wine out on the deck, Mindy and I take the rest of the bottle to my room to sort through my closet.
    “I can’t believe you still have this.” Mindy holds up my junior varsity swimsuit. “Look how tiny you were.”
    “That’s why I keep it. To remind myself I wasn’t always an amazon.” I take a sip of Chardonnay. I prefer beer, but we don’t have any in the house.
    “And this,” Mindy squeals. “Oh my God. Your prom dress. You have to put it on.”
    I eye the knee-length silvery chiffon, glimmering on its hanger. “I loved that dress.”
    “Put it on! Bring some style to this party.” She thrusts the hanger into my hand.
    I laugh and take the hanger, fingering the flimsy material. “I hate to tell you, but this isn’t exactly a party.”
    “So? It’s close enough,” Mindy says. “Come on. I can tell you want to.”
    She’s right. I do. I loved the dress from the second I saw it. It’s been buried in the back of my closet since last year’s senior prom, which is such a waste.
    I slip the thin spaghetti strap off the hanger. “Maybe we should call Pete