The suffocating pressure from the principal's ruthless scolding along with the gloomy silhouettes of the men in black lingering around the lodging house made the air surrounding Maya as stifling as a violin string stretched to the point of nearly snapping. Every stride she took on the gravel street was dyed with vigilance, every footstep thumping evenly behind her back or the long shadow stretching beneath the sallow yellow streetlights making her chest constrict with panic.
However, the life of a poor intern teacher in a foreign land had never granted her the privilege of collapsing or stopping to be afraid for too long. This month it was the turn of Morning Star Class — the Purple Sprout class she was in charge of — to organize a joint birthday party for all the children with birthdays in the Autumn month.
And to make matters worse, the budget that the school board granted for this party was a round figure: zero dollars.
The principal of St. Jude had bluntly declared during the early-week briefing meeting in a chin-tilted, contemptuous tone: "The school provides the space; intern teachers arrange things themselves. If you want a grand party, mobilize the parents, otherwise make it simple. Do not demand funding for useless shenanigans." Yet the parents of the students in Morning Star Class were mostly middle-class and upper-class in the area; their demand standards were sky-high.
That morning, a few parent representatives on the class parent committee dropped by the classroom early to drop off a few gift boxes wrapped in gold-plated paper. The moment she saw the modest small party tray that Maya had prepared with her own hands on the wooden table, a woman wearing a fur coat and wearing a diamond ring wrapped in gold curled her lip in contempt. She used her bright red, sharp fingernails like iron pliers to lightly tap the small cream cake:
"My goodness, Ms. Maya! It's the children's birthday, yet you bought such a tiny cream cake—how could it be enough to share? And these balloons too, such gloomy colors, looking without a single trace of luxurious party spirit! Do you know that the Rose class next door hired a professional clown to twist artistic balloons and make a melting chocolate tower?"
Another parent standing beside clicked a vapor cigarette, clicking his tongue and shaking his head with pitying eyes: "Truly a young intern teacher, without a single bit of experience or organizational vision. Looking at a impoverished party like this, it brings shame upon St. Jude School!"
Maya stood silent in the middle of the classroom, her hands hidden behind her pink apron clutching tightly together. She could only force a smile, lowering her head to patiently accept blame: "I apologize to the parents. I will try my best to create the best atmosphere for the children."
Watching their luxurious yet pompous backs disappear down the hallway, then turning back to look at the empty party tray alongside the modest sponge cake that she had been forced to pull out every single bit of her meager pocket money to buy, Maya's heart sank with a vast bitterness. However, looking down at the artificial grass carpet in the class — where more than twenty five-year-old children were sitting cross-legged, their eyes wide and round looking at her with pure, naive excitement — she took a deep breath. She decided not to let the harshness and narrow-mindedness of adults ruin the children's magical fun day.
"Alright, my children!" Maya clapped her hands together strongly, creating a cheerful clap... clap... sound, flashing the brightest smile possible to drive away the tiredness on her face. "Today Ms. Maya will cast magic to turn our Purple Sprout classroom into a magical castle!"
Zero budget? It didn't matter at all. Though Maya had no money, she possessed extremely skillful hands and a rich imagination of a girl who had once grown up amidst scarcity.
She pulled out from beneath the cabinet a stack of old colored gift-wrapping paper that she had meticulously collected and stored since the beginning of the semester. With merely a small pair of scissors and a few trimming strokes amazingly skillful under her hands, the monotonous colored paper strips transformed into sparkling tiaras and dozens of vibrant ribbon strings hung all over the ceiling. The few gloomy balloons were carefully drawn on by her with a black marker pen to add funny smiling faces, turning into "balloon clowns" capable of moving whenever a light breeze blew through the window.
As for the tiny cream cake, Maya did not choose the way of cutting it into tiny morsels that would make children feel disappointed. She pulled out a plate of crispy rice crackers — a hometown gift her mother had sent over. She meticulously stacked each pure white rice cracker into a towering pyramid-shaped tower, spread a thin, smooth layer of fresh cream on top, and stuck twinkling glutinous rice candles on top.
"This is the Magic Cracker Tower from a far-off kingdom!" Maya enthusiastically introduced. The children's eyes shone bright like tiny stars, cheering boisterously because they had never seen a "birthday cake" so strange and interesting.
The final ultimate trick Maya reserved for the party was a "Shadow Theater" performance. She pulled all the window curtains shut, turned off all electric lights in the classroom, leaving only a high-power flashlight shining directly onto a white cloth sheet stretched across the middle of the class. Standing behind the white sheet, Maya's skillful hands flexibly transformed: from a long-eared naive bunny, a lively puppy, to a silly grey wolf continuously tripped by the bunny until falling head over heels into the sky. She voiced each character herself, at times deep and booming, at times clear and ringing.
The pure, crisp laughter of more than twenty children rang out merrily, completely shattering the inherent gloom, grey, and coldness of St. Jude School. Even Mark — the boy who was normally perpetually quiet, reticent, and lonely — held his stomach bending over chuckling. His ash-grey eyes, normally cold, at this moment sparkled with rays of immense happiness. The young intern teacher's "zero-dollar" birthday party was a resounding success beyond expectations.
That night, returning to her dilapidated rented apartment after a long, exhausting day, Maya threw herself down onto the old sofa that emitted a creak... creak... sound. Her bare feet were still lightly stinging from the slashed cuts from that night of flight, but deep inside her heart was filled with a gentle, warm joy.
Having no money to treat herself to a proper meal, Maya set a small pot of water, cooking a bowl of humble egg instant noodles. The fragrant aroma of instant noodles rose steaming hot inside the small room submerged in pale yellow light. She set the piping hot bowl of noodles on the table, opened her old laptop, and initiated a video call to Chloe — her close American friend from her teacher college days, currently working for an educational center in another state.
The screen flickered for a few seconds then brightened up. Chloe's pretty freckled face appeared, in her hand a steaming cup of iced coffee.
"Hey! San Francisco's star intern teacher!" Chloe cheered over the computer speakers, narrowing her eyes to look at the screen. "Gosh Maya, why does your face look so wretched as if you just went through a life-or-death battle? Dark circles under your eyes, and your hair is all frizzy!"
Maya picked up a pair of chopsticks of instant noodles, bringing them to her mouth to blow gently to lessen the heat, eating while bursting out laughing out loud: "Well it truly was a battle, Chloe! You can't imagine what I had to go through today."
Chloe set her coffee cup down on the table, leaning forward closer to the screen, showing extreme curiosity: "How so? Was it that unfortuned principal again? Or did those pompous rich parents at that St. Jude school make things difficult for you again?"
"Both of them!" Maya waved her hand while chewing, her voice mixed with amusement and helplessness. "Today was the joint birthday for Morning Star class. The school budget granted to me was a round... zero dollars! The principal washed her hands telling me to manage on my own. First thing in the morning, a few mothers wearing diamonds all over their hands rushed into class, curling their lips criticizing the cream cake I paid out of my own pocket as 'tiny as a candy', then criticizing the balloons as gloomy and unluxurious. Do you know, they even compared me to the next-door class hiring a balloon-twisting clown!"
"Those people are really too much!" Chloe slammed her hand on the table, angry on her friend's behalf. "Do they think everyone has money like them? Then what did you do? Did you sit and cry?"
"Cry my foot!" Maya raised her chin, her eyes sparkling with pride. "I pulled out a stack of old gift-wrapping paper in the cabinet, cut them into tiaras and ribbons hanging all over the ceiling. And as for the tiny cream cake? I pulled out a plate of rice crackers my mother sent from home, stacked them into a sky-high tower, spread fresh cream on top and stuck candles. I told those children it was the 'Magic Cracker Tower'!"
"My goodness!" Chloe threw her head back against the chair laughing hysterically, her loud laughter ringing over the computer speakers. "Rice crackers stacked into a tower?! Maya oh Maya, only your quirky brain could think up a trick like that! And did the kids actually eat it?"
"They sure did! The kids were utterly enchanted!" Maya laughed out loud, her eyes overflowing with happiness as she recalled. "They cheered as if looking at a wonder of the world. And that's not all, I even turned off all the lights, doing a shadow theater performance behind the cloth sheet. I played the silly bunny and the grey wolf; they were rolling on the wooden floor laughing. Even little Mark, who is normally cold as ice, laughed to the point of crying tears!"
Chloe looked at Maya through the screen, her eyes shifting from surprise to gentle admiration. Her friend let out a soft sigh, speaking in an emotional voice: "I'm telling the truth Maya... You truly are a genius at managing. Your heart and love for those children are something that expensive cream cakes or professional clowns could never buy. The children at St. Jude having a teacher like you are truly number one luckiest in the world."
Maya smiled, lowering her head to sip a mouthful of hot noodle broth to hide the choke of emotion in her eyes. She intentionally hid all the terrifying things that had happened — about the hitman holding a gun on the stormy night, about the blood-drenched flight, and about the mysterious men in black lingering around her lodging house every day. She did not want her close friend to worry about a brutal reality that she herself was bracing to bear.
The two friends continued chatting for nearly an hour more, gossiping about everything from college days to future plans, until Maya's noodle bowl was completely empty and the clock hand had ticked past midnight.
"Alright, it's late, get some rest teacher!" Chloe waved through the screen. "If you're free this weekend, let me video call again. Remember to stay healthy!"
"I got it. Good night, Chloe!"
Closing the video call, the laptop screen turned pitch black again. The space inside the small rented room instantly sank into dead silence, leaving only the sound of the night wind lightly tapping against the glass window frame.
Maya let out a long breath, cleaned up the dishes, then stepped toward her desk, opening her worn lesson plan bag to prepare lesson plans for tomorrow's class.
However, as she pulled out the stack of lecture notebooks, a folded drawing paper unexpectedly slipped out from the gap of an inner compartment, swaying before landing neatly on her lap.
Maya froze. She picked up the paper, slowly unfolding it.
It was a scribbled crayon drawing that Mark had secretly slipped into her bag earlier that afternoon, before the boy was picked up by the family's luxurious Sedan.
On the pure white paper background, Mark had used childish drawing strokes to draw two human figures holding hands tightly standing under a bright yellow sun. The taller person had long black hair, wearing a light pink apron — clearly the image of Maya. The smaller person wore a dark blue uniform — namely little Mark himself.
And beneath the drawing, with wobbly handwriting, meticulously drawn stroke by stroke with all the care of a five-year-old child learning to write, Mark had written a short yet soul-shaking line of text:
"Ms. Maya is my mother."
The string of affection endured for so long inside Maya's heart felt as if plucked by a gentle yet powerful hand. A wave of warmth mixed with bitterness exploded inside her chest. Tears of emotion involuntarily rolled down her cheeks, dripping down and smudging a small crayon streak on the paper.
A child lacking a mother's love since birth, always having to live in loneliness, fear, and the harsh survival training of a tycoon family... had offered a poor intern teacher like her a trust, a sacred and deep bond like this.
Maya smiled through her blurred tears. She reached out her hand, gently stroking each wobbly letter of the boy. Then she carefully folded the crayon drawing paper back neatly along its original folds, gently placing it into the most secure drawer inside her personal wallet — keeping it as a priceless treasure, a source of strength for her to continue stepping firmly through the storms lurking ahead.
