“Stewart! What the—why did you get out of line?”

  “I didn’t know where you went—”

  “It wasn’t my fault. This little girl, her brother wasn’t looking after her. She was all on her own, and she ran right into me.” She turned back to Jae. “As if things aren’t bad enough with this chaos—now we’ve lost our place in line!”

  And that’s supposed to be my problem? Jae bit back the words and swallowed hard before he spoke. “She’s not my sister.”

  The woman looked confused for a moment, then scowled. “What do you mean, she’s not your sister?”

  Meanwhile, Jessie had calmed down and was singsonging a little chant almost right into his ear. “Paul ball all. Tall doll Paul.” It might have been cute any other time, but right now Jae could hardly hear himself think.

  “It’s okay,” he said, his body tensing as he tried to focus. “I know where her parents are. I’ll just take her—”

  “Wait a minute,” said Stewart. “If she’s not your sister, you’re not going anywhere with her. I’ve read about this—”

  He looked around at the folks within earshot. “Those illegals. They bring kids who aren’t related and make them pretend to be siblings—it’s one of their schemes to get in without being documented.”

  Jae was now utterly confused. What on earth was the man talking about?

  “You stay right there,” Stewart said sternly. “Sandy, I’ll keep an eye on them—you go get someone from security.”

  Sandy flapped her hand at him. “Security? Look at this mess!” she said, her voice almost a shout. “I can barely move, it’s so crowded. Security! No way—”

  “Well, they’re the ones who have to look into this,” Stewart was saying.

  As he spoke, Jae noticed that people nearby were responding to what they had heard—or misheard.

  “Someone wants security—”

  “—illegals, that’s what I heard—”

  “Security? Was there an announcement?”

  “Is there some kind of threat? As if this weather weren’t bad enough!”

  Jae could hardly believe his ears. Security? A threat? How had this happened? All he had wanted to do was to help get the girl back to her family!

  He was still holding Jessie, who was clearly getting restless. She kept plucking at the collar of his T-shirt, saying “Paul, ball, doll” with each pluck.

  He glanced around and saw that he was surrounded. Even more people were packed into the space now. There was no way he could make a break for it.

  Then Sandy spoke again, her voice shriller than before. “Stewart, this is not our problem. We have to figure out how we’re getting to Tampa! Come on.”

  “Sandy—”

  “Stewart, are you coming?”

  The woman cast one more disdainful look at Jae, then began making her way toward the long lines for customer service. Her husband followed her, and Jae let out a sigh of relief.

  “Okay, Jessie,” he said. “Let’s go find your family.”

  Jae’s relief lasted no longer than a few moments. As he turned to make his way toward the screening checkpoint where he had last seen Jessie’s family, he saw that Stewart and Sandy had somehow encountered two airport security guards. Sandy was talking, and Stewart was pointing—straight at Jae.

  Jae took a quick look around. Too crowded to run. No way to melt into the crowd, either—not enough Asian people there. All he could do was hope that the guards would listen and believe him.

  One guard was a woman with copper curls escaping from under her cap; her name badge said MARTINEZ. The other was a Black man with a mustache, ROBINSON. Both looked at him sternly.

  “Is that your sister?” Robinson asked.

  Jae shook his head. “No, sir.”

  It seemed like the right moment to show respect by saying “sir.” He could feel his heart throbbing—he hadn’t known how hard it was to talk to someone in uniform, even if you hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, at least not anything illegal.

  “Then what are you doing with her?”

  “I—I—she’s lost,” he said, his face burning. “I’m trying to help her find her family.”

  “What’s your name?” asked Martinez.

  “Jae. Jae Han. My mom works here.”

  Robinson’s expression changed at once. “You’re Myung’s kid?”

  Jae nodded, feeling his heartbeat slow down a little.

  “Myung?” Martinez said. “She the one who makes those—those rice-roll things?”

  “Kimbap.” Robinson nodded. “Man, I wish I had some right now.”

  Despite the chaos all around and inside his own head, Jae had to smile. He had been rolling kimbap with Mom since he was barely bigger than Jessie. Mom was famous for her kimbap. Sometimes she made dozens of rolls and brought them to work to share with her colleagues.

  Jae saw his opening. “Officers? This is Jessie. Her family was at the security checkpoint. Can I—is it okay if I take her there now?”

  He hoisted Jessie higher up on his hip; his arms were getting tired. She had stopped tugging on his T-shirt, but now she was shaking her head back and forth, the ends of her pigtails hitting his face. Thwack-thwack-thwack. It was half hilarious and all annoying.

  “Paul ball doll,” she chanted, one word for each thwack. “Paul ball doll, all Paul tall.”

  The officers looked at each other. “No, we’ll do it,” Martinez said. But when she stepped forward, Jessie shook her head harder and tightened her arms around Jae’s neck so much he could barely breathe.

  Robinson shrugged. “Go ahead and walk them over there,” he said to Martinez. “I’ll get in touch with Myung.”

  Great. Just great.

  Jae had been hoping to return the girl to her family and then get back to the break room before anyone noticed he was gone. Now Mom would find out for sure that he had disobeyed her.

  He didn’t want to think about it. Get Jessie back to her family and then figure things out.

  Martinez led Jae and Jessie toward the security checkpoint. When they were almost there, Jae set Jessie down on the floor.

  “Phew,” he said, “you’re heavy. I think you might weigh more than me.”

  Jessie giggled. Craning his neck, Jae could see her family, including a boy a few years older than he was—the same one he’d seen on the monitor earlier.

  “That must be Paul,” he said to Jessie.

  “Paul!” Jessie shrieked. “Paul Paul Paaaaaaaul!” She ran toward the boy, jumped into his arms, and grabbed both of his ears, tugging on them. Apparently, that was her idea of a hug.

  Commotion and babble followed. Paul put Jessie down, and everyone crowded around her. After a few moments, the mother turned to Martinez. “Are you the one who found her?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am,” Martinez replied. “It was this young man here.” She jerked her chin toward Jae.

  More babble as each person thanked Jae profusely. He couldn’t decide if he was more pleased or embarrassed by all the attention. Only a few minutes earlier, that guy Stewart had practically accused him of being part of some kind of threat. Now Jessie’s family was acting like he was a hero.

  A hero about to get into big trouble with Mom . . .

  Jae had turned to leave when Paul spoke to him.

  “Thanks, man,” Paul said. “I know she can be a—a handful.”

  “She was fine,” Jae said, “except she kept doing this rhyming thing. Like, ‘Paul all doll.’”

  Paul sighed. “She does that. It’s so annoying.”

  “Um, maybe you could change your name,” Jae said, “to something that’s harder to rhyme. How about . . . Augustus?”

  “Knowing Jessie, she’d figure out a way to rhyme it somehow,” Paul said with a shrug.

  “Baugustus,” Jae suggested.

  “Zaugustus.”

  “Shmaugustus.”

  They grinned at each other, then said goodbye as Paul walked back to his family. Jae watched them for a few seconds longer and was relieved to see that Jessie was now stamping her feet to make her shoes light up; she seemed to have completely forgotten what had happened.

  That’s okay, Jae thought. I’ll remember for both of us.

  Mom was waiting outside the door to the break room. “Thanks,” she said to the officers. “I owe you.”

  “We’ll take payment in kimbap,” Robinson joked.

  “You got it.”

  The officers left. Mom marched Jae through the door.

  “Okay,” she said. “This better be good.”

  On the walk back to the break room, Jae had conjured and discarded a dozen explanations to try to get out of trouble, even as he knew that none of them would work. Mom always saw through lies.

  So I might as well tell the truth?

  Of course, telling the truth hadn’t gone well with Sandy and Stewart. Jae was still shaken by how quickly they had assumed things about him, and how fast those things had blown up into what could have been real trouble. When all along he’d just been trying to help Jessie. If he told the truth now, would Mom understand?

  “Okay,” he said, looking at the floor. He took a breath. “What happened was . . .”

  He started at the beginning—with seeing Jessie and her family on the monitors—and told her everything. He spoke quickly, glancing up at her from time to time. When he got to the part about Sandy and Stewart, he thought he saw her frown briefly, but she said nothing, so he kept going.

  “I know I was supposed to stay here,” Jae said, “but I—I didn’t stop to think, Mom. I saw her on the monitor, and I remembered that time I got lost when I was little—I had to do something.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Well—”

  Just then Mr. Peters burst into the room. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you on Concourse E? Is it because of what I’ve been hearing?” He pointed accusingly at Jae.

  Uh-oh. What exactly had Mr. Peters heard? If it was anything like Stewart’s version, Jae could be in big trouble. And what if Mom got in trouble, too? That would be beyond unfair—it wasn’t her fault at all.

  “Security said there was trouble at checkpoint A,” Mr. Peters was saying, his voice rising in anger. “Something about Asians! Did you have anything to do with that? You were told to stay right here—”

  “Richard, please.”

  Jae looked up in surprise at the sound of Mom’s voice. It was ice cold and steel hard.

  “It’s true that Jae has been disobedient. But he is my child, not yours. It is up to me to discipline him.”

  Mr. Peters’s pink face turned magenta, and his eyes bugged out. Clearly, he was shocked by Mom’s tone of voice. Jae held his breath. If Mom lost her job, it would be because of him. . . .

  Mom spoke again over the sound of Mr. Peters’s spluttering.

  “Richard, with all the cancellations and delays, the facilities and the public areas are going to be very heavily used, probably right through tomorrow. The duty roster and the supply inventory need to be adjusted, don’t they?”

  Mr. Peters blinked. For a moment, he looked a little lost. “Yes. Yes, of course. I was just—I was going to get started on that—”

  Then he seemed to collect himself and glared at Jae. “I don’t expect to have to check on you again, young man. Is that clear?”

  Jae nodded.

  “We’re done here, Myung. Get over to E.” Mr. Peters was back to his old pompous self. “And check the portal—I’ll have the adjusted roster and inventory up shortly.”

  Jae watched him leave. To his surprise, he heard Mom let out a sigh of obvious relief.

  Had Mom been worried about standing up to Mr. Peters? She certainly hadn’t seemed scared—her voice hadn’t wobbled a single bit.

  “You better call your dad,” she said. “Tell him to come get you when he’s finished at work. I’ll be doing a double shift tonight.”

  Jae pictured Mom heading to Concourse E, which would be full of anxious, unhappy travelers. She would do her best to keep the restrooms and common areas tidy, to make things a little more convenient and comfortable for them. The inconsiderate ones would leave a mess, which she would clean up again. And again.

  He thought of one thing that might help. “Should I ask Dad to bring you something to eat?” Mom got the employees’ discount at the food court, but he knew she liked her own homemade dishes more—a lot more.

  “Good idea,” she said. “There’s some leftover kimchi jjigae in the fridge.” She gave him a quick hug, then headed for the door.

  Jae realized that she hadn’t said anything about disciplining him, and he wasn’t about to remind her.

  Mom had one hand on the door lever when she turned back toward him. “Jae? You didn’t stay here like you were supposed to, but I know you were trying to do the right thing. I’m proud of you.”

  The door closed behind her.

  Jae walked to one of the tables and sat down. Whew, he was tired. He pulled another chair a little closer and put his feet up on the seat. Seeing his sneakers, he smiled—from now on, he knew he would think of Jessie whenever he saw light-up sneakers.

  Mom was proud of him.

  Even though Mr. Peters had been furious.

  Jae shook his head. Good kid / troublemaker / threat / hero—all within less than half an hour. Who knew that coming to work with Mom would turn out like this? But maybe that was the way it was with a lot of things in life: once you decided to do something, there was really no way to know for sure what would happen, or how people would react.

  Which meant . . . what?

  If you couldn’t know for sure, all you could do was make your best guess. And then do your best. And hope for the best.

  And that seemed like something he could work with.

  3

  Mindy

  The Duolingo owl is a tyrant. Yes, language app, I know it’s time for another Korean lesson, but after months and months, I’m still no good at it. And I doubt that’ll change before takeoff.

  Dads and I are at our second airport of the day. We flew out of New York this morning, and now we’re stuck in Chicago. It’s raining cats and dogs, so maybe we won’t be able to fly to Seoul after all. I keep glancing at the departures board hoping to see the word “canceled.”

  DELAYED

  Darn it.

  “Hey, Mindy,” Daddy Pat says. “You hungry? You should eat something before we board.”

  I shake my head no. I should be hungry, but my stomach is in knots. I just . . . it’s complicated.

  “Come on, let’s go find something,” Daddy Brian says.

  He probably didn’t catch my headshake. Or maybe he did, and I’ve been overruled. Not sure.

  I sigh and follow them, squeaking my sneakers along the shiny floor.

  We pass happy, excited families, and I wish I felt that way. It’s not that I’m upset about leaving the country—I was stoked to go to Europe for the first time two summers ago. We spent weeks roaming around Ireland, where Daddy Pat’s family is originally from. His second cousins took us around the Ring of Kerry, which was so pretty, and made us soda bread, which was so good. No leprechauns, which, at ten years old, I kinda sorta hoped were real, so that was a bummer. But we had such a good time I barely wanted to come back.

  Then Scotland last year was even better. Daddy Brian’s family is from there, and Edinburgh was like the coolest place ever. We did the big Ferris wheel, shopped on the Royal Mile with Great-Grandma Edna—who still lives there—hiked up Arthur’s Seat, and toured a real castle.

  But this summer it’s “my turn.” I was adopted from Korea when I was six months old, and my dads decided it’s time to go explore where I’m from. They’re super excited about me reconnecting with my Korean roots, but I don’t know how to tell them I don’t want to go. I’ve been working on it since they announced the trip at Christmas, and now it’s almost the Fourth of July, and I’m in an airport, so . . . hasn’t gone well.

  I mean, there’s nothing wrong with Korea. Or, actually, there is: they don’t recognize same-sex marriage. My dads aren’t sure how tolerant it is there, so they decided to pretend to not be together once we land. And I hate that. They hate that. A lot.

  So, I don’t know why we’re going somewhere my dads can’t be themselves, except that they said I should “experience it.”

  We reach an airport directory, and Daddy Brian wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Look at all these choices, Min.”

  “I’m not really hungry,” I mumble to my shirt.

  Daddy Pat rattles off the offerings. “Chipotle? Sushi? Oh, they have a P.F. Chang’s To Go!”

  I frown. P.F. Chang’s was one of my favorites, but Lewis and Ann in my class made sure to point out that it’s American, not Chinese food. They have Taiwanese and Chinese parents, and both bring in moon cakes for the Mid-Autumn Festival. They stared at me like I had three heads when I said I liked P.F. Chang’s last year. Ann stuck up her nose and said it’s fake Asian and asked why I didn’t know that. But as far as I knew, P.F. Chang’s was Chinese . . . ish.

  I mean, it’s not the authentic beef noodle soup Lewis’s mom brought in for Food Heritage Day. And it’s not the red bean buns Ann’s dad baked. But it’s tasty and definitely better than the bulgogi my dads tried to make. That turned out like soy shoe leather, so they sent me in with Korean BBQ takeout instead. I shifted the meat from the containers to a plate and hid the bags under the table before I presented it for the festival. Still, even though the food was delicious, I got a disappointed sigh from someone’s granddad when I couldn’t speak to him in Korean or use chopsticks. I hear it in Koreatown, too—that sound at the back of the throat, combined with a little headshake. Like I’m that generation—the one that lost touch with their roots. No one realizes my family’s roots are Scottish and Irish American. That I don’t remember Korea at all.

  And now I have a month of disappointed sighs and lousy chopstick usage ahead of me. Come on, mouth, work. Tell them you don’t want to go.

  “Oh, look, Min, they have a Jamba Juice!” Daddy Brian taps the board with a big grin. His smile is always contagious.

  I forget my worries for a second and give him a small smile. “Okay.”

  “Let’s go!” Daddy Pat says.

 

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