Page 68 of The Wild Zone

The girl held a puzzle piece that belonged somewhere in the interior and was testing it against every unfinished portion.

“You should do the edges first,” I said. “And sort the pieces by color. It’s easier that way.”

The girl didn’t look up. “I like a challenge.” She abandoned the piece she was holding and picked up a different one, beginning her process anew.

I moved closer to the table. On the floor lay the discarded puzzle box, with a photo of a colorful row of Victorian-style houses on the lid. The title read Painted Ladies, San Francisco.

“You could also look at the picture of the finished puzzle,” I suggested, “if you’re not sure where the pieces go.”

The girl lowered her puzzle piece and drew back her unicorn hood. Based on her looks, she could’ve been my little sister—the same dark wavy hair and wide-set dark eyes. I’d never seen her before at camp, and yet…I felt like I had.

“May I please do it myself?” she asked.

She said it in the gentlest possible way, but the comment still hit me hard. I remembered saying the same thing to Olivia many times when we were younger, whenever she tried to “help me” with a game or a puzzle and ended up doing it all herself.

I held up my hands. “Of course. Sorry.”

She smiled tightly. “Thank you, Caddy.”

I started to leave, but then I hesitated. “It’s Katie, actually.”

The girl was focused on her puzzle again. “I apologize. Your necklace says Caddy, so I just assumed.”

“This?” I lifted my pendant. “No, it’s my name in hangul characters. See? Kay-tee,” I said, sounding it out.

The girl lowered her puzzle piece. Then she pointed at the characters on my pendant. “Cah-dee. I know every language spoken in every household.” She arched her eyebrow at me, and then she lifted her fist and flicked her index finger toward the ceiling.

I didn’t understand what she was pointing at, but I glanced up.

She sighed. “Never mind.”

I frowned, feeling weirdly like I’d disappointed her somehow. “Trust me, this is my name on the pendant. My mom bought it, and she’s Korean.”

The girl pushed a puzzle piece into place. “Did she design the pendant, or did you?”

“I designed it,” I admitted, “but she ordered it. And I know she wouldn’t have let me put the wrong thing, because she always corrected the birthday cards I made her when I was little.”

“Harsh.” The girl picked up another piece. “That never bothered you?”

I watched her work, doing my best to resist the urge to sort her pieces into colors. “I mean, yeah. One time I cried my eyes out afterward, but then my mom made spaghetti and meatballs. That made me feel better.”

“A pasta-pology,” said the girl.

“I guess so,” I said with a weak smile. “My mom never apologizes out loud for anything, so that’s probably as close as I could’ve gotten.” My stomach twisted as I realized there was a chance that might be as close as I’d get ever again.

The girl studied my necklace, like it was another puzzle piece she couldn’t quite place. “Do you think she let you get away with Caddy to spare you more tears, or because she ran out of spaghetti ingredients?”

I wasn’t sure if she meant the comment to be funny, but it made me think. “I don’t know. My mom wanted my sister to teach me Korean, but she herself hasn’t tried to teach me for years. Maybe she just stopped caring.”

“If that’s true, then why do you still care?”

It was such a jarring question that all I could do was stare at the girl.

She stared right back. “Why do you care whether people think you’re Korean enough, Katie?”

My skin prickled. “I…I don’t care.”

The girl returned to her puzzle. “When you were in the shower, I heard you singing that horrible rock music your cabinmates like.”