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only building sand castles? Why do so many sad things happen to us? I am afraid the little we have left will be swept away, too. Why bother?” She kicked the rocks. Her hair was flying in her face, and her threadbare blouse hung limply on her thin frame.
    â€œCome on, let’s walk toward school. Teacher Yun has been waiting for you. She misses you, and she’s been counting on me to get you back.” Pulling Bokhi by the arm, I dragged her away from the water and started walking toward our classrooms.
    After a few steps, she stopped short and announced, “I don’t want to go anywhere. You go to school alone. I want to be by myself and do nothing.”
    I was ready to give up and cry, but I heard myself shouting at her as I never had before. “You don’t even know what you’re saying anymore! You’re not doing
nothing,
you’re doing something terrible. You are making me sad, and your aunt and uncle sad, and you are going to disappoint Teacher Yun. She loves you and wants to see you. I can’t go back alone. I will just stand here then, just like you!” I rubbed my eyes to hide the tears filling them.
    I longed to see Teacher Yun. I needed to see her broad smile, and her bright and clear eyes. Most of all, I needed to hear her energetic voice. She was always able to cheer me up, and I knew she would know what to do about Bokhi. I knew she could make Bokhi forget about the sand castles and the pebbles. Teacher Yun seemed to have some kind of magical power over her sad students. I pulled Bokhi by the arm, and Bokhi, baffled and shocked at my outburst, slowly followed.
    Class was in progress when we arrived, and I could hear the teachers lecturing. When I poked my head into the classroom, Teacher Yun rushed out. She immediately handed me her thick book and a small piece of chalk, saying, “Sookan, take this book and copy the rest of the chapter onto the blackboard for the class. ” Then she squeezed my hand, and whispered in my ear, “Good work, Sookan. Thanks for bringing her here. She’ll be all right. Don’t worry.” Smiling broadly, she held Bokhi’s arm and quickly walked her away.
    My arms began to ache from reaching up to the blackboard and my fingertips hurt from clutching the small piece of chalk for so long. As soon as I filled the board and the students had copied what I had written, I had to erase the board and fill it again. My hair and clothes were covered with chalk.
    Finally, Teacher Yun returned to the classroom with Bokhi. Bokhi’s hair was now neatly braided into two long pigtails that rested on her shoulders. There was a white bow in her hair and she wore a black armband just as Teacher Yun did. We all knew that Teacher Yun wore the bow and armband to mourn the death of her parents and her brothers. I could almost picture Teacher Yun magically transmitting her strength and determination to her student as she fixed Bokhi’s hair, tying the white ribbon in it, and then pinned the thin, black armband to her sleeve.
    Teacher Yun had always been able to help me when I was sad about my father and my brothers. For me, it was not so much what she said as the way she looked at me. In her big, sorrowful eyes, I could see how much she cared about me. When she looked deep into my eyes, I felt I
had
to smile, for otherwise I would make her even sadder. When I managed to smile, her face brightened like the sun itself. I wondered if that was what had happened to Bokhi, too. Bokhi seemed more relaxed, and her eyes, though still red and puffy, were bright. I knew then that she and I would soon be testing each other on vocabulary, and gardening, and talking just as we used to.
    That evening, I remained at Bokhi’s, and we stayed up late copying from Teacher Yun’s book all that we had missed over the past few days. Bokhi’s hand busily formed small, square letters that looked like those of a typewriter. She reached for the eraser