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often, making every letter look perfect. I looked at my sweeping handwriting and laughed. I had used twice as much paper as she. The salty smell of the sea seeped through the plywood walls. We could hear the waves roar and crash against the rocks, and in the distance, we could hear the sounds of life in the little refugee dwellings. The candle was burning low and the pale moon was out.
    Feeling tired, I looked at Bokhi and said, “Shall we go out and hear the sea roar?”
    â€œTake my shawl. The night air is cold,” said her aunt.
    Wrapping ourselves together in the shawl, we stood on the shore and inhaled the chilly, salty air, and listened to the waves break. I rested my head on Bokhi’s shoulder. I was happy to have her back and grateful to Teacher Yun.
    â€œI’m glad you dragged me back to Teacher Yun today, Sookan,” she said quietly. “She made me realize that my parents can still be with me in my mind and heart. I was so angry and sad, I just couldn’t believe that before. Teacher Yun made me see that they will always be there watching over me and taking care of me. I want them to be proud of me in every way. I’ll try not to be so sad, because I don’t want to bring more sadness to all the people who love me. I hope that I can be as strong and as inspiring as Teacher Yun someday, and help someone else as she helped me.”
    â€œYou know, when I grow up, I want to be a teacher, just like Teacher Yun,” I said.
    Squeezing my hand, she said, “I thought you wanted to be a writer and a nun.”
    â€œWell, I can be all of those.”
    Bokhi smiled and squeezed my hand again.

Chapter Five
    The next evening, I headed back home, eager to see Mother and Inchun, and looking forward just to being up on top of the mountain. I missed the friendly voice of the shouting poet.
    As I climbed, I suddenly realized that during the last few months, while I had been busy rushing to and from school, the mountain had undergone a transformation. How could I have failed to notice? The mountain was not so difficult to climb as it used to be. The path up the hill had become worn and smooth from constant use. In some of the steep areas that were difficult to climb, people had dug little footholds that made it more like climbing a ladder. Now there were even some plants and shrubs growing along the path, which kept the dry and rocky mountain soil from eroding.
    People had all tried to make their little huts more homey by creating their own unique gardens. The once identical shacks all looked different now, each bearing the creative stamp of its residents. Wild lilies, daisies, and azaleas bloomed in some front yards. One hut had nothing but tall yellow sunflowers, while another had morning glories scaling the walls and climbing the roof. Another had rows of tin cans blossoming with pansies and marigolds neatly arranged around the perimeter of the house. It was as if each little house were furiously competing to be the prettiest, most cheerful one on the mountain.
    When I arrived home, I was greeted by tall sunflowers, their heads heavy with ripening seeds. I knew Mother was waiting to harvest these seeds. My favorite flower, the wild cosmos, surrounded our little shack, and morning glory vines climbed the larger beams.
    I had missed the fresh mountain air and my spectacular view of Pusan. I heard laughter ringing through the mountains, and I looked down at the long line of women and children standing at the well. Children were laughing and shouting, mock fighting with their buckets. Their mothers, while yelling at them to be still, laughed and talked among themselves as they waited in line.
    That night I talked to Mother until the thin sliver of moon rose high over the mountaintop. Inchun plugged his ears with a piece of cotton and went to sleep. He grimaced at my endless chatter about Bokhi and Teacher Yun.
    The next morning I sprang out of bed. The sun was high in the sky already. Had I