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the home nurse who had ratted me out to come in and do her duty.
    “Good luck in school, Mr. Wilson. I’ll be back to check on you in a few weeks.”
    Sun Jung entered my bedroom after the nurse had left. “Oxycodone, huh?”
    “It was for my ribs.”
    “You lying, Kwan—I can see it in your eyes. Don’t ever lie to me again. You understand my English?”
    “I understand. I also understand why you look at me sometimes with shark eyes.”
    “What you mean . . . shark eyes?”
    “Sharks have eyes that are cold and uncaring. Do you ever regret taking me in, Sun Jung? Do you ever wish I was living someplace else . . . that you were on your own without having to take care of the grandson who killed your daughter? Answer my question, Sun Jung, and don’t lie—do you hate me sometimes?”
    Her eyes teared up. “I don’t hate you, Kwan.”
    “It’s okay if you do. Sometimes I hate myself.”
    “I don’t hate you.”
    “But you can’t bring yourself to hug me?”
    For an awkward moment she just stared at the wall, her silence a clear reply to my question.
    “Get dressed, Kwan. The van will be here soon.”
    And that’s how my second day of school began.
    Bill Raby picked me up at seven thirty. We arrived at Seacrest High ten minutes later. While I waited for Bill to set the lift in place, I saw Anya climb out of a silver 2014 E-Class Mercedes-Benz. The driver was Anya’s father—a slender Indian man with short jet-black hair and a kind face.
    Last night, I had googled Florida Atlantic University’s staff directory. Tanish Patel was a professor of economics. Before taking a teaching position at FAU, Dr. Patel had worked for the World Bank and the Council of Foreign Relations—a think tank whose members read like a who’s who of former world leaders, bankers, and corporations.
    Anya’s old man was the academic version of the Admiral—except he had a heart.
    I wheeled over to Principal Lockhart, who was greeting students as they entered from the school parking lot.
    “Good morning, Kwan. I spoke with Dr. Becker, the director of the aquatic research center in Miami. She’s willing to bring you in as a volunteer.”
    “Awesome.”
    The internship’s every Monday and Wednesday from three to eight o’clock in the evening and every other Saturday from ten a.m. to four in the afternoon.” He reached into his sports jacket pocket and removed a thick white envelope. “This is a standard release all student interns have to sign; parents and guardians, too. Bring it with you tomorrow afternoon. One thing—Dr. Becker said you’d have to arrange your own transportation to the facility.”
    My pulse quickened with the bad news. “Why do I need my own transportation? Why can’t I just ride down with Anya and Li-ling?”
    “The lab’s van isn’t wheelchair accessible.”
    “I can manage. If the driver can help me up—”
    “Kwan, the center’s not insured to transport you. Is there any way your service can drive you?”
    “I guess it’s up to the insurance company. I can ask my grandmother to make a few calls.”
    “Do that and let me know.” He paused to listen as the school bell sounded. “Better get to your homeroom, you don’t want to be marked late.”
    My homeroom was on the first floor, the classroom packed with forty-two students whose last names began with W thru Z. I settled into a tight parking spot and texted Sun Jung, who called the insurance company.
    I left early to get to my first period science class. I was already parked along the outside row when Anya entered. She looked amazing in her black tunic and faded jeans. She offered me a wave and a smile. I waved back, pretending not to notice Stephen Ley, who was pulling on the corners of his eyes as he cracked a joke with his friends—imitating me peeing in my pants.
    Jesse Gordon came in late, earning Mr. Hock’s wrath.
    Second period English.
    Third period history.
    Fourth period econ. Jesse Gordon stopped me outside of class to