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“Hey, you know what I’m wanting to know? It’s how come we’ve got to sleep at all, I wonder. Cause Chuckie Mansfield says he’s got a pet goldfish, and goldfish never sleep. But what I wonder is how you’d know if your goldfish really was asleep or not, know what I mean? But his dad’s a doctor so he knows that sorta stuff, and that’s what he says. So if goldfish don’t hafta sleep, how come you and me got to? And why do kids always hafta do it earlier than grown-ups? It’s an abomination.” He scrunched up his face in a perfect imitation of his father behind his pulpit.
Kennedy, guessing the impression wasn’t intentional, masked her laugh with a cough.
“You better be careful,” Woong said. “When you cough on somebody, that gives them your germs.”
“You’re right.” She pulled Woong’s Iron Man sheets up to his chin. “Now, your mom says you like to read before bed, so should we start that now?”
“Well first, what I’m wanting to know is how come people have adversaries to start with.”
“Why they have what?”
“Adversaries.”
“Like enemies?”
“No, I mean like what my mom and dad are doing.”
Kennedy remained clueless.
“You know,” Woong exclaimed, clearly exasperated. “Adversaries. When you go away and leave your kids with strangers.”
Kennedy didn’t know if she should chuckle or feel sorry for him. “Well, first of all, I’m not a stranger. I come over here all the time.”
“Yeah, but ...”
“And second of all,” she interrupted, “even when your parents go away for a night, they love you just as much as when they’re here. That’s why your mom’s going to make a special point to call you tonight even when she and your dad are at the theater. And why she made so much good food for us to eat. Like that lasagna we had for dinner. Wasn’t that yummy?”
“Yeah. Are there any leftovers? Sometimes Mom heats me up leftovers for breakfast once I finish my box of cereal.”
“We’ll check and see in the morning, ok?” Kennedy still hadn’t cleaned up the kitchen. She’d been too busy quizzing Woong on his spelling words. She had no idea how an inquisitive child like him could stretch out a study session to the rate of one word per half an hour. When your teacher’s given you a list of fifteen spelling words ...
“So what are you and your parents reading at night?”
“It’s my mom who reads. Dad’s too busy playing the Wii.”
“Oh, yeah?” She tried to hide a grin at the idea of Carl engrossed in video games.
“Yeah, he likes to do that golf one. Mom says it’s because he works so hard during the rest of the day he’s allowed to do it at night. But she never sets the timer for him.” He pouted.
“Well, sometimes adults get special privileges.”
“Yeah, like Mrs. Winifred.”
“Who?”
“My teacher. She got to leave early from school today because she was sick. My mom never lets me stay home from school, even when I have a sore throat. But all Mrs. Winifred had to do was tell the principal she had a fever, and she got to go home for the rest of the day. That’s how come we got a substituent.”
“You mean substitute?”
“Yeah. That’s what I said.”
“All right.” Kennedy tried to remember what she and Woong were supposed to do next. He’d brushed his teeth after asking about two dozen questions about cavities, dentists, and braces. (“’Cause Chuckie Mansfield, his teeth are so crooked he says he’s gonna need them metal things on them once he gets a little bigger, except he still has to wait for some of his first set of teeth to fall out first before it’s ready, and that got me to thinking how come we got two different sorts of teeth to start with and why God didn’t just make us with the ones we could use always.”)
She glanced at the clock. Woong was already thirty minutes past his usual lights out time. Carl and Sandy would call as soon as intermission started at the opera, which could be any minute. She sighed. “Ok, are you ready to read?”
“Yup,” he answered, snuggling down beneath his sheets. “I’ve been wondering what’s going to happen to Violet now that she’s sick, ’cause I know kids can take care of themselves even if they don’t have a boxcar to live in. That’s how I done it before I got adopted, you know, but it gets a lot harder if you have the sickness on account of you not being able to do anything for yourself, even get yourself someplace clear to barf. Have you read The Boxcar Children? Do you think Violet’s gonna be ok, or do you think she might die on account of the sickness?”
“She’ll be just fine.” Kennedy figured a vague spoiler was justified when she saw how scared Woong looked.
He let out his breath. “Well, I’ve been wondering, you know, even though of course she’s just a girl in a book and not a real kid at all, and I’ve never read a book where a kid actually dies, but I suppose it’s possible, don’t you think? And then I figure it’s not really a book I’d wanna read, ’cause don’t most people read so they can think about happy things, not things that really do happen like kids dying?”
Kennedy wondered how much Woong had endured as a street child before he found himself in the South Korean orphanage. Even Carl and Sandy were still piecing together the details of his hard life before he joined their family.
Kennedy opened up The Boxcar Children to where a piece of large, floral-patterned stationary marked off a new chapter. She read the first few sentences. “Does this sound right?” she asked. “Is this where your mom left off last?”
“Uh-huh. I think so.”
She let her mind turn onto autopilot as she began to read.
“Why’s it so cold in here?” Woong asked half a paragraph in.
Kennedy hadn’t noticed anything wrong with the temperature. She pulled a blanket up over Woong. “Here you go.” She started to read again.
“You know what I’m thinking?” he interrupted a few minutes later.
“What?”
“How come they thought their grandfather was so mean? ’Cause they didn’t ever really know him, and I’ve never had a grandfather, least not one that I really remember, but in all the other stories the grandfathers are always nice. Like in the sword-fighting movie my mom doesn’t like, there’s a really nice grandpa in that one. He comes and reads to the little boy when he’s sick even though at first the boy thinks it’s just a kissing book or stuff and nonsense like that. Or there’s that dancing story at Christmastime where the girl gets that funny toy doll thingy, right? And I think it’s her grandfather who gives it to her but I’m not really sure, ’cause, you know, there’s no talking in that one, so unless you already know what it’s about, it’s kinda hard to guess what’s going on, know what I mean?”
Kennedy decided she’d make it through the first page and call it a night. How did Sandy handle these incessant questions all day long? Woong was a sweet kid, really bright. But Kennedy felt like she needed a twelve-hour nap just to recover from his chatter. She finally reached the third paragraph after just as many interruptions when the Lindgrens’ home phone rang. She handed Woong the book. “Save our spot. I’ll go see who that is.” She had expected Carl and Sandy to call her on her cell to say good-night to Woong, but maybe they were calling the house instead.
“Lindgrens’ residence,” she answered.
“Hi, is this Woong’s mother?”
Kennedy didn’t recognize the worried voice on the other line.
“No, this is ...” She hesitated. Two years on her own and thousands of miles away from home, and she still couldn’t get over her dad’s paranoia about admitting when she was in a house by herself. “This is Kennedy, a friend of the family.”
“I see. Is Mrs. Lindgren there?”
“I’m afraid she’s unavailable right now. Can I take a message?”
“Maybe. This is Margot Linklater. My daughter Becky goes to school with Woong?”
“Oh, right.” Kennedy hoped Woong hadn’t gotten into trouble in the classroom.
“I’m calling to get more details of what happened in school today?” She ended nearly all her sentences as a question.
Uh-oh. Was Kennedy about to have to step in as referee between a third-grader and an angry mother? “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Their teacher. Mrs. Winifred. My Becky tells me she nearly fainted in class.”
Kennedy paused. “Woong said something to me about her leaving early, but I don’t think he mentioned fainting.”
Mrs. Linklater’s voice lowered. “I’m just wondering if the school is giving us all the details.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, my Becky was very concerned. She said Mrs. Winifred was so sick she couldn’t stand up. And it came on so suddenly. And according to another family, Mrs. Winifred had a fever ...” She left the thought unfinished.
“Are you worried about Nipah virus?” Kennedy asked, hoping she didn’t sound too incredulous.
“Aren’t we all?”
Apparently so.
“I’m sure we would have heard if it was something that serious.” Kennedy strained her ears, trying to hear if Woong was making any noise from the other end of the hall.
“That’s what I’m saying,” Mrs. Linklater went on. “Worst-case scenario, if their teacher was that sick and got herself to the hospital today, it’s still at least a full day or two before they’d get back any reports from the CDC, and then who knows how many kids may have been exposed, or heaven forbid actually infected?”
Kennedy wanted to say there was nothing at all to worry about, but what did she know? She lived most of her life with her head buried in her studies. If it hadn’t been for her dad’s constant text updates, she’d have no idea how far the Nipah virus had spread already or how many people were as worried as Mrs. Linklater.
“I don’t want to overstep my place,” she said, “but you might want to let Mrs. Lindgren know that several of us are going to be pulling our kids out for the next few days until we get some clearer answers of what’s going on. You know, they’ve closed several schools in New York already.”
No, she didn’t know that. She was surprised her dad hadn’t texted to tell her.
“Ok, I’ll pass that on.” She took a breath, thankful that it wasn’t too choppy. A major panic attack while she was home alone with Woong was the last thing anybody needed.
“Tell Mrs. Lindgren she’s welcome to call me if she has any questions, all right? She’s got my number.”
“Ok, thank you so much. I’ll pass that on.”
“I’m sorry to bother you so late. I’m sure Woong is dead to the world by now. I hope the phone ringing didn’t wake him.”
“No, don’t worry about that.” Kennedy had no idea how many other students at Medford Academy were dead to the world by 9:15, but Woong Lindgren certainly wasn’t one of them. She thanked Mrs. Linklater for the call and hung up.
“Was that my parents?” Woong asked when Kennedy returned to his room. He was sitting up in bed, flipping ahead in The Boxcar Children.
“No, but they’ll call as soon as intermission starts.”
“What’s intermission?”
“The part in the middle of the show they’re at where they all take a break.”
“You mean like halftime?”
“Yeah, like halftime. Want to keep reading until they call?”
He pouted in thought. “Ok. But you’re sure Violet’s gonna be ok?”
“I’m sure. I read that book like ten times or more when I was your age. She’ll be just fine.”
He let out his breath. “Good. ’Cause I seen people with the sickness, and trust me, it’s not something you read about right before you go to bed. ’Least not if you don’t want nightmares.”