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Kennedy stared at the glowing red numbers on the guest room clock for four full minutes before she realized it was ten at night, not morning. Well, at least it wasn’t morning in Medford, Massachusetts. Try telling that to her circadian rhythm, which still thought she was living on the opposite side of the world.
She stared out the window, making out vague outlines lit by distant streetlights. This was ridiculous. She had only come in here to read a little bit and give Carl and the senator a chance to talk in private. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Now it would take that much longer to wrangle her sleep schedule back to East Coast time.
Who wakes up at 10:16 at night? She counted back. Eight hours of sleep, almost to the minute. Her body mocked her with its stubborn adherence to China time. No problem if she were still in Yanji. No problem if she didn’t have three days now to adjust to life in the western hemisphere before jumping headfirst into her second year of undergrad studies.
She had enjoyed her summer so much. Enjoyed the break from school, enjoyed the chance to finally relax. Joking with her dad. Evenings spent watching those stupid cop shows or campy action movies together. Shopping sprees with her mom. Reading for hours in the hammock in her parents’ garden. Three home-cooked meals a day. No papers to turn in, lab reports to write up. She emailed Reuben every morning and sometimes didn’t log onto her computer for the rest of the day.
Summer had flown by. She wasn’t ready for school to start again. Grueling hours in the lab. Midnight snacking on Cheerios and Craisins because she was too busy to eat a real dinner in the cafeteria. If you could call anything the student union served real.
Summer in Yanji had been so stress-free. So uncomplicated. Just Kennedy, her family, her books. Lots of Shakespeare. She had never developed much appreciation for his sonnets but knew she should study up on them for her upcoming class. She still couldn’t say she was a fan, but she felt the sonnets somehow added to his plays, as if in some ways she had gotten to know the bard better through his poetry, which made his drama that much richer.
Now, she frowned at the starless sky. It was stupid to try to get back to sleep. As far as her hypothalamus knew, it was the start of a brand new day. Her stomach was ready for some of her mom’s buttery biscuits, maybe a fresh egg or two. And some fruit. The produce in the Yanji markets would have made most Cambridge residents drool from envy. Dragon fruit, mangoes, passion fruit, it was all there. All fresh and relatively cheap. She had lost five pounds last spring semester but gained it all back with interest in a month thanks to her mom’s cooking back home.
Home? Whatever that meant. She didn’t even know what to tell that French businessman on the airplane when he asked her where she was from. Ten years in Manhattan as a child, but she spent huge chunks of time at her grandma’s in upstate New York. Eight years in Yanji, China, where she grew conversational in Korean instead of Mandarin because of her parents’ ministry to North Korean refugees. And then a year in Cambridge, where other than Reuben and the Lindgrens the only real friend she made was her roommate Willow, a free-living neo-hippy from Never-Heard-of-It, Alaska.
Where was Kennedy from? Little bits of here, little bits of there, but never truly at home anywhere. The Lindgrens’ had felt like home the times she stayed here last year, except now she was obviously out of place. What kind of houseguest goes to sleep at two in the afternoon and wakes up perfectly alert at ten? Her body seemed convinced it was time to jump out of bed and help her dad weed out junk mail at his office or walk the markets with her mom, shopping for ingredients for a huge fresh salad for breakfast.
Breakfast? Yeah, her body was ready for that, too. She glanced at her cell phone. Reuben would probably be waking up right about now. It would be good to hear how he was doing. Let him know she’d arrived here safely. He’d be starting his classes at Nairobi University next week. They would both be busy. What would happen to their relationship then?
She heard a noise coming from the kitchen and figured that if the Lindgrens were still awake, she’d grab a quick snack now instead of bothering the entire house later as they were getting ready to fall asleep. She hadn’t even changed out of her traveling clothes. That would be the next step after breakfast: shower and change. She didn’t know what it was, but something about flying always made her feel grungy and gross. Of course, that could just as easily be explained by the fact that she’d worn the same clothes for the past day and a half, but she was pretty sure there was more to it. Something about sitting in the same seat that thousands of other international commuters had used over the years, next to so many strangers whose personal hygiene habits could only be guessed at. She wished she still had those homeopathic throat lozenges her roommate Willow gave her at the end of last semester. They were supposed to come packed with a plethora of insanely efficient immunity enhancers. Kennedy would be happy for any boost she could get right about now. Who knew how many contagions she had breathed in while she flew around the world?
She crept out of bed and opened the guest room door, making as little noise as possible in case Carl and Sandy really had fallen asleep. She wasn’t sure how heavy of a dozer Woong was either and found herself wondering what it must have been like for Carl and Sandy while they all adjusted to jetlag after they brought him home from Seoul.
The small light in the kitchen pantry was on, and Kennedy recognized Noah Abernathy’s frame bent over a drawer. She wondered what had transpired during her eight-hour beauty nap. So he was staying with the Lindgrens now. Had his dad kicked him out for good? There was something about his posture or maybe the slight heave of his shoulders that made Kennedy stop in the hall. Was he crying?
Maybe she’d wait for that snack. But then again, couldn’t she try to do some good? The Lindgrens were so hospitable, had encouraged so many people. Shouldn’t she try to do the same for a boy who’d just been kicked out of his house? Then again, what did she know about the Abernathys or their family drama? It really wasn’t any of her business, was it? And what in the world did she have in common with a gay teenage boy? She didn’t need to poke her nose around in the Abernathys’ private affairs. She was sure they had enough members of the press and low-scale paparazzi doing that instead.
She had just resolved to go back to her room when something beeped. The sound in the otherwise silent home made her jump. Noah pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. The glow from his screen cast a greenish light throughout the room.
The heaving in his shoulders stopped. He slammed his fist on the counter and muttered, “I’m gonna kill him.”
From somewhere outside, a car door slammed shut. Kennedy started. Noah turned around and stared right at her.