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to think?”
    â€œI don’t know. Something.”
    She looks at me. “Sam, it doesn’t matter what I think. It’s not like you care. Do what you want.” And she starts closing the door.
    â€œIndi! Come on. Of course I care. You’re my best friend. Aren’t you?”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?” she asks.
    I don’t know what to say, but I have to say something. I go with, “Huh?”
    She does an eye roll. “Are you stupid or what?”
    â€œI guess I’m stupid.”
    â€œToo right, you’re stupid!” she says. “Anyone with half a brain would know they owe me an apology.”
    â€œI owe you an apology?”
    Now Indi doesn’t know what to say.Or at least I hope that’s why she doesn’t say anything. She just glares. I think fast. “Kidding! You know I’m sorry.”
    â€œOh really? For what?” I recognize that look on her face. It’s the one that says,
Go ahead. Just try it. And it better be good!
Scary.
    â€œFor...for messing up the paint.”
    â€œWrong answer!” The door slams shut.
    I stand there, staring at the door for a minute. Then I yell, “And I’m sorry for being a guy who doesn’t know what you’re talking about!”
    Mr. Bains opens the door. “Samuel?” he says.
    â€œYes, Mr. Bains,” I say.
    â€œYou should go now.”
    I nod. “Okay.”
    Then he adds, “And in my opinion, nobody knows what these girls are talking about at times like this. Not even them.”
    Before the door closes again, I hear Indi shriek, “Dad!”
    Mr. Bains can be an all right guy.There are tall white walls around the Dr. Sun Yat Sen gardens. I pause before going through the gate. I’m still not sure I want to be here, but it seems like the smartest move. I have this bad feeling that if I ignore Grandpa Max’s letter it’ll keep bugging me. Sometimes it’s just easier to deal with things—especially when those things are like slivers festering under your skin.
    I walk in and look around. The pond is easy enough to spot; it’s right there, shiny in the spring sun. It’s only when I walk up to the edge that I notice gravel paths curving off in several directions, winding between flowery shrubs. Quite a few people are wandering around, but I don’t see anyone wearing a plaid cap. A tall Chinese pagoda stands on one side of the pond, and opposite that is another wall with a round gate set into a bridge. It looks pretty cool, like something out of a movie.
    The first path I try comes to a doorway leading into a little office. I learn they charge a fee to visit that part of the garden,so I turn and head back the other way. I find benches set here and there near the pond, but none of them hold anyone that looks like Henry Chan. Maybe it would be easier to find the turtles? I position myself on a bridge and watch the water. Orange and white fish flash beneath the surface, and a Canada goose cruises by. When I spot a turtle, only the knob of his head sticks out of the water. I keep watching as he glides toward a large flat rock. Two other turtles are already parked on the rock, and the swimmer decides to join them. His neck comes straining out from his shell as he plants two front feet on the rock and starts climbing. You’d think he was taking on a mountain, the way he has to work for that rock. When he finally makes it, I feel like someone should give him a medal. Then I look up and meet the gaze of an old guy wearing large glasses and a plaid cap. Was he sitting right there the whole time?
    â€œUm, excuse me,” I say. “Are you Henry Chan?”
    He nods. “And you are Samuel Connor.” It isn’t a question.
    â€œYeah, that’s me. My grandfather told me to meet you here.”
    â€œIt’s about time you showed up. What took you so long?” he asks.
    â€œPardon me?”
    â€œNever mind.