I wake up early the next morning and head to the mailbox. There's another letter from Sulli.

You are so lucky not to be here. Three ty girls snuck out of camp to go to a bar in town, but they got caught, so for the next week we're all paying the price. Lights out at nine, can you believe that? Otherwise, it's unbearably hot and weirdo Jaeho is playing games or something. Suddenly he's pretending that he doesn't want to hook up anybody. I secretly think he likes this new girl in the next bunk. how totally sleazy is that?

I read the letter and am surprised to be happy not to be a part of the group scene with the counselor police herding me from one activity to another. I don't have to answer to anyone here, expect Irene, and she's not a control freak.

I place the letter in my pocket and head outside. The air is cooler and there's a light breeze. It's a perfect day to bike. I pedal slower than usual on my way to the hospital. There are wildflowers growing along the road and I hop off my bike to pick some, binding the stems together with the rubber band from my hair. On my way to Pediatrics I pass the church and stop. It can't hurt. Then I'll look for Tae. Whatever happens, I'll be strong an d live with it. Maybe there is some higher plan, something we don't see or understand. It's all how you let yourself see things in life and react to them, Irene says. It's about the words and feelings you attach to things that determine how you think about them and the effect they have on you. She's smart. She might be right.

After a few minutes in the church I go out into the brightness and walk the three flights of stairs. He won't be in the ICU anymore, I tell myself. He'll be back upstairs, completely better because I made it so - I put the idea out there to draw positive energy.

The scent of food is the first thing that reaches me when I open the door. The dietitian is serving food. I scoot past a woman carrying a tray with a white plastic cover over a plate. Roast chicken. The other smell I pick up, like a dog, is mac and cheese - the all-time favorite for children.

I approach Tae's old room first. The door is closed. I hesitate. Am I intruding? I knock softly and wait. No answer. Slowly I push it open.

My heart starts to pound.

There's no one at the nurses' station, so I run for the stairs. He's still in the ICU. Where else could he be? What was I thinking? I shouldn't be in the ICU - you have to be someone's relative to be let in - but I don't care. I run down the stairs and don't stop. When I go to the exit door and open it, the hallway is dark. Something's wrong. Where am I? I look up at the wall. B for basement. I'm too far down. Man, is it the morgue? Out of breath, I go running back up to the first floor. My mouth feels dry and pasty; drums pound in my skull.

I approach the double doors and look through the glass windows. There are half a dozen beds, one next to the other in a semi-circle. I look around the room. Some of the beds are hidden behind white curtains. An old woman is getting a blood transfusion. I get a sick feeling as I look at the plastic bag of maroon-color liquid hanging next to her bed, a pillow of blood dangling from a steel IV pole. A rubber tube coated red runs into her arm. Other patients are sleeping, or unconscious. How can they tell?

I walk up to one of the nurses. She's writing in a patient's chart, the equivalent of the medical bibliography. She looks up at me finally. Why are you here? her eyes say.

"I'm looking for a little boy, he's about seven." I pause to catch my breath. "Tae. His name is Kim Taehyung. He was here yesterday."

She shakes her head. "We don't have children in here. Did you try the Pediatric ICU?

"I . . . I didn't know there was a separate one."

She points outside. "First room on the left."

I feel stupid for not knowing. I walk down the hall and see a sign above the door. The Pediatric ICU is smeller, only four beds. There are children in two of them The other two are empty. I ask the nurse at the desk about Tae.

"I just started my shift," she says. "Let me check." She goes to her computer and types away, switching screens. it's a small hospital; why so complicated?

She looks up at me finally. "Transferred this morning."

"So he's better?"

"I guess."

I run out the door and go back to the elevator, leaning back against the wall out of breath, almost faint. I lean over so blood runs to my head and I don't pass out. As the doors open I quickly stand up straight, taking deep breaths, trying to act normal. At the nurses' station I see a face I don't recognize.

"Kim Taehyung?"

"Room 12-30."