“The process that gave my family these human forms. We could perform that process on you. We could reduce your height, change your voice. It would not be a projection. It would be real. And you would still be you, just altered.”

Katrina felt her blood whoosh in her skull. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Katrina steadied herself. It wasn’t what Shirley had said—it was the suddenness of the offer. In fact, Katrina had thought of it from the moment she realized Shirley’s family had altered their forms.

“Wouldn’t you be breaking some sort of non-interference oath?” Katrina managed to ask.

Shirley nodded. “I suppose, but … had my mother obeyed such rules … I would not be here,” she said.

Katrina took a deep breath. Then she looked at her hands.

“Shirley, thank you. Thank you so much. But if I change my body now, I would need to relearn the violin.”

“But—”

“It’s more than my hands. It’s my body. Everything it’s been through, everything it’s felt. It’s all become part of the way I play. Sure, it’s not perfect, but it’s mine. That’s good, isn’t it?

“Besides, I’m already a girl.”

Shirley nodded. Of course. What could she have been thinking? To even suggest something like that to Katrina—Shirley of all people should have known that what matters is not the body, but who inhabits it.

“But, Shirley, could you do me a favor?” Katrina asked.

“Yes?”

“Ask me again next year. Before summer,” Katrina said. “When the new swimsuits go on sale at the mall.”

33

Lan arrived at Shizuka’s house. Shizuka had her coat on and was waiting outside.

“I’m sorry to bother you so suddenly,” Lan said as they drove down the hill.

“It’s fine. Katrina is working with Astrid. But you wanted to talk to me—about music?”

Lan nodded. “Sorry that it’s a little late to go to the park.”

“That’s okay. I know where we can find even nicer ducks.”

Lan followed Shizuka’s directions and parked her car. There, in the window, they were. Ducks.

Dripping fat and hanging from stainless steel hooks.

Lan followed Shizuka inside Sam Woo BBQ, where they were quickly given a table, hot tea, and menus. The smell of the place was amazing. There were Chinese families, Mexican office workers, two Black secretaries on break from LA County Housing down the street. There was the obligatory Asian woman with her white boyfriend.

Through them all wove two older waiters. Yes. They were waiters, not servers. These were people who had been here for years, who saw this as a profession, not a vocation.

Lan noticed that people often stopped and stared when the Queen of Hell entered her donut shop. But here at Sam Woo BBQ, no one even glanced up from their noodles.

“I’ve been coming here since I was a child,” Shizuka said.