Goodman

As a time traveler, he knew he had to follow certain iron rules: keep his secret, plan carefully, and act only when ready. Two days later, Song Ya felt he'd done just about everything he could with his current abilities. So, with the whole family gathered for dinner, he put his plan into action. "I need money," he said bluntly.

"How much?" Aunt Susie handed Little Freddy to Connie and took out her wallet.

"About seventy to a hundred dollars," Song Ya replied.

The clatter of silverware and the sound of chewing stopped at once. Everyone turned to look at him.

"I'll pay it back, with interest," he added.

"Damn it!"

A few seconds later, Aunt Susie caught on and flew into a rage. "You got someone pregnant?!"

"What on earth are you talking about?" Song Ya was speechless.

"Him? No way." Connie loved going against her mother, but she saw things from a different angle. "The girls at school don't even look at him."

Uh... Forget it. Song Ya didn't want to explain his "invisible man" strategy to her. He just felt a little stung.

"Why? Ya Li's not bad-looking." Aunt Susie's attention had been sidetracked again. "Yesterday, I ran into one of his teachers. She really likes Ya Li and said his grades have been improving fast..."

"You're not planning to pull something, are you?!"

Tony, who'd been silent until then, suddenly remembered something and cut in. "You've been asking about Little Lowry, Al, AK, and record companies these past couple of days..." He fixed his eyes on Song Ya. "I'm warning you, don't get any bad ideas!"

"Do I look like that kind of person?"

Song Ya didn't plan to come clean to Tony just yet. "Tomorrow night, I'll have a proper talk with you."

"We do need to have a proper talk. You've been acting really strange lately. Really strange..."

Tony had shared a room with Alexander Song since they were kids, so he knew him better than anyone. Naturally, he'd noticed the changes in Song Ya's behavior, personality, and way of thinking since the time traveler took over. For days, he'd been going on about how strange he was acting. He couldn't explain exactly what was wrong, though, and it was starting to drive him a little crazy.

"Sweetheart, what do you need the money for?" Aunt Susie asked with concern.

Song Ya gave her the reason he'd carefully prepared. "Uh... I need some legal help. You know how expensive lawyers are..."

"Did you really get someone pregnant?"

His words had caused some "confusion." Now even Connie wasn't sure. "You're not planning to get married because of a baby, are you?! Don't believe those bitches' lies. You know how they are—they might just be looking for someone to take the fall. The baby might not even be yours, or she might not know which of several guys is the father..."

Song Ya was speechless.

"Oh my God, shut up!"

Aunt Susie stood up. "You're seventeen and you know all that? Aren't you ashamed? I'm M-FXXXing ashamed for you!" She headed upstairs, and a moment later, he heard a lock click. She'd probably gone to get the money from wherever she kept it.

"She's barely ever given me pocket money when I've asked, never mind that much," Tony grumbled.

"Ya Li gets good grades," Connie said, deliberately needling him. "Have you ever ranked first in your whole grade? Have you ever gotten an A+?"

"Wow, is Ya Li really that amazing?" Emily, still in elementary school, had a fairly normal view of the world.

"Hmph, don't forget, I'm the one bringing money into this family now!" Tony said sourly, pursing his lips. "Emily..." He pitched his voice high. "Do you like that tutu?"

"I do." That day, Emily had gotten her wish and brought home the tutu from the Thrift Shop.

"So who helped earn the money you used to buy it?" Tony asked.

Emily thought for a moment. "You." Then she added, "But I got tired from dancing, too."

Connie burst out laughing.

"Here." As they spoke, Aunt Susie came downstairs and tossed a rubber-banded roll of bills in front of Song Ya.

"Thank you."

Song Ya ran his fingers over the neatly rolled bills, a mixture of large and small denominations, bound tightly with a rubber band. "I should be able to pay you back before long, interest included."

"You should show your gratitude properly, too."

Aunt Susie turned her cheek toward him. "It's been a long time since you kissed me."

All right. Song Ya knew this was a normal way for people in other countries to show affection, and Aunt Susie really was good to him. "Thank you, Aunt Susie." He hugged her and gave her a peck on each cheek.

The next day, Song Ya got up very early and took care to make himself look presentable. His self-trimmed short hair was neat and fresh. He wore a dark turtleneck, light-colored jeans and sneakers that he'd washed especially clean, and a plaid blazer he'd picked up at the Thrift Shop for $9.90. Cheap new suits these days often came with thick shoulder pads, and Song Ya preferred this older style.

He gathered up a stack of handwritten sheet music, a notebook, and some useful newspaper clippings, then packed them into a secondhand canvas briefcase. Aside from the change he'd need for the ride, he stuffed all his bills into his socks and tucked them under his feet. He had no choice—the chances of getting mugged around here were high, especially dressed as conspicuously as he was.

Nobody else at home was up yet. He took a cold slice of pie from the cupboard and ate it as he walked out the door.

First he took a bus, then transferred between two subway lines, and finally walked a stretch after getting off. That brought him to his destination, Clark Street.

Connie had probably called the school to say he'd be absent by now, right?

He was the kind of person who liked to do things step by step, so he especially enjoyed how things felt now. Ever since that revelation, he'd had the confidence of a time traveler. All that remained was to put in the work.

Of course, finding the right direction was especially important, too.

He took a newspaper clipping from his bag and followed the address printed on it.

More and more of the people passing by had black hair and yellow skin. That was right—this was Chicago's Chinatown.

The Black residents of the South Side slums never had much good to say about lawyers. They weren't even fond of Black lawyers, so Song Ya figured he might as well find a Chinese lawyer to consult. He could also stroll around Chinatown and brush up on his Chinese. Of course, the main reason was that this was the cheapest place he could find: thirty-five dollars for an hour of consultation.

But he hadn't realized that most of the people here spoke Cantonese. Even English wasn't much help when he asked for directions. After wandering around for quite a while, he finally reached the building at the address on the clipping.

"This is it?"

The place was nothing like the towering glass-fronted buildings in the financial district he'd imagined. It was just an ordinary old commercial building.

"Never mind. I'm here now, so I might as well go in."

He muttered to himself, rode the antique elevator with its barred gate up to the fourth floor, and finally arrived at his destination: Goodman Law Firm.

He took off his shoes, pulled the money from his socks and tucked it into his pocket, straightened his clothes, and pressed the doorbell.

"Who is it?" a man inside called.

"Alexander Song. I made an appointment over the phone yesterday," Song Ya replied.

A bleary-eyed white man opened the door. "You know what I charge, right?" he asked as he ushered Song Ya inside.

"This is a law firm?"

Song Ya stared in surprise at the tiny office before him: a desk, two chairs, and a row of filing cabinets. That was it.

The white man, in his thirties and balding a little, sat down behind the desk and pointed to two certificates on the wall. "That's right. I'm Goodman—Goodman. Have a seat. You said on the phone yesterday that you had some concerns about copyright, right? Let's get started, and not waste either of our time."

Song Ya had a feeling Goodman was afraid he'd turn around and walk out, costing him a client.

He glanced at the certificates on the wall. They seemed fine, so he went ahead and asked, "Can I ask you something, if you don't mind? Why did you set up your law firm here?"

"There's business here. Chinese people don't like using their own when they're dealing with divorce or inheritance cases," Goodman replied.

Hmm, that made some sense. "But I have a copyright issue..." Song Ya asked.

"I know copyright law, too!" Goodman said impatiently. He pulled out a small timer and slapped it down on the desk. "The clock's running."