Flying the Dragon by Natalie Dias Lorenzi Page B

accident.”
    Skye shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s broken.”
    “I’ve never met a kite your grandfather couldn’t fix.”
    “But Hiroshi thinks it’s broken for good—I could tell.”
    “Nothing’s ever broken for good. Come.” He led Skye to the stove. He stirred the pot, then held the wooden spoon out, one hand cradled underneath to catch the drips. “Here, taste.”
    Skye blew on the clear liquid then took a sip. Her eyes stung. “Wow—spicy. What is it?”
    Her dad grinned. “I knew you’d like it. It’s too spicy for your mother, so I’ve made a milder version for her.” He pointed the wooden spoon at a smaller pot bubbling away on a back burner. “
Negi shio
soup.”
    Skye had never been a fan of seaweed. She leaned forward and peeked into the pot. Black-green strips churned in the boiling water. Maybe she could just eat the broth and leave the seaweed.
    “Dad?”
    “Mmm.” He was staring into the pot, stirring and sniffing.
    “Can I ask you something?”
    “Of course.”
    “Where’d you and mom get my name?”
    His spoon kept moving. “What, honey?”
    “Sorano. My name. Why did you choose it?”
    Her dad smiled. He turned down the heat to simmer and put a lid on the pot, leaving a crack for steam to escape. Then he wiped his hands and leaned against the counter. “Did Grandfather tell you the story?”
    Skye shook her head. “He told me Grandmother’s hawk kite story.”
    Her dad laughed. “He must have told that one a million times.”
    “It sounds like she was pretty smart.”
    Skye’s dad nodded. “She was. You would have loved her, and she would have loved you.”
    “So how could you just leave them and never go back to Japan?”
    Her dad sighed. “It’s complicated, Skye.”
    “That’s what you always say. Either that or you tell me it’s something I’ll understand when I’m grown up. Well, I’m not a little kid anymore, Dad. And I want to know.”
    He shut off the heat under the soup, and slid the lid completely over the top with a clank. “Let’s have a seat.” She followed him to the kitchen table.
    “First of all, your name.”
    Skye rested her chin in one hand.
    “Your mother and I decided on
Sorano
as soon as we found out we were expecting a girl. It was your mother who first suggested it, actually.”
    “Mom didn’t want me to have an American name?”
    Her dad shook his head. “She was adamant that you have a Japanese name. By that point we knew that our life was here, and she didn’t want you to forget your Japanese side.”
    My Japanese side. Until a few weeks ago, Skye had never thought of herself as having a Japanese side.
    “You already know Sorano means
of the sky,
” her dad said.
    Skye nodded—then stopped, as something suddenly clicked. “The kites. You named me Sorano because of the kites, didn’t you?”
    Her dad chuckled. “You come from a long line of kite fliers, makers, and fighters.”
    Skye smiled. “Grandfather, of course. And Grandmother.”
    “And I, too, learned
rokkaku
from my father.” Her dad’s eyes looked like they were focused on something from a long time ago. “So did my brothers. I even taught your mom a thing or two about kites.” He smiled.
    “So my name makes sense now.”
    Her dad nodded. “Your mother said that your name would be one way of passing on your family history.”
    Skye remembered the day she had announced that she wanted to change her name. Her dad had chaperoned their first-grade class trip to the zoo and had spoken to her in Japanese the whole time. When the other kids overheard, they kept asking her what she was (American), where she came from (America), and how come she spoke Chinese (it’s not Chinese; it’s Japanese). Then Josh Nesbit had said, “If you’re not Japanese, why do you have such a weird name?”
    From that moment on, Skye became her American name. Her real name.
    Now Skye’s dad was studying her, as if reading her thoughts. “Your mother was crushed when