Yoon Jae slips his phone out of his pocket. “Pick up another piece.”
I obey, and he snaps a picture, then twists the phone around so I can see the image. “Now you can show all your friends in America that you ate fish in Korea,” he says.
“Yes!” I pump my fist in the air.
He chuckles, dipping his own food into a small bowl of soy sauce. “You’re funny.”
For some reason, this comment raises a flush to my cheeks and the tips of my ears. But when I look over and see Jason staring at me, the heat that was warming my face turns cold, and I focus my attention back on my food.
Chapter Five
We all exit the restaurant together. We make our way in the direction of the bus station, but we’re on the complete opposite side of town and can’t take back alleys all the way there, so we have to merge back into the more crowded streets. The boys keep their heads down, and Jason goes so far as to slide on a pair of sunglasses, despite the dark.
Sophie leads, as per usual, and Tae Hwa drifts to the front of the group to stand beside her, leaving Yoon Jae, me, and Jason to trail them in awkward silence. I take advantage of the silence to study the Incheon streets and the trendy young people filling them. The boys are all well dressed, with perfectly styled hair, and the girls look like they walked straight out of a fashion catalogue. Watching them pound their skinny butts down the sidewalk in sky-high heels makes me feel very American and very fat.
We try shopping in some of the less-crowded shops, but no one has the energy anymore after the fan mob, especially when other patrons start recognizing the band and pulling out cell phones. When Yoon Jae suggests we head back to the bus station, we all quickly agree.
The station is packed with people. Sophie gets in line at the counter to buy our tickets, and I stand with the boys in an out-of-the-way corner, where they try to keep from being noticed. But no matter where I position myself, I keep getting hit by people walking by, their travel backpacks slamming into my arm or their luggage rolling over my toes.
The crowded space reminds me of the last concert of Nathan’s I attended, of being surrounded by thousands of screaming fans who had paid lots of money just to hear him sing. It was a huge show, and I wanted to experience it like a normal person, albeit front row.
My friend Marcy and I had staked out our spots up front hours before they opened the doors. When the crowds had arrived, we got pressed up against the metal rails for the entire show, but it was so much more fun than standing backstage. I was caught up in the excitement, the enthusiasm of everyone spilling over onto me.
Of course, excitement transformed into terror when Nathan passed out in the middle of the show. That was the first day I realized Nathan’s drug habit could be dangerous, that it could ruin his career and his health.
I shake off the memory, shoving down any feelings it inspires. This isn’t the place for those kinds of thoughts. I can’t afford to dwell on them now, not with this many people around. Not when they could see me lose my grip on my emotions.
Especially since I haven’t talked to Marcy in months. I haven’t talked to any of my friends since the beginning of summer. At some point, their calls and texts and emails stopped—probably when they realized I was never going to answer them.
Sophie returns with our tickets, and we hurry to catch our bus. The only seats left are two together in the front and three along the last row. Sophie slides into the window seat, with Tae Hwa beside her, so Jason, Yoon Jae, and I make our way to the back. Somehow, I end up between them, and I realize too late that I now have to sit beside Jason for two hours.
But Yoon Jae keeps me entertained with stories told in hushed whispers about crazy fans at concerts and the grueling practices their record label put them through when they first signed, including the time Tae Hwa was hospitalized for exhaustion because of Eden’s hard-core schedule. I’m about to ask Yoon Jae how the band formed, when his pocket vibrates, and he pulls out his phone. He checks the number, and his face pales. Throwing me an apologetic smile, he answers in Korean.
I shift my focus out the window, but that requires me to look past Jason, and he might think I’m looking at him, so I turn my head. And see the two girls beside Yoon Jae staring and taking pictures on their phones. They giggle behind their hands, but when I catch their gazes, their expressions harden.
Great. Not again.
I steel myself for another mob, but Jason leans over me and hisses at them in Korean. The girls’ faces pale, but all I can focus on is Jason’s arm leaning against mine and the smell of his cologne coming from his neck, which is embarrassingly close to my face.
The bus pulls over at the next stop, and the girls stand abruptly.
They both fall into bows and mutter, “Jwe song ham ni da,” in unison—I’m sorry—before rushing off the bus.
Yoon Jae’s still jabbering into his phone, leaning away from me, tension thick in his voice, but as the bus turns back into traffic, I turn raised eyebrows on Jason. “What did you just say to them?”
He shrugs. “Just told them to stop staring. They got embarrassed.”
“Uh-huh.” Because politely asking someone to stop staring always inspires them to run away from you at the first opportunity.
We fall into silence, but then he breaks it with, “They were making fun of your dress.”
“My dress?” I glance down at the gauzy fabric I thought complimented my skin tone. “What’s wrong with it?”
He shrugs. “They said it was too long.”
I roll my eyes. “Just because I’m not willing to wear a hemline that’s practically showing off all my goodies, doesn’t make me a prude.”
A half smile appears on his face, and he catches my eye. “They also didn’t like that I was sitting beside an American girl.”
Surprise steals my thoughts for a few seconds before I can ask, “Would they have preferred it if I was Korean?”