Big Brother,
It may seem hard to believe, but I’m actually sort of transitioning into life here in Korea, although I do miss sweet tea and Southern boys who hold doors open for you.
I haven’t gotten up the courage to email or call Momma yet. Every time I think about her, I remember seeing the judgment in her eyes, and I know. I know she blames me for everything. And maybe that shouldn’t bother me because I know you don’t think that. But it hurts, anyway.
I go to bed remembering all three of us—me, you, and Jane—camping out in the backyard and listening to Brad Paisley and Garth Brooks, and you saying you wanted to be like them one day. Well, you did it. You made your dreams real. I guess that’s how we justify it all in our heads, that your success was worth the price.
I miss you. More than anyone else in the family, I miss you the most. (Don’t tell anybody I said that, especially Jane!)
You’d be proud of your little sis, making her way in the big, bad Real World. I don’t have anything left to say except this: I think about you every day, for better or worse. And I don’t think I’ll ever forget what happened.
But for now, I’ll sign off with
From Korea, with love,
Grace
I inch my way down the food line, searching the vats before me for something that resembles macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, or pizza. It surprises me what foods I crave when all I get is unfamiliar dishes. The Korean food I’ve tried has been good, but it’s not what I’m used to, and sometimes, I just want something familiar.
With a sigh, I opt for some sort of beef dish.
I scan the lunchroom and find an empty table in the corner. Even after all these weeks, I’ve yet to find friends outside Sophie’s social circle. Call me antisocial, but in my defense, it’s hard to make friends with people who refuse to speak your language outside the classroom.
I feel again for the book I stashed in my purse. Normally, I hide in the library with my latest snack from the 7-Eleven down the street, but I couldn’t wait until dinner for a real meal today. Korean class took a lot out of me. Who knew forcibly holding on to any shred of patience I have while Jason studiously ignores me would take so much effort?
After wrestling with my chopsticks, I get into a rhythm and manage to prop up my book and stuff rice into my mouth at the same time. But I’m only sitting here a few minutes before another plate clangs against the table in front of mine.
I look up with a start and see Yoon Jae sliding onto the bench across from me.
“Hey!” I cry, and relief floods me.
He grins. “You looked lonely.”
“Well, you know, it’s hard to strike up a conversation with someone when everybody speaks a different language.” I laugh, but my heart pricks all the same. “I didn’t know you had lunch at this time.”
Sophie doesn’t—she added an extra study period—and both Jason and Tae Hwa work on their music. I assumed Yoon Jae was always with them.
“Usually, I eat outside. I’ve never seen you in here, either, or I would have sat with you.” He points to my book. “What are you reading?”
I hold up the novel I brought from home. “My sister gave it to me before I left. Romance novel.” I roll my eyes. “Stupid, right?”
“Why is it stupid if you like it?”
I have nothing to say to this.
He takes a bite of cabbage with red sauce. “What’s your sister’s name? Is she very much like you?”
“Her name’s Jane and, no, we’re not alike at all. She’s two years younger than me. She’s a lot sportier and better at foreign languages.” Pain swells in my chest, thinking about her. “She would love you.”
“Me?”
A laugh escapes my lips. “Yeah, you. She would think you’re hot.”
His forehead crinkles in confusion. “‘Hot’?”
“It means good-looking.”
“Oh.” He laughs, but not in an arrogant way. Like he knows he’s attractive but doesn’t put too much stock in it. And I can’t help finding that confidence kind of hot in its own way.
We eat in silence a moment before he says, “Do you want to go to the music room with me after classes are over? I’m working on a song Jason wrote, and I want someone else’s opinion.”
“You’re working alone?”
“He already finished everything, but he wants me to practice my part. There’s something wrong about the way I’m playing it, but I’m not sure what. It just doesn’t sound right.”
“And what do you want me to do?”
He shrugs. “Any suggestions would help.”
We finish lunch, put away our dishes, then part ways outside to go to our classes. After school, we meet up in front of the dining hall, and he shows me to the music and performing arts building, which I haven’t ventured into yet. I’ve kept a big distance from it because it reminds me too much of my past, too much of what I left behind.
But when we enter, a sense of rightness, of wholeness, washes over me, so strong that it nearly steals my breath. Snippets of music drift down the halls—a splice of a melody on the piano, a girl practicing vocal scales. A smile appears unbidden on my face, and I can’t squelch it, no matter how hard I try. It’s been a long time since I surrounded myself with creativity.
Yoon Jae takes me into a practice room with full band equipment already set up. This must be where Jason and Tae Hwa hang out during lunch. Their manager probably negotiated the private room—that’s what Nathan’s would have done.
“Can you read music?” Yoon Jae holds up a few pages of sheet music.
I take them from him, skimming the bars with a critical eye. It’s a pretty traditional pop song, nothing special, except for the chord progression in the chorus. The sounds reverberate inside my head, and I’ve got to admit it’s pretty outstanding.
“Jason wrote this?” I ask, and Yoon Jae nods.
Maybe Jason has some talent, after all.