“Get in,” Yoon Jae calls.
Sophie and I climb into the van to find Tae Hwa behind the wheel, Yoon Jae riding shotgun, and Jason in the middle row. Sophie slides in beside her brother, and I sit in the back row.
“I thought the driver was going to come get us,” Sophie says.
“Tae Hwa wanted to drive,” Yoon Jae throws over his shoulder.
Sophie turns around and says to me with mock seriousness, “You had better put your seat belt on, Grace. Tae Hwa isn’t known for his driving skills.”
She laughs, but I search for a seat belt anyway, then realize nobody wears seat belts here unless they’re on the highway. I can’t find one anyway, so I shrug off any worries.
We rocket down the bumpy street, Tae Hwa weaving around bikes and motorcycles so close I fear we’re going to run them off the road. I can’t watch him almost squish pedestrians, so I peer out the window at the splattering of buildings we pass as we head into the town, which is built into the hillside that slopes down to the sea below.
We cross a bridge that stretches across the ocean, circle a roundabout, and turn off onto a side street that sports a myriad of tiny restaurants and tea shops closed for the night.
Tae Hwa pulls up to a weather-beaten white building, and we all pile out of the van. I look up at the three-story hotel with uncertainty. A breeze catches my hair and brings a scent of saltwater and old fish. A stray dog runs past us, yelping at the heels of a screeching cat, and a woman babbles in Korean at the top of her lungs in the restaurant still open next door. I glance in the alley beside the hotel. Are those … chickens?
I’m definitely not in Nashville anymore.
The boys already checked us in, so we follow them up the mountain that is the staircase. Yoon Jae takes the duffel from my hands and throws it over his shoulder, teetering under its weight.
Our room’s on the third floor. Yoon Jae fishes in the pocket of his too-tight jeans and pulls out a key, which he uses to open the door for us. I find two twin-size beds.
I drop my backpack onto the bed nearest the door, then push open the sliding glass door and step out onto the stone terrace, which grants a view of the ocean below. Gorgeous during the day, I’m sure.
The balcony’s larger than I would have expected. I then realize it’s shared with the room next door.
Jason steps up beside me and rests his elbows on the railing. The wind tosses his dark hair, and my stomach somersaults.
“I hope that’s y’all’s room.” I point to the other glass door.
He nods.
“Well, at least I don’t have to worry about some strange man breaking into our room and kidnapping us.” I infuse my voice with mock seriousness. “But those Koreans boys—I just don’t trust ’em. Maybe I should sleep with some pepper spray or something.”
He doesn’t respond to the jab, though I didn’t expect him to—this is Jason we’re talking about. My brain buzzes with sudden jitters, a dozen small-talk starters falling flat even in my head. With his shoulder only a few inches from mine, I can’t help but think back to the night of his birthday. I’m dying to know if he remembers, and if he does, what he thinks about it. I should have asked earlier, but I don’t want to upset Sophie again. Still, I need to know.
Sophie’s, Yoon Jae’s, and Tae Hwa’s voices drift to us through the open door, but they fade away and eventually cut off with a slam of the door. I glance over my shoulder and see that they’ve left me and Jason alone. I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. The distance between our shoulders now seems much smaller.
He keeps silent, posture completely relaxed. Obviously, I’m the only one sweating bullets here, and I don’t think it has anything to do with the heat. I clear my throat.
“I need to ask you a question,” I start.
“Hmm?”
“It’s about your birthday.”
His shoulders tense. “What about it?”
“Do you … remember anything?”
He hesitates a long moment, staring down at his clasped hands on the balcony railing. “Why do you want to know?”
I clench my jaw. He’s going to make me work for this. “Because I just do.”
“I don’t see how it has anything to do with you.”
“You’re my friend. I’m pretty sure it’s my business whether or not you have any memory of being so wasted you passed out on my shoulder on the ride home from the bar.”
He pulls in a sharp breath, so quiet I can hardly hear it. But he responds with, “Who says we’re friends?”
I snort. “Don’t pull that. You can say whatever you want, but I think we’ve known each other long enough to be past the acquaintance stage. Plus, I’m helping you out with your song, remember? And you’re my Korean tutor. We’re friends. We’ve been over this already.”
He doesn’t argue, and that speaks louder than his former protest.
“So are you going to tell me or not?” My stomach twists. “Do you remember what happened?”
Turning his head, he gazes at me with those dark, somber eyes. I search them for any emotion, but it’s too dark to see more than the general outline of his irises. Still, my pulse kicks into high gear just being under his scrutiny.
“I—” His voice breaks off. “I don’t remember anything.”
I wait for the surge of relief, but it doesn’t come. I should be happy he doesn’t remember us dancing, our bodies rocking back and forth to the music, close enough that my mother would have raised her eyebrows at me. But, instead, I find myself a little disappointed.
“Oh,” I mumble.
“Is that good or bad?” he asks.
I shrug. “Neither. I was just curious.”
But I have to swallow the tightness in my throat.
“I wrote the words to the chorus of our song. Do you want to hear it?” He pushes away from the railing and doesn’t wait for my answer before he goes into his room.
I blink back the stinging in my eyes, but I can’t help smiling. He called it our song. And, you know, I guess that’s what it is.