I thought senior year was supposed to be easy. Lies. The school doesn’t have the same literature requirements as an American high school, so I don’t have to read Tennyson or Walt Whitman or Fitzgerald, but instead I’m stuck with a multitude of essays on Buddhism, classical Korean poetry, and an entire unit on literature about the Japanese occupation of Korea. Talk about tough.
Sophie goes to tutoring after school, like a lot of the other students, so that leaves me a lot of alone time. I try distracting myself by hanging out with Yoon Jae, but I still worry about what I left back home.
Doesn’t help that I’m getting calls from reporters now, wanting to know if I’m available for interview. The same one keeps leaving messages on my voice mail, really pitching a “front page feature and maybe even a photo shoot.” He wants to hear “your story, told in your words.”
Uh-huh.
More like he wants me to spill something juicy. I emailed Dad about it, hoping he could maybe pull some strings and get the reporter’s editor to call the guy off, but in typical Dad fashion, he didn’t answer.
And even though I’m beginning to wonder if school in Korea is harder than in America, I’m grateful not to still be in Tennessee. At home. With the press hovering and the awkwardness with Momma—and Dad ignoring us all the time. That reporter might have scrounged up my cell number, but at least he doesn’t know what school I’m attending in South Korea.
Jason and I finish up his song for the TV drama right before the deadline, although he refuses to let me listen to the finished product.
“You can wait and hear it air on TV,” he says when I pester him about it in class.
I give up asking him about it as November passes much like October did, but I can’t shake the curiosity. And I’ll be honest—I miss hanging out with him in the practice room, arguing over the sheet music. We still meet up in the library sometimes to study Korean, but that offers a lot less time for conversations about anything nonacademic. I’m a step away from failing that class, and he’s taken it upon himself to get me through with a passing grade.
I wake up on Thursday to find a new email in my inbox. I check it while brushing my teeth and almost drop the toothbrush in the sink out of shock. It’s from my mother.
Grace,
Your father and I want to know when your fall semester is over so that we can buy your plane ticket home for Christmas. Please respond soon before ticket prices go up.
Mom
I snort but can’t deny the stab of fear that shoots through my chest. Still, since when has a dollar ever held back my parents? When you’ve got more than $100 million sitting in your savings account, a first-class ticket from Seoul to Nashville doesn’t even count as an expense—it’s pocket change.
On my way to class, I can’t stop thinking about Momma’s email. Going home for Christmas. I hadn’t even thought about it before now. I figured I would stay on Ganghwa Island. I can’t go back to Nashville. I can’t see my parents.
Are Sophie and Jason going home? I don’t really know much about their family situation, whether or not they like hanging out with their parents—they don’t seem to like talking much about their family. Their parents are divorced and their dad lives in New York, so I assume they’ll visit their mom in Seoul instead.
During my math class, I fire a text to Jane: Please tell me Momma isn’t serious about me coming home for Christmas.
She responds almost immediately: r u crazy?! you HAVE to come home! im goin insane here w/out you!
I glance up to see if my teacher has noticed me texting, but he’s still writing equations on the board. I text back: I can’t face them. Momma hates me.
My phone vibrates a minute later. she doesnt HATE you … she just doesnt know what to say. PLEASE come see me! or buy me a ticket to come see you!!!!!
A smile pulls at my lips. I would love to show Jane around Incheon—or, better yet, Seoul: Introduce her to Sophie, take her to the famous shopping districts, watch her drool all over Yoon Jae. But Momma would kill me if I invited Jane and neither of her daughters was sitting at the Christmas dinner table this year.
Jane, I write, you know that won’t work. I’ll figure something out. Do you want to video chat this weekend?
Before I can even set my phone down, her text comes in: YES!!!!!!!! AND BRING THE HOT KOREAN WITH YOU!
I stifle a laugh, masking it as a violent cough, which makes my teacher shoot me a look of irritation. But at the end of class, I’m still chuckling over Jane’s text. Gah, I miss her. I forgot how much we talked before I left, how much I depend on her humor. Sophie’s a great friend, but she can’t take the place of my sister.
When I get back to the dorm, Sophie’s sitting at her desk, rifling through her notebook. She jumps to her feet when I enter and cries, “Where have you been? Didn’t your class end half an hour ago?”
I drop my backpack onto the floor. “Yeah, but I had to run by the bookstore to pick up a few things. Why?”
“We’re going out tonight.”
“It’s a Thursday.”
“But it’s an important Thursday.”
“Sophie, what are you talking about?”
She rolls her eyes behind her glasses. “I can’t believe you forgot. And you call yourself an American.”
I watch her grab her purse and double-check her makeup in the mirror. “Okay, now I’m seriously curious,” I say. “What are you on about?”
She shrugs. “I guess you’ll just have to come with me and find out.”
We head out of the dorm and hop on her motorbike. I close my eyes the entire way to Incheon. After she parks on a side street, she leads me into a part of town I instantly recognize. The neon lights, brick-laid courtyards packed with people, shops, and restaurants bubbling over with crowds. A soccer game plays on a huge screen attached to a building as we pass cosmetic and clothing stores blaring KPOP out their open front doors.