“You’re sure?” he says.
“Positive!” Either because my argument with Momma has left me off-kilter or I can’t see how I could screw up any more relationships, I link my arm through Jason’s and pull him back onto the main path. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to celebrate my new independence from studying. Sophie got me obsessed with this Korean TV show. You want to go watch a couple episodes?”
He tenses at my touch but doesn’t pull away. “Sure,” he mutters.
We spend the rest of the evening holed up with Sophie in our dorm room, eating ramen and watching TV. Jason, Sophie, and I all huddle close on my bed, with me squished between them as we watch the main character in the show kick some major butt.
I catch Jason casting me frequent glances, and my chest tightens at his concern. He even lets me crack a few jokes about KPOP stars turned actors without defending himself, and I find myself calmed by his steadying presence.
And for a few hours, I’m able to forget about Momma and Christmas and how much it hurts to think about home. For a few hours, I can be New Grace—the one that finished her hardest midterm, held hands with a cute boy on a long car ride, and wrote a song with a famous Korean pop star because she kind of likes KPOP now.
I like New Grace. And maybe one day, Momma will, too.
Chapter Fourteen
gracie—
i’m mad at you, p.s.
you left me here ALONE with the ’rents, which is essentially the lowest circle of dante’s inferno. not okay. i will never forgive you … unless you bring me back a cute boy, in which case we will be friends again.
and i want to hear EVERYTHING about seoul. your little letters to me are pathetic, with your “from korea, with love” at the bottom that i feel sure has only one purpose—to make me insanely jealous. (shocker: it’s working)
how is it you are going to my dream destination right now?! (okay, so maybe tokyo is the dream, but seoul would be second.) you can’t see me right now, but i’m glaring at you. i know you are anti-pictures, but PLEASE take lots for me, okay? misssssssssss youuuuuu!!!
from hell on earth, with jealousy,
jane
*
I stuff my phone into my pocket and throw my purse over my shoulder as we pass underneath the school’s arch and officially leave campus for Christmas break. I follow Sophie’s neon pink suitcase as she rolls it across the pavement toward the shiny black car waiting for us.
Jason trails behind me, a coat wrapped tight around his slim shoulders and collar popped, a pair of aviators perched on his nose—probably to look cool, as I’m not sure the glare from the sun reflecting off the thin layer of snow that fell last night necessitates sunglasses.
A sharp breeze blows in from the ocean, stealing my breath, and I shudder. Let’s be clear: I’m a Southern girl; I don’t do cold. And, unfortunately, it’s been an unusually chilly December so far.
“Why is it so cold here?” I say through clenched teeth.
Sophie laughs, throwing her arms out to each side. “It’s refreshing.”
“For you, maybe,” I mutter.
The driver exits the car, not the usual one who takes Jason to and from Incheon. This man has gray-streaked hair and a pressed black suit, and he wears a somber expression befitting a stern grandfather. Or a CIA agent.
Sophie squeals and runs around the front of the car to throw her arms around the man. A smile cracks his serious fa?ade, and they greet each other in Korean.
Jason opens the trunk and fills it with all our bags before we pile into the car.
Sophie sits in the passenger seat, though judging by the driver’s disapproving frown, she’s not supposed to. But he pulls away from the curb, and we’re speeding down the mountain, through town, and across the bridge.
Sophie turns around in her seat. “Grace, I want to introduce you to the wonderful Young Jo, our family’s driver.”
“Hello, Miss Grace.” He meets my gaze in the rearview mirror and nods his head, stone-faced.
“Hi!” I wave at him and receive a tiny smile in response, which I take as a victory.
“We’re going to have so much fun,” Sophie gushes. “I’m so glad you came with us.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
But my chest tightens when I remember the last conversation I had with Momma on the phone. She called again yesterday, and we ended the conversation basically screaming at each other. I’ve never openly defied her, and I don’t think either of us knows how to respond now. But it’s done. Might as well enjoy myself.
Once through Incheon, Young Jo speeds us down the highway toward Seoul. Sophie babbles on about all the stuff she wants to do with me before we have to go back to school, but I only half listen, my nose plastered to the window.
A light snow begins to fall, and the industrial factories and long stretches of coastline transform into taillights and skyscrapers. I soak up the view with wide eyes, my pulse skipping through my veins.
My excitement grows bigger each second, seeing the crowded hubbub of activity, with people everywhere. Businessmen in suits. Kids heading home from school. Teenagers catching the bus. Coffee shops on every corner—literally.
People walk faster here than on Ganghwa Island. They wear sleeker clothes and hold briefcases. A pack of women hurry down the sidewalk in their sky-high heels, all wearing matching gray pencil skirts and blazers.
We drive over a bridge, and beneath is a long canal cutting through the heart of the city, wide sidewalks on either side of the water. We stop at a red light, and I peer down at the river walk, watching a couple stroll hand in hand.
Jason slips off his sunglasses. “So, what do you think?”
“It reminds me of New York City. It’s huge. And … fashionable.”
He nods. “Seoul is really Western, so I think you’ll like it.”
“Are you implying that I don’t like non-Western places?”