Despite the crowds of students milling around, the noise level across campus is hardly more than a hum. Coupled with the trees planted in front of and all around the buildings and the mountains towering over us, the quiet makes me feel more like I’m at one of those relaxed resorts than a school full of teenagers.
We climb the stairs up to a chrome building with red Korean characters, which Sophie tells me reads DINING HALL. The cafeteria has its own building? How big is this place? I mean, I know it’s a school for rich kids, but still.
The dining hall is easily three times the size of my high school lunchroom, and anxiety pools in my stomach as I peer around the room—I’m in way over my head. Light filters in through the sloped glass ceiling, illuminating the myriad of long tables and benches filled with students, and providing a view of the mountains surrounding the grounds. I get in line behind Sophie, listening to the languages swirling around us. They buzz in my ears like white noise, none of them distinct from the others.
As we draw closer to the serving line, I sniff at a scent unlike anything I’ve smelled before. Sophie picks out some kind of soup with green leaves floating in it, but I steer clear of anything I don’t recognize and opt instead for an omelette that I think has vegetables in it, maybe some kind of meat, I can’t tell.
When we get to our table, I realize the only utensils available are silver chopsticks. Sophie fishes out the green bits from her soup with her chopsticks like a pro. How she’s going to get the broth out of that bowl is something I’d like to see.
Hesitantly, I cradle the chopsticks with my thumb and middle finger. I pick up a piece of egg, which almost instantly slips back onto my plate. This process continues for a solid thirty seconds before I’m able to successfully transfer food into my mouth. I finally elect to hold the plate close to my lips and rake the salty omelette into my mouth. Other people are doing it, so it can’t be bad manners.
Sophie checks her phone with a frown. “I don’t know where he is,” she mutters.
She scans the cafeteria, and I follow her gaze, searching faces for one that looks anything like hers. But I can’t pick out anyone specifically in the sea of people I’m currently drowning in.
A wide smile breaks out on Sophie’s face, and she waves her arm frantically above her head. I turn and spot a guy in a blue-and-white striped sweater left unbuttoned, with sleeves bunched at the elbows over a V-neck T-shirt. He strides toward us, hands stuffed into the pockets of his skinny jeans. He’s taller than most of the other guys I’ve seen here, with inky black hair that sweeps across his forehead and full lips that look a lot like Sophie’s.
He’s the hottest boy I’ve ever seen.
And I’ve seen a lot of cute boys. I struggle to keep my mouth closed and eyes inside my head as he comes to our table.
And I’m not the only one staring. He leaves a wake of girls behind him who stare and point, and a few even snap pictures with their phones, their heads swiveling around, making sure nobody saw them.
Surprise zips through me. Maybe girls are just more open here about guys they think are cute. I’m pretty sure taking pictures of the guy and pointing at him behind his back in a crowded lunchroom wouldn’t fly in the States.
But I’m pulled out of my cultural comparisons when he says something in Korean to Sophie, his voice clear and deep, and my heart sputters a little, which probably makes me just as bad as those other girls.
When was the last time my mouth went dry at the sight of a boy? Not since Isaac, my ex, when we met at that teen club where he was the DJ. When you grow up around cowboy hats and giant belt buckles worn by boys trying to get into your pants so your dad will give them a record deal, it’s hard not to be attracted to slouchy hats, Converse, and flannel.
“Don’t be rude, Jason,” Sophie scolds playfully, tilting her head toward me. “This is Grace, who speaks English.”
I flash him my brightest smile, but he answers with a stony expression, his eyes running a quick scan across me. My enthusiasm flickers.
But I ford through the blow to my confidence. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring until my cheeks ache from holding my smile. I fight the instinct to glance down at my white lace blouse and black jean shorts to make sure neither sport a food spill.
“She’s my roommate,” Sophie says, coming to my rescue and diverting Jason’s attention. “She’s from America!” Her voice rises to a squeal on the last word. “Sit with us.”
He sweeps the room with his gaze, a determinedly bored air about him and a glazed look in his eye, even though he has to see all the girls pointedly not looking at him. I’m starting to wonder if Sophie got all the people skills while they were incubating in the womb.
“I already ate,” he says, thankfully in English—for my benefit? “I have to meet Tae Hwa in the music room. Are you going to The Vortex tonight?”
Her grin falls, and I’m irrationally tempted to punch Jason for causing it to disappear. “Of course,” she says with forced levity.
He nods, then glances at me again, before turning and walking back through the cafeteria toward the exit. I stare after him, smarting at his obvious lack of both friendliness and regard for me as a human being.
“Is he always that cheerful?” I ask, unable to bite back my sarcasm.
Sophie waves away the question. “He’s just quiet.” But the disappointment that’s swallowed her eyes says something different.
After breakfast, Sophie volunteers to show me around campus; she arrived a few days before me and already knows where everything is. The school is gigantic, the size of a small college rather than a high school—multiple classroom buildings and everything. She figures out where all my classes will be—all in the same room, like in elementary school—and points out the building, which is on the opposite side of campus as our dorm and on top of a hill so high it might as well be Everest.