We walk in silence until we reach the front of my building. I turn to face him, but he’s staring down at his shoes, which are highlighter yellow today and totally don’t match his purple T-shirt.
“Thanks for—for hanging out with me,” he mumbles, scratching his bangs across his forehead but only succeeding in brushing them even more into his eyes.
I wave off his comment. “Please. We hang out all the time.”
His cheeks color, and frustration slips into his voice. “No, I mean … thanks for not ditching me after … you know. It … means a lot.”
My stomach flip-flops, but I manage to keep my voice light. “No worries. We’re friends.”
“Friends. Right.” He finally looks up, his gaze meeting mine, and a faint smile curls his lips. “I’ll see you later, Grace.”
I watch him head down the sidewalk toward his dorm, my mind playing back through our conversation. Neither of us said anything all that monumental, but I can’t help wondering if something’s changed between us. If maybe we regained a little of the connection we had before we lost it in Seoul.
*
In the middle of Korean class, my phone buzzes. I glance up at my teacher, who rattles on in Korean so quickly I have no idea what he’s saying, then at my phone. I’ve got another email from Momma. I swallow a groan as I open it.
Grace,
I booked our flights today. Jane and I will be arriving on the Wednesday before graduation. Our plane comes in at 6:30 in the evening. I’ll have to cancel my yoga classes and get Jane out of school that week. I’ll let you book the hotel room for us.
Mom
I roll my eyes. She would make me book the hotel reservations. Not like I’m in school or anything.
I scroll through hotel listings online for the rest of class, and when we get out of school for the day, Sophie helps me find the right hotel in Incheon—close enough to school that they can get to campus easily via taxi, but far enough away that it’s sort of inconvenient. I’m not really keen on any impromptu visits.
Weeks blur together as everyone prepares for final exams. And maybe I should pay more attention to my teachers and homework—and the fact that I’m graduating from freaking high school—but all I can think about is seeing Momma again. She’s sent me a few more emails, mostly filled with questions like: How hot will it be? Can you hire us a translator? Do I need to bring my own bottled water? I consider writing back and telling her that, yes, she should bring her own French mineral water and she’ll need another suitcase to pack it all. But then I realize she might actually do it, and change my mind.
Jason helps me study for my Korean final, but I still panic and almost throw up all over my test the second Mr. Seo hands them out. The entire week of final exams goes much faster than I would have thought, and I study a lot less than I probably should. But when faced with either burying my nose in a physics book or watching hours of dramas with Sophie, curled up with ice cream on our bunk bed, I always choose the latter.
And as I melt my brain reading subtitles and watching melodramatic romances play out on the screen, I have to consciously package up all my emotions and throw them into the back storage rooms of my brain. All the fear of seeing Momma, all the pain she makes me remember—I can’t handle it right now.
My phone buzzes, and Sophie hisses at the interruption. With a growl, she pauses the TV, and I answer a number I don’t recognize.
“Is this Grace Wilde?” an American voice asks.
“Yes?” Could be the hotel where Momma and Jane are staying, calling to confirm their reservation.
“Hi, Grace, this is Kevin Nichols from Album magazine, and I’d really like to talk to you about—”
“Do not call me,” I bark into the phone, interrupting Kevin’s soon-to-be monologue. “I don’t want to talk to any reporters, okay?”
“My apologies, Miss Wilde,” he says smoothly. “But my editor is quite interested in your story. I’d love to talk to you, but if you’d rather not, perhaps I’ll just see you around Ganghwa Island.”
And he hangs up.
I stare down at my phone, mouth gaping. I thought Korea would be my escape, the place my past couldn’t find me. But I was wrong.
I have no more places to run.
Chapter Twenty-two
The day Momma and Jane are supposed to arrive, I see an email Jane sent me a few hours ago, her choice of all capitals making me wonder if either the caps lock on her phone is broken or Momma let her drink Mountain Dew again.
GRACIE,
WE’RE AT THE AIRPORT IN TOKYO! WE’RE SO CLOSE, AND I’M SO EXCITED! BRING THE HOT KOREAN WITH YOU TO PICK US UP. I WANT TO SEE HIM!
also, Mom’s being annoying. as usual. she complained the entire flight about the food—apparently, they should be serving better stuff in first class—and about the baby a couple rows behind us, who only cried for like, thirty minutes.
i can’t believe i’m about to see you! WE’RE GOING TO BE IN ASIA TOGETHER!!! there will be chopsticks. and dumplings. And CUTE ASIAN BOYS!
bring it.
from narita international airport, HUGS,
jane
I spend the entire day in a cleaning frenzy. Every time I think of Momma arriving on that plane, walking across campus, and coming into my dorm, a shock of terror jolts through me. I glance at the package of half-eaten Oreos and the dust bunnies I haven’t swept since before Christmas. She’s going to have a heart attack if she sees this place.
Sophie’s at a party the school’s hosting for graduating seniors—carnival games, giveaways, free food. So I plug my iPod into a set of speakers and blast my latest KPOP obsession, Shinee, while I throw dirty clothes into a hamper and make my bed, straighten my desk, sweep the floor, and throw Sophie’s gossip magazines under her comforter.