I grasp for any sort of excuse, but what comes out is the truth: “I don’t trust you.”
“Seriously?” His face falls. “What have I done to make you think I’m untrustworthy?”
“Nothing.” I wave him off. “It’s nothing.”
He shakes his head. “I’m serious. I want to know so we can work this out.”
“We’re never going to be able to ‘work this out,’ so there’s no point. And I’m not going to waste my time talking about it.”
His confusion morphs into frustration. “Why are you saying these things? I know we had a rocky start, but I thought we were friends now.”
“We are friends.”
“So why don’t you trust me?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my voice. “Maybe because you always act like you’re embarrassed by me.”
He rolls his eyes. “That was one time, and you totally misinterpreted the situation, anyway. I don’t understand what you want me to do.”
“Nothing! I don’t want you to do anything.” My eyes sting, and I suddenly feel like I swallowed a rock. “I think … we shouldn’t be spending so much time together.”
“Are you serious?” He pauses. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“No,” he interrupts angrily. “You don’t get to make this decision alone.”
“Jason—”
“No!” He jabs a finger at me. “You’re accusing me of doing things I never did and painting me as some kind of jerk. But you’re wrong. I—”
“You what?” I lower my voice to a hiss. “You’re the one who acted like you didn’t know me when we were in Seoul, like you were ashamed of me. And that stunt at the nightclub didn’t fix anything. And what? You’ve changed your mind now? I’m not embarrassing anymore? How do I know you won’t change your mind again if we get together?”
He swallows hard. “I really hurt you when we were in Seoul, didn’t I?”
I throw my hands into the air, fear tightening my chest, knowing that he’s right—he did hurt me. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I say.
With a huff, I turn and stomp toward the door to my building. But I pause with my hand on the knob when Jason says, “You’re scared. You want to be with me, but for whatever reason, you’re too afraid to try. Maybe it has to do with your family or your past, but don’t blame this on me. I’ll admit I’ve said some stupid things, but I’m not the bad guy you’re making me out to be.” His voice drops so I can barely hear it. “I really do like you, and you can believe me when I say I’m not going to hurt you.”
And even though I know I shouldn’t want it, a part of me hopes he is a good guy and someone I can trust, that he’ll prove that to me. Because I want to be worth something to somebody.
Chapter Twenty-five
Big Brother,
Sometimes I want to blame you. I want everything to be your fault because you’re gone and don’t have to deal with the consequences. I wasn’t the one who put the pills in your hand. So why do I feel responsible?
At your funeral, everyone kept saying you “passed away,” like it was something peaceful. But it wasn’t. You didn’t “pass away.” You died. We dance around the word like it could catch, like it’ll leave a stain on us. And in the process, we give it more power, like just saying it out loud will somehow summon it.
I still miss you, but I’m also still angry at you for leaving us, for making me have to face Momma, for forcing me to run away. You got to escape, but I’m left here dealing with the aftermath. Even in Korea, I can’t get away. No matter how many planes I take or how many miles I travel.
It’s not fair. I don’t want to feel like this. But I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to make myself better.
I love you—I do. I just don’t understand why you did it. Maybe I never will. I think I’ll probably always wonder.
I don’t even know why I write you these letters in a notebook full of paper I’ll never mail or why I pray every night that I’ll wake up to a missed call from your number. The same reason I still expect to see your picture in celebrity magazines and your name on unread emails in my inbox, I guess.
Maybe one day, thinking about you won’t hurt as much. Or maybe it will. Either way, these letters are from me to you …
From Korea, with love,
Grace
The graduation ceremony takes a lot longer than I thought it would. There’re only fifty kids graduating—the smallest senior class the school has ever had. But after the third speech, I’m beginning to think an American public school graduation, where there are five hundred seniors, would be faster.
I’m the last person to walk across the stage, and when I take the diploma from the principal, it’s like he’s handing me my future. My entire life stretches out before me, choices I face now and ones I won’t know about for years. I can be the obedient child and go home like Momma wants. It would be the easy choice, to go back to Tennessee, attend Vanderbilt, maybe work at Dad’s label after I graduate.
Or I could take a risk.
I came to Korea to escape. I ran here, and somehow, I ended up loving this country and its people. And I don’t want to run anymore. Does that mean I have to go home to face my past? Or can I face it here? Can I be happy in Asia? Can I really start over?
I want to try.
*
“I know what you’re feeling right now.” Jane recrosses her legs, shifts in her seat, picks up her soda cup and sets it back down again. “So don’t pretend like there’s nothing going on.”
I swirl the dregs of my coffee, unable to take my eyes off the inside of my mug—safer than actually meeting Jane’s gaze. “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.”