He steps up to the railing, resting his elbows on top of the stone, and looks out over the water. “I don’t know yet. I’m sure my manager has a lot of ideas, though.” He tacks on a hollow laugh at the end.
“But you’re the one playing the music. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You’ve got a lot of talent. Use it!”
He doesn’t respond.
“Jason, seriously. Do what you want to do. If you want to keep playing music, then go for it. But if you want to go to college and become an engineer or a teacher, then do that. You can’t let other people rule your life.”
He sighs. “You know why I left Seoul to come here? I knew I didn’t want to keep playing music, not as Eden’s singer. I hated every second of it. And being with Mom just reminded me of all my dad did to hurt her. I thought maybe if I could escape the city, I’d be able to just get away from everything. But I didn’t have the guts to actually end it.”
“You did, though. The band’s not together anymore.”
“Yeah, I guess. Crazy that I came to Ganghwa Island, though. I didn’t want to go back to America because I’d have to see my dad. This seemed like the best place to disappear.”
I laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Tell me about it.”
We both gaze out at the water, and my insides knot. This is the last time I’m going to see him. Potentially ever. No more crazy bike rides, late night study sessions in the library, or making up dumb songs about broccoli.
My chest tightens, and I gasp, the pain so visceral I can’t breathe. We could write emails or maybe text occasionally. But it’ll never be the same. We’ll never be the same. The first boy I ever wanted to really let in, and we end like this.
“I’m … going to miss you,” he murmurs, flashing me a sad smile. “I know you probably think I’m lying or something else ridiculous, but I really do like spending time with you. I hope you believe at least that.” His voice drops to a whisper. “And I never would have hurt you. I saw what my dad did to my mom. I’m not that kind of guy.”
I swallow the tightness in my throat and nod.
“Promise you won’t forget me when you become a famous music producer?”
I laugh, despite the tears pricking my eyes. “You’re the famous one.”
He pins me with an earnest look, his face shrouded in shadow from the lamppost light above us. “I’m serious. Don’t forget. Promise?”
The knot in my throat grows, but I manage to croak, “Promise.”
We stare at each other a long moment, and I can’t help wishing that everything had gone differently. That I had been brave enough to trust him, to trust that we could handle his problems and my problems—together. But, mostly, I just want him.
I remind myself that this is my last moment to finally tell him, well, everything—that when I look at him, my heart aches a little in a good way and that I have an unnatural fondness for his bright-colored shoes and the way his hair hangs just a little in his eyes. But when I pull in a long breath to spill my guts, I can’t. The expectant gleam in his eyes silences any words.
So I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him, instead.
Just a little peck. Chaste enough even for one of those Korean dramas. But butterflies explode inside my stomach, and a flood of longing fills my chest.
He stares at me with wide eyes, and a laugh bubbles to my lips at his shocked expression.
“What—I—that—” he stutters.
“Just thought since this is goodbye, I should send you off right.”
“Now I don’t want to leave at all.”
I laugh, but my heart constricts. This banter is just that—banter. He’s leaving, and even if I did believe he loved me enough not to kill my heart, it wouldn’t matter. So I muster as much cheerfulness as I can, link my arm through his, and pull him farther down the promenade.
Because I don’t want this night to be over.
Because this is our end.
Chapter Twenty-seven
I set my cup down with more force than necessary. “Sophie, why do you keep checking your phone every ten seconds?”
“Huh?” She looks up from the electronic device that’s been glued to her hand all afternoon.
“Your phone. You haven’t put it away since we got here.”
She tosses me an apologetic smile but doesn’t put it back in her purse.
I breathe out a long sigh, ready for this day to be over. I’ve been researching online for hours, trying to find colleges with late acceptance or any internships that don’t require a college degree. My current list for both is zero. And while I keep telling myself not to panic, my unease is growing by the hour. I broke down and emailed Momma last night, telling her I might have to come home, and she answered back with one of the most enthusiastic messages I’ve ever had from her. Too bad the thought of moving back into that house triggers my gag reflex.
My gimbap turns sour in my mouth, and I set my chopsticks across the plate. The dining hall’s mostly empty, students clearing out for summer vacation.
“We need to get back to the dorm,” Sophie announces, standing.
“Why?”
“I want to watch something on TV.”
“Can’t you watch it online later?”
“No, this is important.” She picks up both my tray and hers, and puts them away.
Sophie hurries me the entire ten-minute walk, throwing phrases over her shoulder like: “I can’t miss this” and “Seriously, Grace, you can’t walk any faster?”
By the time we reach the room, sweat rolls down my back and my flip-flops have rubbed a sore spot between my toes. I crank up my box fan and aim it directly at my bed, then fall down on top of the sheets.
Sophie switches on the television she bought last month, flipping through the channels.
I stare at the slats holding up Sophie’s mattress and let myself wallow in some self-pity. Because if I actually take my problems seriously, I’m going to start hyperventilating. South Korea is going to kick me out in a month if I don’t renew my visa, the school says I have to be gone in less than a week, and I have applied to zero colleges.
On second thought, maybe I will start hyperventilating.