He finally tears his gaze away from the book and looks at me. I mean, really looks at me, probably for the first time since we’ve met. I stare back at his dark eyes, jitters starting in my hands and spreading throughout the rest of my body.
“I came here because I wanted to go to a real school,” he says. “If I didn’t, I would have stayed in Seoul—with a tutor that ‘gives me all the right answers.’”
“Or America.”
“What?”
“You could have stayed in America, too. Then you wouldn’t be taking a class for a language you already know.”
His jaw tightens. “Maybe.”
“Sophie told me you were running away from something when you came here. What was it?” A small voice inside my brain screams for me to shut up. I’m crossing a million social boundaries right now. But I can’t seem to keep my trap shut.
“I wasn’t running,” he asserts, though his expression remains impassive. “I wanted to go to school.”
I’ve got him on the defensive. I keep pushing: “And there aren’t schools in Seoul?”
“None that I wanted to go to.”
I squeeze fake sympathy into my voice. “Because you couldn’t handle all the screaming fans? Yes, I’m sure that gets so tiring—being famous.”
Actually, it does. I grew up with both Dad and Nathan complaining about it. That’s why we didn’t live in L.A. or New York—there are more paparazzi and tourists, and you get hounded a lot more. I also read online the other day that some KPOP fans can be kind of insane—like, stalker insane—way more intense than what Western musicians experience.
But I choose to keep my understanding to myself. I’ve had my fill of musicians and their fan complexes. You see your boyfriend with his tongue down another girl’s throat after his show and the way the music industry destroyed your family, and you can’t take another egotistical guitar boy.
“You know, you’re pretty bitter for only being in high school,” he observes.
My mouth literally falls open, and I gape at him. “You—you—” I sputter.
He tilts his head, a slight smirk curling his lips. “You’ve finally run out of things to say.”
“And you’ve found your voice,” I grind out between clenched teeth.
A chuckle rumbles in the back of his throat, and if I wasn’t so pissed, it might strike me as cute. As it is, though, I just want to slap him. I’ve never met such an arrogant, provoking boy in my entire life.
“Class is over,” Mr. Seo pronounces just before the bell, cutting into my glaring at Jason.
Jason gathers his things and stands as the rest of the students disperse for a scheduled break between classes, throwing over his shoulder in a voice thick with sarcasm, “See you around, sunshine.”
My fingers clench around the edge of the table until my knuckles turn white, and I watch him disappear through the doorway. I don’t care if Sophie is my roommate. I hate him. No, seriously. I’m about to get on his band’s Facebook page and say all the slanderous things I can think of, then Google translate those insults and post them again—but in Korean.
It’s going to be a long year.
Chapter Four
Thursday brings more classes, but they aren’t as eventful as my first day.
Sophie and I meet up for dinner in the dining hall at five thirty, and I’m unpleasantly surprised to find the three members of Eden sitting together at a table in the corner, away from the other students, who all stare at the band—while trying to look like they’re not staring.
I drag my feet behind Sophie as she rushes over to the boys and plants herself as close to Tae Hwa as is socially acceptable. Which leaves the seat by Jason on the other side of the table or the tiny space between Yoon Jae and the end of the bench.
I choose the latter.
Yoon Jae graciously scoots over to give me some more room, and I flash him a grateful smile. He really is cute. And nice. Take that, Jason!
“What did you think about our math teacher, Sophie?” Yoon Jae asks between bites of some soupy tofu concoction. “You were worried he would be difficult, yes?”
Sophie nods. “Yeah, but I really liked him.” She leans her head toward Tae Hwa and presumably translates for him.
“What about you?” Yoon Jae directs his attention to me. “Did you have a good day? Too bad we’re not in the same class.”
I drop the piece of lettuce between my chopsticks. “Yeah, it was good. I don’t really like my Korean class, though.”
A snort sounds from Jason’s general direction, and I suppress the temptation to shoot him a spiteful glare. Bitter girl.
“Yeah, I’m sorry you’re in that class,” Sophie says. “They split up our year into two classes, and you’re in the one that has to take a Korean course.”
I cut my eyes to Jason, but he doesn’t give any sort of explanation for why he’s conspicuously the only Korean in our class.
“Grace and I were planning to go to the mall tomorrow night,” Sophie says suddenly, and I perk. “Do you guys want to go?”
Yoon Jae glances at Jason, who’s still tight-lipped. “That sounds fun. I don’t have that much homework, so I can go.”
“Yes, yes,” Tae Hwa adds. “We go.”
“What about you, brother?” Sophie sticks out her lip dramatically. “Please?”
“Sure,” he mutters.