Sophie climbs onto the top bunk, but I hesitate. Tae Hwa isn’t a childhood friend like he is for Sophie. Am I allowed to sit on his bed? Or would that be weird? I wouldn’t even think twice about it at home, but I’m not sure of the customs here.
Yoon Jae checks his watch, then says, “I need to work on a paper that’s due on Monday. I haven’t started yet.” His eyes search out mine, like he’s apologizing to me personally for having to ditch out on the movie.
“See you tomorrow!” Sophie calls from above us.
He flashes her a smile, then catches my gaze again. Not sure what he’s waiting for, I wave. He lingers a moment longer, then turns and leaves.
Tae Hwa pops a movie into the player, then launches himself onto the top bunk with Sophie. Okay, seriously, what is going on between them? Jason crawls onto the bottom bunk, but I’m not about to cozy up with him, so I take a seat on the desk chair of Tae Hwa’s roommate.
The movie pops up on the screen, and I realize within thirty seconds that I’m not going to understand a word of it. The actors speak in some Asian language, and subtitles appear at the bottom of the screen in another Asian language.
“Is this a Chinese movie or something?” I ask.
“Japanese,” Sophie calls down, then cries, “Oh! You don’t understand anything! Do you want us to switch the subtitles to English?”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll just watch what’s going on.”
But after ten minutes of only guessing the plot, my attention wanders. Tae Hwa’s roommate has books stacked on his desk—Algebra II, Biology, a dual-translation Bible. On the top shelf of his desk sits a long row of albums, some Korean and some English, most of the spines too dilapidated to read. But I recognize a few—the Beatles’ Rubber Soul, The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan, the Grass Roots. Someone’s got good music taste.
It’s not until I spot the ashtray filled not with old cigarettes but guitar picks and the syllabus for my Korean class that it hits me—Tae Hwa’s roommate is Jason. I’m sitting in Jason’s room. Granted, with two other people. But still.
I sneak a glance at him, but he’s texting. Yoon Jae? A girl? I haven’t seen him talk to anyone besides the band boys and Sophie. Not that I follow him around all day or anything. And I’m sure he would have girls lining up to get texts sent from his phone.
You know, because he’s famous. Not because he’s cute or anything.
Jason glances up from his phone and catches me watching him. For a terrifying moment, we just stare at each other. I divert my gaze, my heart hammering. He thinks I was checking him out. He thinks I’m some sort of obsessed fan. He thinks I actually like him.
Panic. Flooding my entire body.
“Grace?”
I peer up at Sophie, glad for the shifting attention. “Yeah?”
“You’re bored, right?” She hops back down off the bed. “I’m sorry. Do you want to watch something else, or do you want to go back to our dorm?”
“Whatever you want,” I say with as much lightness as I can muster, my pulse pounding in my ears.
“I’m tired, anyway.” She picks up her purse and slings it over her shoulder. “Come on, let’s head back.”
I numbly follow her to the doorway, but she pauses there, shouting something back to Tae Hwa. He responds, and I peer back through the space between Sophie and the half-closed door. Jason still sits on the bed, the phone no longer in his hands. He stares at me.
When Sophie finally shuts the door, I’m freed from his gaze and from him, only to realize that knowing Sophie’s social life, I’ll probably see him again tomorrow. And the next day. And all the others after that.
And I’m not really sure how I feel about that.
Chapter Six
Big Brother,
It may seem hard to believe, but I’m actually sort of transitioning into life here in Korea, although I do miss sweet tea and Southern boys who hold doors open for you.
I haven’t gotten up the courage to email or call Momma yet. Every time I think about her, I remember seeing the judgment in her eyes, and I know. I know she blames me for everything. And maybe that shouldn’t bother me because I know you don’t think that. But it hurts, anyway.
I go to bed remembering all three of us—me, you, and Jane—camping out in the backyard and listening to Brad Paisley and Garth Brooks, and you saying you wanted to be like them one day. Well, you did it. You made your dreams real. I guess that’s how we justify it all in our heads, that your success was worth the price.
I miss you. More than anyone else in the family, I miss you the most. (Don’t tell anybody I said that, especially Jane!)
You’d be proud of your little sis, making her way in the big, bad Real World. I don’t have anything left to say except this: I think about you every day, for better or worse. And I don’t think I’ll ever forget what happened.
But for now, I’ll sign off with
From Korea, with love,
Grace
I inch my way down the food line, searching the vats before me for something that resembles macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, or pizza. It surprises me what foods I crave when all I get is unfamiliar dishes. The Korean food I’ve tried has been good, but it’s not what I’m used to, and sometimes, I just want something familiar.
With a sigh, I opt for some sort of beef dish.
I scan the lunchroom and find an empty table in the corner. Even after all these weeks, I’ve yet to find friends outside Sophie’s social circle. Call me antisocial, but in my defense, it’s hard to make friends with people who refuse to speak your language outside the classroom.