“My name’s Sophie.” She shoots out her hand and keeps it there until I hesitantly shake it. “Well, actually it’s Sae Yi, but my English name is Sophie.”
“I’m Grace.”
“It’s so nice to meet you.” She’s still beaming at me. “They didn’t tell me you were American. Did they tell you anything about me?”
I reach down to pick up the handles of my suitcases, but she beats me to it. She hefts one onto the bottom bunk, which sports a bare mattress. I lift the other and place it beside the first.
“Umm … no,” I say, searching the room for a closet or dresser or something. I spot two miniwardrobes, stacked on top of each other. Talk about space conservation.
“Well, I’m Sophie, and I’m a senior. I’m from here.” She holds up a finger, as if to stop my train of thought. “‘Here’ being Korea, not Ganghwa. I live in Seoul, which is way better than this old place.” She wrinkles her nose, then brightens an instant later. “But I grew up in the States. That’s why my English is so good. And—and it’s just so good to meet you!” Her cheeks redden. “But I already said that.”
A chuckle falls from my lips unconsciously. This girl’s crazy, but at least she’s nice.
“It’s just that it will be nice to speak English again with someone,” she continues. “You wouldn’t believe how tiring it is only speaking Korean when you grew up with English.”
I unzip one of the bags and begin to unpack my clothes, shoes, and toiletries. My entire life inside two suitcases. It’s sort of pitiful, in a way, that I fit it all into two such small spaces. Of course, I didn’t need a suitcase for the emotional baggage I’ve dragged along with me from Nashville.
“So you’re American, then?” I ask, though Sophie probably doesn’t need my prompting to keep up her soliloquy.
“Well, technically, I’m a Korean citizen, since I was born here. But my twin brother, Jason, and I lived with my dad in New York from the time we were babies. We visited Korea every summer, but we didn’t move here until we were fourteen to be with our mom in Seoul.”
“And now you’re here on the island?”
She scowls, the first negative emotion I’ve seen cross her face yet. “Unfortunately.”
I laugh. “Why come if you didn’t want to?”
She sighs, dropping down into her desk chair. “It’s a long story, but it involves my brother running away from home and dragging me along with him, even though I was top of my class last year and a total shoo-in for top this year. I had to leave all my friends and everything.”
With a grunt, I grab a pile of clothes and make to drop them in one of the wardrobes, but I realize once I’m standing in front of them that the doors are closed and my hands are currently occupied.
“Here, let me help!” Sophie opens the doors. “You’re on bottom. Just like the beds. I thought it’d be better if that matched. You know, easier to remember.”
I take in the excitement that’s practically oozing out of her, and a fresh wave of exhaustion washes over me. Jeez, I need some sleep.
Sophie frowns. “Oh, you look tired. How long have you been traveling?”
“Over twenty-four hours, including layovers.”
Her eyes bug. “Then you need to get into bed! I’ll be quiet so you can go to sleep.” She runs her fingers across her mouth like a zipper, and another laugh escapes my lips. I’m gonna like this girl.
I manage to unpack enough of my stuff to take a quick shower and brush my teeth and crawl into bed, after covering it with the school-provided sheets. True to her word, Sophie keeps silent at her desk, her knees pressed against her chest, poring over a magazine.
I pull out my phone for the first time since I landed in Korea and see three missed calls from Momma. I have no idea why she felt the need to call again after I told her I’d arrived. It’s not like we talked much when I was home, so why start now? Maybe opting for the international phone plan wasn’t such a good idea after all.
She left a voice mail:
“Hey, Grace. Are you at the school yet? Let me know. But don’t call if it’s too early here because you know I need my eight hours of sleep. Call soon. Bye.”
It’s nine o’clock and home is fourteen hours behind, so she’s most likely about to wake up and get ready for her yoga class. Later, she’ll probably be carting around my younger sister, Jane, and making plans for a lunch date with one of the wives of Dad’s partners. I’m just surprised she took the time to call before going to bed last night. There’s no message from Dad, though that’s not surprising. I can’t remember the last time he initiated a conversation with me.
I click over to the celebrity gossip site I frequent, reminding myself—as I do every time—that this is pointless. I scroll through the latest articles, but none of the headlines catch my attention. With a sigh, I toss my phone onto the bed and ignore the curious eyes of Sophie, who watches me like I’m some kind of museum exhibit.
After a few good punches to my pillow, I settle in deep beneath the blanket I insisted on bringing from home, the one my aunt quilted for my sixteenth birthday. I didn’t appreciate it at the time, and I wish I had thanked her properly before she died last year. But now it’s one of the few things that remind me of home. It still smells the same—like lilac fabric softener and my favorite perfume. I take in a deep breath and swallow the sob that catches in the back of my throat.