“You’re right, we’re not—because you’re coming home!” She raises her voice. “This isn’t up for discussion, Grace. You’re visiting your family for Christmas. Period.”
“No, I’m not.” I lower my voice to a hiss. “You can’t make me come home.”
“We can yank you out of that school. And don’t think I won’t. I’m beginning to think you moving over there wasn’t a good idea, after all. Do you know how much we’ve sacrificed for you? We—we need to see you.”
Her voice cracks, and, for a moment, I think there might be actual emotion behind her words. But then she says, “And, really, what could you possibly be doing over there that’s worthwhile, anyway?”
Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I spit out through clenched teeth, “I want to spend some time with my friends.”
And not with you, I want to say, but I bite back the words.
With my last bit of energy, I throw as much anger into my voice as possible. “I’m spending Christmas with my roommate, and if you don’t like that, you can just get over it. I hate being at home. Why do you think I left in the first place? Maybe if you’d noticed that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” I swallow the sob that hangs in my throat. “We’re done talking.”
I hang up and let my arm fall to my side. My legs quiver, and I have to grab onto the side of the building to keep myself upright. Adrenaline courses through me, and my hands start trembling. I just hung up on my mother. I told her she could “just get over” my disobeying her, that I hated my home.
I press my palms against my face, the coolness of my hands meeting the heat of my cheeks. Tears seep through my closed eyelids and slide down into my mouth, but I hold in the heaving sobs that threaten to send me into hysterics in the middle of campus. I reach for the periodic table buried somewhere beneath the fear, the hurt, and the nerves. Iron, cobalt, nickel, copper, zinc. I fly through them until the flood of anxiety contracts enough for me to pull in a calming breath.
“Grace, are you okay?”
Jason’s voice breaks through the terror and grief churning inside me. My head shoots up, and I swipe at lingering tears with the backs of my hands before turning to face him.
“Fine.” I twist my lips into a smile, though it makes my cheeks ache with the effort.
“Was she upset about something?”
“What makes you say that?” I laugh, though it sounds fake even to my ears.
He frowns. “If you want to change your mind and go home, don’t feel like you have to come with us. I thought—I mean, we thought you would like to come. But we understand if you can’t.”
“No! No, I want to go. And Momma can just deal with it if I don’t go home.” This time, my laugh is genuine, and it helps release some of the pressure built up inside my chest.
He still studies me, his gaze perusing my face, no doubt picking up on my splotchy, tear-stained cheeks and the red rims around my eyes. Gah, why can’t I be one of those girls who’s pretty when she cries?
“You’re sure?” he says.
“Positive!” Either because my argument with Momma has left me off-kilter or I can’t see how I could screw up any more relationships, I link my arm through Jason’s and pull him back onto the main path. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to celebrate my new independence from studying. Sophie got me obsessed with this Korean TV show. You want to go watch a couple episodes?”
He tenses at my touch but doesn’t pull away. “Sure,” he mutters.
We spend the rest of the evening holed up with Sophie in our dorm room, eating ramen and watching TV. Jason, Sophie, and I all huddle close on my bed, with me squished between them as we watch the main character in the show kick some major butt.
I catch Jason casting me frequent glances, and my chest tightens at his concern. He even lets me crack a few jokes about KPOP stars turned actors without defending himself, and I find myself calmed by his steadying presence.
And for a few hours, I’m able to forget about Momma and Christmas and how much it hurts to think about home. For a few hours, I can be New Grace—the one that finished her hardest midterm, held hands with a cute boy on a long car ride, and wrote a song with a famous Korean pop star because she kind of likes KPOP now.
I like New Grace. And maybe one day, Momma will, too.
Chapter Fourteen
gracie—
i’m mad at you, p.s.
you left me here ALONE with the ’rents, which is essentially the lowest circle of dante’s inferno. not okay. i will never forgive you … unless you bring me back a cute boy, in which case we will be friends again.
and i want to hear EVERYTHING about seoul. your little letters to me are pathetic, with your “from korea, with love” at the bottom that i feel sure has only one purpose—to make me insanely jealous. (shocker: it’s working)
how is it you are going to my dream destination right now?! (okay, so maybe tokyo is the dream, but seoul would be second.) you can’t see me right now, but i’m glaring at you. i know you are anti-pictures, but PLEASE take lots for me, okay? misssssssssss youuuuuu!!!
from hell on earth, with jealousy,
jane
* * *
I stuff my phone into my pocket and throw my purse over my shoulder as we pass underneath the school’s arch and officially leave campus for Christmas break. I follow Sophie’s neon pink suitcase as she rolls it across the pavement toward the shiny black car waiting for us.