“Hey, don’t be a jerk,” I cut in. “She was just trying to be nice.”
His gaze flicks to me, then to the crew members carrying camera equipment who walk past us, a coldness swallowing his eyes. And I know he’s shutting me out like he used to. The realization steals the rest of my words.
“I’ve got to be on set,” he says. “I’ll see you later, Sophie.” He focuses on his sister. “Do not get in the way.”
He turns, still not acknowledging me. I chafe at the slight, anger growing. Why is he acting like this?
Smirking, I wait until he’s maybe a couple hundred feet down the road, then shout with fake sincerity, “Good luck, Jason! You’ll do great!”
He whips around, shock clear on his face. Then he turns his head to each side, like he’s gauging everyone else’s reactions. But when they go about their business, he doesn’t react, just turns back around and keeps walking. Except, even at this distance, I can see the new tension in his shoulders.
He joins the others, and I watch him talk to Na Na. Really, how can she wear such a short skirt in the winter? She’s going to get frostbite.
My brain still grapples with Jason’s personality shift. He was so nice before today. What’s changed?
Then it hits me—before, we were always with his family. Nobody else was around. He didn’t need to impress anyone. But here, there are people he works with, people who could either hurt or help his career. And for whatever reason, I’m in his way. I’m an embarrassment.
My cheeks flame at the thought, and I try to cover my swirling emotions with a heaping portion of anger. But the shame settles in my gut and crawls through me, pounding like a dull drumbeat in my chest.
I pull out my phone to text Jane, but my thumb hovers above the keypad. Why does his slight hurt so much? Why do I care? It shouldn’t bother me this much.
But it does.
Because maybe—maybe!—I like him. More than as my best friend’s brother. More than as a friend. More than a little crush.
I’ve only had one real boyfriend—Isaac. And that didn’t turn out so well. But I’ve always had a thing for guys who sing, play an instrument, or, in Isaac’s case, DJ.
Not that I need someone telling me musicians are fickle and high maintenance. Nathan’s revolving door of girlfriends taught me that, and Jason wouldn’t be any better, with all his drama.
Not that I want to date Jason. I can’t like him, not more than just as an innocent little crush because he’s cute and kinda fun to hang out with sometimes. I do not like Jason Bae.
Much.
* * *
“Where’s Na Na?” Sophie cranes her neck around me, searching the faces of every person that passes us.
I sigh. “I don’t know.”
Sophie insisted we go with Jason to the photo shoot for the drama, even though I’ve been here for over a week now and haven’t really seen any of Seoul besides the places the show is filming. Every morning, I ask Sophie what we’re doing, and it’s always the same: “Whatever Jason’s doing.” Not that he sees fit to tell us in advance what that may be.
And whenever he goes to a party, which might actually be fun, Sophie and I are conspicuously not invited. He and Na Na go together, like they’re dating or something. And if he “forgets” to introduce me to someone again, I’m going to scream. You’d think he might be polite and try to keep me in the loop, but then again, this is Jason we’re talking about—politeness isn’t really his strength.
“You don’t have to be so snippy,” Sophie says.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
She pouts, slumping into a chair along the far wall opposite the set. “I still don’t have her autograph.”
“And whose fault is that?” I tease, laughing. “We’ve seen her a million times, and you’ve never had the guts to ask her for it. Even I’ve said more words to her than you have.”
She wrinkles her nose, slouching her shoulders even more. “That’s not fair. Jason introduced you to her. He should have introduced me—I’m his sister.”
“You weren’t there.”
“Because I was in the bathroom!”
What I don’t tell Sophie is that Jason didn’t introduce me—Na Na sought me out. I was lingering in the catering tent between takes a few days ago when she came up beside me and pretended to choose between a croissant and a banana.
“Your name is Grace,” she said in Korean.
“Ye.” I nodded.
She then spouted a flurry of Korean words at me so fast, all I could do was stare at her blankly, my brain failing to keep up with the translating. When she’d finished her monologue, she watched me with her nose scrunched and disdain in her eyes.
“You don’t understand,” she finally said in English, after an uncomfortable amount of silence. “You live in Korea, but you can’t speak Korean.”
“I’m learn—”
“You’re so American,” she interrupted, and my eyebrows shot up.
She glanced at the Danish on my plate, her lips curling in a mocking smile. “Maybe you should choose something with fewer calories. Jason needs to be seen with pretty girls around him.”
She didn’t need to say like me, because her tone implied it.
Even now, anger burns through me at the memory. Ever since that conversation, she’s made a point of catching my eye while she’s talking to Jason, casually touching his arm or leaning closer to him while holding eye contact with me. It’s enough to make me want to throw a truckload of Danishes at her face.