Authors: Katie M. Stout
Tae Hwa holds up his shot. “Happy birthday, Sophie, Jason!” he shouts.
The rest of us raise our drinks and shout in unison, “Happy birthday!”
Sophie and Tae Hwa head to the dance floor, and Sophie grabs onto my wrist, dragging me with them. Yoon Jae follows, but Jason stays rooted at the bar. I glance back over my shoulder to find him already nursing a beer. Alarm bells sound inside my head, but I quiet them. We’re at a club—drinking is what people do here. I’m just being overly sensitive.
As we meld with the crowd, I get separated from Sophie. A flash of panic rips through me before I spot Yoon Jae pushing through the crowd toward me. He reaches me, and I let my body relax, giving in to the hypnotic power of the music, which zips through my muscles and orders them to move.
I attempt to match my rhythm with Yoon Jae’s, but it’s obvious his dancing skills far surpass mine. Just watching him brings a smile to my lips. He personifies abandon, completely free from inhibitions and insecurities, and I envy him the release. Girls all around us watch him, and I can’t really blame them—everything about him, from his easy smile and bold hairstyle to the self-assured way he carries himself, oozes potential boyfriend material.
The crushing heat of bodies sends me seeking refuge at the bar, sucking in deep, smoke-filled breaths. We’ve lost the other stool, but Jason still sits on his. He doesn’t offer it to me.
“I didn’t know you could dance,” he says as I gulp down my soda.
“I didn’t know you couldn’t.” I laugh until I see his expression darken and realize it’s true. “Oh, come on. Everyone can dance. You just need to try.”
He winces. “I don’t think so.”
Maybe it’s the hint of anonymity the dimness in the club provides. Or maybe it’s my rocking outfit, coupled with the adrenaline rushing through me. But, with a surge of confidence I’ve never experienced before, I grab Jason’s hand and pull him off the barstool.
“Come on,” I say as I drag him to the mass of swaying and jumping bodies. “It’s your birthday. Have fun.”
I find a place for us to stand, but he doesn’t dance. With a huff, I grab both his wrists and pump our arms above our heads to loosen him up, like what Nathan would do to cheer me up.
Nothing better to get rid of the blues than to laugh at yourself,
he liked to say.
But Jason just stands there, chin down and staring at me through his black hair like I’m a child to be patiently placated. I drop his hands, sighing, ready to give up on him as hopeless, when he steps closer and places his hands on my hips.
I freeze, my eyebrows shooting up into my hairline. He presses his body close, and my heartbeat kicks into overdrive, the skin on my arms prickling. The music slows to a groovier, sexier song, and I wonder if your heart can race so fast it explodes.
“Yoon Jae shouldn’t be the only one with your attention tonight,” he mumbles into my ear as we begin to sway.
My nose pressed against his shoulder, I pick up on the reek of alcohol. He’s drunk. Mortification washes over me, and I’m tempted to pull away. But his hand, pressed into my lower back, anchors me, and I can’t breathe.
This isn’t right. He would never do this sober. I extricate his hand from my back and step away. Desire and hurt swirl in his eyes, a heady mixture, and my throat tightens. It’s not real. Doesn’t mean anything. Not any of it. The alcohol in his system is making him someone he’s not, just like with Nathan.
I flee the dance floor, ignoring the curious glances from people who were obviously watching us. The lit-up sign indicating the restrooms draws me through the crowd, and I burst through the door of the women’s bathroom and close myself in an empty stall. The smells of vomit and urine mix in the air, and I swallow a gag.
Pressing my forehead against the cold stall door, I suck in deep breaths through my mouth. Heat still courses through me, and my body aches to feel Jason’s arms wrapped around me again. What is
wrong
with me?
My trembling fingers fumble with the latch on the door, and I exit to find a line of girls scowling at me. The first in the line pushes past me and slams the stall door closed, the sound jarring all the way down my spine.
I check myself in the mirror and see my cheeks flamed with a deep blush. Too emotionally spent to care, I go back out to the main room. I find Sophie, Tae Hwa, and Yoon Jae congregating at the bar, and I make my way toward them.
“Where’s Jason?” I ask, forcing my voice to remain level.
“He’s not with you?” Sophie asks. “I thought I saw you guys dancing. I’m proud of you for getting him out of his comfort zone.”
“I don’t think I succeeded. He’s not one to let loose, if you know what I mean.” I add a trite little laugh in the hopes that they can’t see my face burning even hotter.
The others agree, then drop the subject, although Jason is the only topic filling my head. They go dance again, but I can’t muster the energy or motivation to join them. I search the room for Jason, now a little worried that he’s passed out somewhere. Maybe he’s puking his guts out in the bathroom, though I didn’t think he was
that
drunk. Yet. Also, I feel sure there’d be camera flashes tipping us off if something that exciting happened.
I pull out my phone and check to see if Momma responded to my email. Nope. But I have one from Jane:
gracie: i looked up the sexy korean you told me about and OMG I WANT! please bring him home in your suitcase. or else. but the singer is cute, too! have you met him? you can have that one, but I call dibs on the drummer.
love, your stuck-in-america little sis.
p.s. you better write me! that one measly email with the james bond, “from south korea, love you” or whatever thing at the end (how lame is that, btw)? not enough. send me deets about the smokin’ hot koreans ASAP!
p.p.s. did you see that new article on e? totes lame.
I laugh so hard, I snort. So like Jane. I can hear her voice in my head, reading the words in that matter-of-fact tone she always uses. If I don’t bring Yoon Jae back to her, she might disown me. She’ll threaten to, anyway.
But when I click on the link she added at the bottom of her message, my stomach clenches. My face in JPEG form stares back at me, beneath the headline, “Where is Grace Wilde, and why isn’t she with family during this hard time?”
I don’t bother reading the article. I don’t have to. I know what it says, what it’s saying I did—abandon my family when they need me the most.
Sophie and the others party on, but I’ve lost the energy to dance or do anything besides linger at the bar and sip my soda, surfing the Internet on my phone, Googling my name and letting each new article about Dad or Nathan slam into me like a bus.
No one asks me to dance, and I can’t decide if I’m more relieved or irritated to finally be just a girl instead of Nathan Cross’s sister or Stephen Wilde’s daughter. I left home to get away from people recognizing my face, away from reporters like the ones talking about me online, but now that I’ve finally got that anonymity, I don’t know what to think of it.
Ten o’clock, and I still haven’t seen Jason since I abandoned him on the dance floor. Anxiety grows inside my chest, but I push it back down. He’s fine. And who am I to be worried, anyway?
Around ten thirty, Sophie drapes her arm around my shoulders and says through pants, “Are you ready to go? Tae Hwa said he has a surprise for us back at the dorms.”
I’m not sure how many more surprises I can handle after my interaction with Jason, but I force a smile and a nod.
Sophie’s gaze sweeps the bar. “Where’s Jason?”
“I haven’t seen him in over an hour,” I answer.
Her face pales, then she says something to Tae Hwa, who disappears into the crowd. Sophie pulls out her phone and presses it to her ear like she’ll be able to hear anything in here. She groans, still searching the room, and calls again.
“Shouldn’t have left him alone,” she says. “So stupid.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She throws her phone back into her purse with unnecessary force. “I’m an idiot, that’s what’s wrong.”
I open my mouth to ask her to clarify, but I spot Tae Hwa making his way through the crowd, half carrying someone at his side. My stomach drops when I recognize Jason, arm tossed across his friend’s shoulders and head slumped forward.
Sophie rushes to him, taking her brother’s face in her hands and letting out a stream of frantic Korean at him. He peers up at her with glazed-over eyes, and she frets over him even more.
“We need to get him back,” she says, throwing bills onto the bar to pay for our drinks. “Come on.”
She leads us out back where no one will see us, Tae Hwa hauling Jason a few steps behind us. When we step out onto the sidewalk, I can hear Jason muttering under his breath, though I’m not sure if it’s Korean or just unintelligible English. He stumbles over a crack in the pavement, nearly sending both him and Tae Hwa to the ground.
Yoon Jae makes to support his inebriated bandmate on the other side, but Jason shoves him away.
“Get off me!” He staggers free of Tae Hwa, running a hand through his hair and swaying like he might lose his balance.
He looks at me and, for a moment, stands completely still. His eyes clear enough to reveal a rawness that lurks beneath the surface of his coldness, a pain that runs deep. Shock ripples through me at seeing my own buried grief mirrored in the eyes of someone else.
He takes a step toward me but lurches and almost hits the pavement before Tae Hwa catches him. We manage to call the limo driver and get Jason into the car. He sits between me and Tae Hwa, but he throws off his friend’s restraining hand and leans his forehead against my shoulder. Heat radiates from that shoulder all the way to the tips of my fingers and up to my hairline, and my heart sputters when his palm falls on my bare knee.
“Oh, Grace, I’m sorry!” Sophie leans over and tries to move her brother, but he swats away her hands.
“No, it’s fine.” Only a slight tremble to my voice. “He’s not himself right now.”
A soft laugh rumbles deep in Jason’s chest, vibrating into me. I feel his lips pull up into a smile against my shoulder, and he mumbles something I don’t catch, his breath warm against my skin. I focus on my own breathing to keep it from verging into hyperventilation.
When the limo mercifully stops in front of the entrance to the school, we make the trek to our dorms, which has never seemed so long before tonight. Sophie and I follow the boys into their dorm. Yoon Jae heads up to his room, but I go with the others into Tae Hwa and Jason’s room.
Sophie pulls off her brother’s shoes and peels both jackets off his back. As she yanks the hoodie off his arms, his T-shirt hikes up and I have to look away from the strip of skin above the waistband of his jeans.
She gets him onto the bed, and he sprawls across the comforter, face smashed into the pillow and one leg half hanging off the side. Chewing on her bottom lip, Sophie wipes her index finger below both eyes, and I realize she’s crying. I get that she’s worried, but there’s something more going on here than Jason getting drunk on his birthday. I resolve to ask her later.
“
Komawo,
” she whispers to Tae Hwa, and he places a comforting hand on her shoulder.
They slip out into the hallway, probably for a private moment, leaving me alone with Jason. I stare down at his slack jaw and the steady rise and fall of his back, and my thoughts drift back to another boy passed out on another bed.
I had never seen Nathan drunk before that night. So when I’d wandered into the bedroom of the trailer he used on tour and saw the empty whiskey bottles on the floor and him snoring atop the bed with a half-clothed blond girl, I hadn’t known what to think. I thought about saying something to Momma, but then Dad told me not to, said he would handle Nathan. We didn’t know then that Nathan not only had a problem with Jack Daniels but also with tequila, vodka, and prescription drugs.
Tears pricking the backs of my eyes, less for this boy and more for the one I left back home, I fish out the guitar picks I bought for Jason’s birthday and set them down on his nightstand, the Post-it note that reads,
Happy B’day, Korean tutor!
sitting on top.
I lean down close to the bed and whisper, “Don’t do this to Sophie. Whatever your reasons, it’s not worth the pain you’ll cause her.”
What I don’t add, but am thinking, is:
Trust me. I know from experience.
“Class is over,” the teacher says right before the bell.
I slip my books into my tote bag, keeping an eye on Jason. I’ve got to know what happened Saturday night. When I asked Sophie why she freaked out, she wouldn’t talk about it.
“I was just overreacting,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”
But I can’t help worrying about it. Worrying about her.
Jason slips out of the classroom first, and I push my way through the other students to follow him. Nobody stares at him anymore or asks for autographs when none of the teachers are looking. I guess everyone’s gotten used to having a celebrity in their midst.
I catch up with him at the end of the hall, where he heads down the stairs.
“Hey,” I call out.
He turns, stopping in the middle of the stairwell. Other students walk around us, their bags banging against me as I struggle not to get swept up in the tide of bodies.
“We need to talk,” I say.
“About what?” Boredom permeates his voice, like he’s still sitting in class.
I take the high road and ignore his attitude. “About what happened on Saturday.”
He glances up the stairs, like he expects someone with a video camera to record our conversation. Then again, maybe he should be worried about that—if the press found out about his escapades, they’d exploit it. Like they always do. I also wouldn’t put it past the other students. They might not still giggle every time he walks by, but they watch him like vultures, like they’re waiting for him to do something gossip worthy.
Jason continues down the stairs, leaving me standing in his wake, staring after him. He did
not
just ditch me. I run after him.