Authors: Katie M. Stout
“What about you?” Yoon Jae directs his attention to me. “Did you have a good day? Too bad we’re not in the same class.”
I drop the piece of lettuce between my chopsticks. “Yeah, it was good. I don’t really like my Korean class, though.”
A snort sounds from Jason’s general direction, and I suppress the temptation to shoot him a spiteful glare. Bitter girl.
“Yeah, I’m sorry you’re in that class,” Sophie says. “They split up our year into two classes, and you’re in the one that has to take a Korean course.”
I cut my eyes to Jason, but he doesn’t give any sort of explanation for why he’s conspicuously the only Korean in our class.
“Grace and I were planning to go to the mall tomorrow night,” Sophie says suddenly, and I perk. “Do you guys want to go?”
Yoon Jae glances at Jason, who’s still tight-lipped. “That sounds fun. I don’t have that much homework, so I can go.”
“Yes, yes,” Tae Hwa adds. “We go.”
“What about you, brother?” Sophie sticks out her lip dramatically. “Please?”
“Sure,” he mutters.
Sophie claps her hands. “Perfect! We’ll see you guys at four thirty then.”
We spend the rest of the meal in comfortable conversation, Yoon Jae telling me about his classes this year and his little sister living in Beijing who wants to be a gymnast. We head back to our dorms with me not sharing a single word with Jason.
The next morning in first period, I get to class early. As I watch my classmates trickle in, I steel myself for today’s Jason encounter. But when he saunters through the door, he snags one of the free chairs in the front of the room. As far away from me as he can get.
I scoff, shooting daggers at the back of his head with my eyes, hoping he feels all the hateful thoughts I have for him. So what if he doesn’t want to sit beside me? I don’t want to sit beside him, either. And I show him that the rest of the day by refusing to even look in his direction.
Four thirty rolls around sooner than I expect, and I barely have time to get back to my dorm and change clothes. I decide on a knee-length dress I ordered online last summer. What does one wear to a Korean mall? I’ve noticed that the girls here dress differently than back home. More high heels, short shorts, and screen-printed tees. I’ve yet to see many girls in boot-cut jeans or anything like what we would deem punk or alternative, but maybe there’s more of that in the big cities. I can’t help feeling like I stick out even more with my clothing choices than my skin and hair.
We meet the boys outside our dorm. Sophie latches herself onto Tae Hwa immediately, and I’ve got to wonder if there’s something between them. He seems a nice enough guy, from what I can tell—which isn’t much, considering we can’t really talk to each other and our conversations consist basically of awkward smiles.
I fall into step beside Yoon Jae, Jason walking on his other side. I try to keep my gaze from shifting to Sophie’s brother, but I can’t deny that he’s looking particularly cute tonight in his signature skinny jeans and a plaid button-up left open over a white T-shirt. He has the plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing his forearms, and there’s a lot of collarbone action going on with the V-neck.
Stop looking, Grace!
Praise God, we get on a bus instead of motorbikes. I fumble for the right coins, embarrassment heating my cheeks, and Yoon Jae has to pay for me before the passengers behind us throw pointy objects at my head.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he assures me as we squish into the crowded aisle and grab onto handles hanging from the ceiling. “I went to America last year, and I could never figure out how the money worked.” He wrinkles his nose. “All the bills are the same color and have old white men on them.”
We ride for nearly two hours before we reach the Incheon city center, and I realize why Sophie wanted to drive her motorbike into town the other day. Once in Incheon, Sophie leads us to a stairwell down to the subway, and I swallow a groan. More traveling?
But once we descend into the belly of the underground metro, my mouth literally falls open. Instead of a train platform and turnstiles, the long tunnel is packed full of stalls overflowing with clothes, jewelry, trinkets, and anything else you could want to buy. We’re not taking the subway to the mall—this
is
the mall.
Sophie takes the lead, and we pass a furniture store standing opposite a perfume shop and a nail salon beside a pharmacy. The white tiled floors and chrome ceiling still look like a subway station, but the crowds aren’t rushing to make their trains.
“So, where do we want to eat?” Sophie asks. “Western or no?”
Everyone looks to me, and I hold both hands up in the universal sign of surrender. “Hey, I don’t care. I can eat Western food every day at home, so you guys get whatever you want.”
They decide on a restaurant off the main tunnel, which offers both Korean and Western food. The waitress comes to take our order, but she just stares, the wheels of her brain turning and reflecting on her face. Suddenly, her entire expression lights up, and she cries out something that makes Jason wince. He shakes his head, and Yoon Jae pitches in, waving his hands in front of his face, but the woman isn’t dissuaded. She points at the three boys, then fishes out her phone, and before I can protest, Sophie’s shoved me off the bench and the waitress has taken my seat and is getting a picture with Eden.
Heads are turning throughout the restaurant, phones pulled out of purses and pockets, an excited murmur buzzes in the air. The waitress bows her head and says, “
Gomapseumnida,
” which I remember from class means
thank you
—but don’t ask me what level of formality it is.
The waitress leaves, but she’s soon replaced by more fans and, thirty seconds later, there’s a swarm of people snapping pictures and pushing pens at the three boys. I lose Sophie in the crowd, getting shoved toward the back. I pull in a sharp breath when an elbow jabs into my side and, gritting my teeth, I swim back to the front.
“Sophie!” I shout.
“Grace!” She reaches through the crowd, over shoulders, until she grasps my hand and pulls me forward.
Yoon Jae and Tae Hwa sign autographs and throw up peace signs for pictures, but Jason stays behind them, staring at the ground and scowling whenever a flash goes off.
The mass of bodies pushes at my back and pins me against our table until it hurts, but no matter how many dirty looks I throw over my shoulder, the crowd doesn’t let up. Before I can get completely run over, Sophie steps between the band and their admirers, and shouts something over the hum of voices. And with the skill of a manager or handler, she ushers the boys out of the restaurant and onto the main walkway.
But we’re greeted by more camera phones and people eager for a celebrity spotting. Sophie grabs my wrist, and we lead the way through the now-packed tunnel. Fingers brush mine from behind, and I glance back to see Yoon Jae reaching for me. He snags my hand, and our entire group makes a train as we weave through the crowd.
I tilt my chin up to suck down a breath of cool air. With bodies pressing against us and cameras flashing from every side, my pulse climbs, sending adrenaline-laced blood through my veins. I’ve been with Nathan when fans spotted him, but I’ve never seen this kind of mob in the States.
We climb up a flight of stairs and emerge back onto the street, but Sophie doesn’t stop—and no one lets go of hands. Jogging, she leads us down a darkened alley, then another and another, until no one’s behind us anymore.
She stops beside a Dumpster, and I press my palm against the brick building beside us, trying to mask my panting breaths.
“That was … kind of crazy,” I say.
Yoon Jae catches my eye, and we stare at each other for a couple seconds before we both crack up, and then everyone except for Jason is laughing.
“Maybe we should go back to school,” Yoon Jae says.
“Seriously? And let the crazies get the best of us?” Sophie sniffs. “We should go eat dinner and have fun, just to prove we can.”
Still laughing, we follow Sophie through the winding back alleys of Incheon until we find a restaurant so far off the main roads it doesn’t even feel like we’re in the same city. A fishy smell lingers outside the restaurant’s door, and I wrinkle my nose as we go inside and squeeze onto two wooden benches. The customers are all over fifty, and no one gives the boys a second glance.
The others peruse the Korean menu, and Yoon Jae offers to read me the choices.
“Just order me whatever sounds good,” I say.
He studies the list. “Do you like fish?”
“Umm…”
He smiles. “You don’t.”
“Well, if that’s what they specialize in here, that’s fine. I’ll be brave. Make memories and whatnot.”
I’m thinking confident thoughts until our plates arrive. The bits I get stare up at me in menace, their smell daring me to take a bite and not vomit. I glare right back.
“I thought you wanted to be brave,” Yoon Jae says with a sly grin.
I shoot him a mock glare, then hold my breath as I take a bite and chew. No gagging. Swallow. I did it!
Yoon Jae slips his phone out of his pocket. “Pick up another piece.”
I obey, and he snaps a picture, then twists the phone around so I can see the image. “Now you can show all your friends in America that you ate fish in Korea,” he says.
“Yes!” I pump my fist in the air.
He chuckles, dipping his own food into a small bowl of soy sauce. “You’re funny.”
For some reason, this comment raises a flush to my cheeks and the tips of my ears. But when I look over and see Jason staring at me, the heat that was warming my face turns cold, and I focus my attention back on my food.
We all exit the restaurant together. We make our way in the direction of the bus station, but we’re on the complete opposite side of town and can’t take back alleys all the way there, so we have to merge back into the more crowded streets. The boys keep their heads down, and Jason goes so far as to slide on a pair of sunglasses, despite the dark.
Sophie leads, as per usual, and Tae Hwa drifts to the front of the group to stand beside her, leaving Yoon Jae, me, and Jason to trail them in awkward silence. I take advantage of the silence to study the Incheon streets and the trendy young people filling them. The boys are all well dressed, with perfectly styled hair, and the girls look like they walked straight out of a fashion catalogue. Watching them pound their skinny butts down the sidewalk in sky-high heels makes me feel very American and very fat.
We try shopping in some of the less-crowded shops, but no one has the energy anymore after the fan mob, especially when other patrons start recognizing the band and pulling out cell phones. When Yoon Jae suggests we head back to the bus station, we all quickly agree.
The station is packed with people. Sophie gets in line at the counter to buy our tickets, and I stand with the boys in an out-of-the-way corner, where they try to keep from being noticed. But no matter where I position myself, I keep getting hit by people walking by, their travel backpacks slamming into my arm or their luggage rolling over my toes.
The crowded space reminds me of the last concert of Nathan’s I attended, of being surrounded by thousands of screaming fans who had paid lots of money just to hear him sing. It was a huge show, and I wanted to experience it like a normal person, albeit front row.
My friend Marcy and I had staked out our spots up front hours before they opened the doors. When the crowds had arrived, we got pressed up against the metal rails for the entire show, but it was so much more fun than standing backstage. I was caught up in the excitement, the enthusiasm of everyone spilling over onto me.
Of course, excitement transformed into terror when Nathan passed out in the middle of the show. That was the first day I realized Nathan’s drug habit could be dangerous, that it could ruin his career and his health.
I shake off the memory, shoving down any feelings it inspires. This isn’t the place for those kinds of thoughts. I can’t afford to dwell on them now, not with this many people around. Not when they could see me lose my grip on my emotions.
Especially since I haven’t talked to Marcy in months. I haven’t talked to
any
of my friends since the beginning of summer. At some point, their calls and texts and emails stopped—probably when they realized I was never going to answer them.
Sophie returns with our tickets, and we hurry to catch our bus. The only seats left are two together in the front and three along the last row. Sophie slides into the window seat, with Tae Hwa beside her, so Jason, Yoon Jae, and I make our way to the back. Somehow, I end up between them, and I realize too late that I now have to sit beside Jason for two hours.
But Yoon Jae keeps me entertained with stories told in hushed whispers about crazy fans at concerts and the grueling practices their record label put them through when they first signed, including the time Tae Hwa was hospitalized for exhaustion because of Eden’s hard-core schedule. I’m about to ask Yoon Jae how the band formed, when his pocket vibrates, and he pulls out his phone. He checks the number, and his face pales. Throwing me an apologetic smile, he answers in Korean.
I shift my focus out the window, but that requires me to look past Jason, and he might think I’m looking
at
him, so I turn my head. And see the two girls beside Yoon Jae staring and taking pictures on their phones. They giggle behind their hands, but when I catch their gazes, their expressions harden.
Great. Not again.
I steel myself for another mob, but Jason leans over me and hisses at them in Korean. The girls’ faces pale, but all I can focus on is Jason’s arm leaning against mine and the smell of his cologne coming from his neck, which is embarrassingly close to my face.
The bus pulls over at the next stop, and the girls stand abruptly.
They both fall into bows and mutter, “
Jwe song ham ni da,
” in unison—I’m sorry—before rushing off the bus.
Yoon Jae’s still jabbering into his phone, leaning away from me, tension thick in his voice, but as the bus turns back into traffic, I turn raised eyebrows on Jason. “What did you just say to them?”