Authors: Katie M. Stout
“Oh, Sophie.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders and give her a tight squeeze. “Don’t feel bad. Jason wasn’t angry.”
“I know, but I still should have stuck by him. We’re family. That’s what you do.”
Her words bring a dull throb to my chest, but I force myself to ignore it. Everything with Nathan is over. I can’t dwell on it anymore.
“You’re not mad at
me,
are you?” she asks.
“Please. No way could I be mad.” I give her shoulder a light shove. “You’re my best girlfriend.”
She brightens. “Really?”
“Really.”
But if I’m being honest, Jason’s my best friend, period. And I just pray that, one day, he can be more.
* * *
“You’re going to kill us,” Jason says from behind me, and his arms wrapped around my waist seem to burn through my thin T-shirt.
I focus all my energy on keeping the bike upright and not ramming us into any stationary objects, like trees—the moving objects can get out of our way. The bike wobbles beneath us, and Jason chuckles.
“Shut up,” I snap.
Why did I insist on driving us across the island again? Oh yeah, because I wanted to prove to him that I could. Dumbest idea ever.
“Turn here.” Jason points to the left.
I peer over my shoulder to make sure no one’s coming, then cut across three lanes of traffic to make a sharp left turn, just missing the side of a BMW. I suck in a sharp breath and peddle faster, like if we can escape the spot, Jason won’t notice I almost got us pulverized.
The palm of his hand presses into my stomach, and it flip-flops in response. I follow his directions for another ten minutes until I spot the pebbly beach. As I pull over to a sidewalk that flanks the ocean, Jason hops off the back of the bike. I screech to a halt and stumble off, my legs like jelly.
“Gah, you should consider losing some weight, Bae.” I rub my thighs. “You’re heavy.”
He bends down to lock the bike to a light post. “Or maybe you should gain some muscle.”
I scowl at his wry smile.
With the sun setting, lights flicker on around us. Boats chug past, on their way to Incheon harbors. In the distance, across the water, the city lights glow, but here on Ganghwa Island, a stillness lingers in the air.
Jason and I meander down the walkway, close enough to brush hands occasionally, but far enough that I long for the quiet comfort of his fingers threaded through mine. I sneak a glance at him. He called me this morning, asking if I wanted to hang out tonight. Like we don’t do that every night. But, this time, his voice sounded different, unsure, almost nervous.
“So, do you feel any different now that you’ve graduated?” I ask, if only to break the silence between us.
He gives a noncommittal grunt.
“You?” he asks.
“Not really. It was strangely … uneventful.” Probably because I have bigger things to think about—like the future.
We fall silent.
“I wanted to talk to you about something.” Jason shoves his hands into his pockets. “I umm … wanted to let you know that I’m leaving for Seoul tomorrow.”
“Oh.” My mood tanks.
“I talked to some people from the record label, and they want me to do some interviews with the media, make some TV appearances, that sort of stuff. They said I need to get myself out there again.”
“That makes sense,” I say. And it does. So why do I suddenly feel like I got hit by a truck?
“Yoon Jae has already signed a contract with another label.” Sarcasm laces his voice. “I guess I need to catch up.”
“Yoon Jae signed another contract? Doing what?”
“He’s going solo. Apparently, they offered him the deal the day after the band released the statement about our breakup. He signed it a week later. He left school about a week ago—it was sort of sudden, I think.”
My brain flashes back to the conversation I had with him the day I introduced him to Jane. Did he know we wouldn’t see each other again? My stomach clenches when I remember Jane talking about him liking me. Did he think he didn’t have a chance, was that why he never said anything about it? Maybe he was going to. Maybe he just got nervous. I’d like to think he at least planned on telling me about his new solo career.
My heart sinks when I realize I won’t see his adorable smile again except on a computer or TV screen. Why didn’t he tell me he was leaving?
Why didn’t he say goodbye?
Jason picks up on my disappointment. “Are you going to miss seeing him?”
“Of course. He was my friend.”
His shoulders tense, but he doesn’t say anything else.
“So what are you going to do now, musicwise?” I ask.
He steps up to the railing, resting his elbows on top of the stone, and looks out over the water. “I don’t know yet. I’m sure my manager has a lot of ideas, though.” He tacks on a hollow laugh at the end.
“But you’re the one playing the music. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You’ve got a lot of talent. Use it!”
He doesn’t respond.
“Jason, seriously. Do what you want to do. If you want to keep playing music, then go for it. But if you want to go to college and become an engineer or a teacher, then do that. You can’t let other people rule your life.”
He sighs. “You know why I left Seoul to come here? I knew I didn’t want to keep playing music, not as Eden’s singer. I hated every second of it. And being with Mom just reminded me of all my dad did to hurt her. I thought maybe if I could escape the city, I’d be able to just get away from everything. But I didn’t have the guts to actually end it.”
“You did, though. The band’s not together anymore.”
“Yeah, I guess. Crazy that I came to Ganghwa Island, though. I didn’t want to go back to America because I’d have to see my dad. This seemed like the best place to disappear.”
I laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Tell me about it.”
We both gaze out at the water, and my insides knot. This is the last time I’m going to see him. Potentially ever. No more crazy bike rides, late night study sessions in the library, or making up dumb songs about broccoli.
My chest tightens, and I gasp, the pain so visceral I can’t breathe. We could write emails or maybe text occasionally. But it’ll never be the same. We’ll never be the same. The first boy I ever wanted to really let in, and we end like this.
“I’m … going to miss you,” he murmurs, flashing me a sad smile. “I know you probably think I’m lying or something else ridiculous, but I really do like spending time with you. I hope you believe at least that.” His voice drops to a whisper. “And I
never
would have hurt you. I saw what my dad did to my mom. I’m not that kind of guy.”
I swallow the tightness in my throat and nod.
“Promise you won’t forget me when you become a famous music producer?”
I laugh, despite the tears pricking my eyes. “You’re the famous one.”
He pins me with an earnest look, his face shrouded in shadow from the lamppost light above us. “I’m serious. Don’t forget. Promise?”
The knot in my throat grows, but I manage to croak, “Promise.”
We stare at each other a long moment, and I can’t help wishing that everything had gone differently. That I had been brave enough to trust him, to trust that we could handle his problems and my problems—together. But, mostly, I just want him.
I remind myself that this is my last moment to finally tell him, well, everything—that when I look at him, my heart aches a little in a good way and that I have an unnatural fondness for his bright-colored shoes and the way his hair hangs just a little in his eyes. But when I pull in a long breath to spill my guts, I can’t. The expectant gleam in his eyes silences any words.
So I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him, instead.
Just a little peck. Chaste enough even for one of those Korean dramas. But butterflies explode inside my stomach, and a flood of longing fills my chest.
He stares at me with wide eyes, and a laugh bubbles to my lips at his shocked expression.
“What—I—that—” he stutters.
“Just thought since this is goodbye, I should send you off right.”
“Now I don’t want to leave at all.”
I laugh, but my heart constricts. This banter is just that—banter. He’s leaving, and even if I did believe he loved me enough not to kill my heart, it wouldn’t matter. So I muster as much cheerfulness as I can, link my arm through his, and pull him farther down the promenade.
Because I don’t want this night to be over.
Because this is our end.
I set my cup down with more force than necessary. “Sophie, why do you keep checking your phone every ten seconds?”
“Huh?” She looks up from the electronic device that’s been glued to her hand all afternoon.
“Your phone. You haven’t put it away since we got here.”
She tosses me an apologetic smile but doesn’t put it back in her purse.
I breathe out a long sigh, ready for this day to be over. I’ve been researching online for hours, trying to find colleges with late acceptance or any internships that don’t require a college degree. My current list for both is zero. And while I keep telling myself not to panic, my unease is growing by the hour. I broke down and emailed Momma last night, telling her I might have to come home, and she answered back with one of the most enthusiastic messages I’ve ever had from her. Too bad the thought of moving back into that house triggers my gag reflex.
My
gimbap
turns sour in my mouth, and I set my chopsticks across the plate. The dining hall’s mostly empty, students clearing out for summer vacation.
“We need to get back to the dorm,” Sophie announces, standing.
“Why?”
“I want to watch something on TV.”
“Can’t you watch it online later?”
“No, this is important.” She picks up both my tray and hers, and puts them away.
Sophie hurries me the entire ten-minute walk, throwing phrases over her shoulder like: “I can’t miss this” and “Seriously, Grace, you can’t walk any faster?”
By the time we reach the room, sweat rolls down my back and my flip-flops have rubbed a sore spot between my toes. I crank up my box fan and aim it directly at my bed, then fall down on top of the sheets.
Sophie switches on the television she bought last month, flipping through the channels.
I stare at the slats holding up Sophie’s mattress and let myself wallow in some self-pity. Because if I actually take my problems seriously, I’m going to start hyperventilating. South Korea is going to kick me out in a month if I don’t renew my visa, the school says I have to be gone in less than a week, and I have applied to zero colleges.
On second thought, maybe I
will
start hyperventilating.
“Found it!” Sophie squeals.
She grabs my arm and yanks me off the bed and onto my desk chair, which she’s set in the middle of the floor beside hers. Grinning, she folds her legs up underneath herself in her seat and stares raptly at the TV.
“Sophie, are you really going to make me watch this?”
“Shh!”
Rolling my eyes, I shut up and focus my attention on the show I can’t understand. Because it’s in Korean. Which Sophie would remember if she stopped to consider it.
A snappy pop song blares through the speakers, followed by applause, as credits fade into a pan of a live audience composed almost solely of teenage girls. Many of them hold up giant signs, and I’m reminded of MTV’s TRL, which Nathan watched religiously growing up.
The camera cuts to a young guy with trendy glasses and supertight pants holding a microphone. The crowd nearly drowns out his voice as he begins the show. I start to tune out the monotonous stream of words I don’t know when the camera switches to a familiar face. My heart stops.
Sophie cuts her eyes to me, a sly grin curling her lips.
“W-what is Jason doing on TV?” I gape at the screen, soaking in every detail from his unfortunate orange-colored sweater to the way he forces an awkward smile at the show’s host.
Sophie shrugs, though she snickers. I’ve been set up.
Jason shifts on top of a metal stool, the tension in his shoulders and tightness in his expression betraying his discomfort. If I didn’t know him, I would guess he’s just an awkward guy. Everything about his posture, the halting way he answers the questions, all scream “socially challenged.” But in that moment, he’s the sexiest boy I’ve ever seen.
“What’s he saying?” I ask.
Sophie pauses, listening. “The host is asking him about Eden and why they broke up.”
Jason answers.
“He says it was because of artistic differences,” she relays. “They’re all still friends, but they wanted to do their own things creatively.” She snorts but doesn’t give her own commentary.
I realize I’m leaning forward in my chair, like it will bring me closer to Jason. With a blush, I settle against the backrest, though nervous energy zips through my body.
“Now they’re talking about his future career. Jason says he’s planning on doing some solo stuff. He’ll be working on his album starting in July.”
Disappointment seeps into my brain. Why didn’t he tell me that? He’s only been gone like two days, and he’s already keeping me out of the loop?
“He says the music is going to be a little different than Eden’s music,” Sophie continues. “His taste is different.”
Jason keeps talking, but Sophie falls silent.
“What did he say?” I ask, my voice shrill.
She waves her hand in dismissal. “Nothing important, just about that dumb drama he was in and denying rumors about him dating Na Na in real life.”
I swallow a growl, now more than ever wishing I had studied harder in Korean class.
Jason picks up an acoustic guitar, and he and the host banter for a few lines. The camera pans to the audience, all the girls staring at Jason with dreamy eyes. I recognize that look. I’ve probably had it on my own face for six months.
“The host is asking Jason if he’ll play a song.” Sophie cuts into my thoughts. “Jason says he will, but he doesn’t want to play an Eden song. He’s going to play the one he wrote for the drama he was in.”
My breath catches in my throat as the audience explodes in expectant cheers and Jason plucks the first chord progression of the song we wrote together. Without the drums and bass, it has a chilled, unplugged vibe, but he infuses the lyrics with more passion than I’ve heard him sing in anything else. He leans over the instrument, his mouth maybe an inch from the stand-up microphone, and my heart thumps against the inside of my chest so loud Sophie must hear it.