Authors: Katie M. Stout
If this is the severing of my last connection to Jason, it was all worth it. If this is how I have to say goodbye, I’m still glad for the experience. I’m still glad I knew him.
He ends the song, and the crowd erupts in applause. He bows his head with a smile and says, “Thank you.”
The crowd giggles at his English.
The host asks another series of questions and Sophie translates for me, but I can’t focus. My brain rewinds back to the fall, sitting in the practice room with Jason, reviewing every facet of that song over and over again. I realize that that’s the most fun I’ve ever had, working on his music. Working on music, period.
Music’s in my blood. Why have I spent so many years denying that?
Sophie nudges me with her elbow. “You might want to listen to this part.”
I tune back in and see Jason’s still holding the guitar in his lap. His discomfort has faded, so he interacts with the host more naturally. He even laughs, and a real smile brightens his face. My heart twists.
“Jason says he wants to play one more song,” Sophie says. “But he’s asking if he can say something in English first.”
The host’s eyebrows shoot up behind his thick-framed glasses, and he addresses the crowd, which responds with more applause. Jason nods his head to acknowledge them, then looks straight into the camera.
“Hey, Grace,” he says, and I stop breathing. “If you’re watching, I just wanted to let you know this song is for you.” His face melts into a grin. “I’m holding up my end of the deal. Now, it’s your turn.”
Then he strums the guitar and launches into an acoustic version of a song I never thought I’d hear on an Asian TV show—one written by the Doors.
“Hello, I love you. Won’t you tell me your name?” he sings. “Hello, I love you. Let me jump in your game.”
I laugh, tears pooling in my eyes. Jason adds a dramatic growl into his voice during the second chorus, and I choke on a giggle, a sob catching in my throat. I don’t realize the tears are spilling onto my cheeks until Sophie takes my hand and gives it a quick squeeze.
At the end of the song, the audience screams and claps even louder than before, and even the host joins in the applause. He says something into the camera, and the screen cuts to another commercial. But my mind is reeling. Jason sang for me. He addressed me on a television show. He sang
to
me.
My phone buzzes, and I fumble to pull it out of my pocket.
I answer without even looking at the number. “Hello?”
“Grace.”
The familiar voice fills me with warmth that seeps all the way down to the tips of my fingers and toes, and I can’t suppress the idiotic grin from forming on my face.
“Hi.”
“Did you hear it?” Jason asks.
“Yeah.”
He’s quiet a moment, then says, “I just won major points there, right?”
I laugh, my entire body tingling. “Yeah. Yeah, you did.”
“Grace?”
“Hmm?”
“I miss you.”
“I miss you, too,” I whisper.
“You don’t have to miss me anymore.”
“What are you talking about?”
He chuckles, and I feel like I’ve melted. “I left something for you.”
I glance at Sophie, who points out our window. I peek outside and see Young Jo, the Bae’s private driver, standing beside the car. He holds one of those signs chauffeurs have when they pick up people from the airport. It says
GRACE
in big, bold letters.
I gasp.
“Hey, I need to go,” he says, another noise in the background muffling his voice. “Hopefully, I’ll see you soon.”
And he hangs up.
I gape at the phone, like it’ll answer all my questions.
Sophie peers out at Young Jo. “Pretty romantic, if you ask me.”
I stare out the window, my brain racing. I already said goodbye. It was sweet of him to stick with our deal about me trying to become a music producer if he introduced South Korea to the Doors, but I can’t handle saying goodbye to him again. No matter if he is my best friend and I have difficulty breathing without him here. Because if I go now, I know I’ll get sucked into loving him for good. And I can’t lose someone else I love.
“What are you going to wear?” Sophie asks. “Because I expect to see you in something hot.”
I collapse into my chair, my elation fizzling. “I can’t go.”
“What do you mean you can’t go?” she demands. “He just sang to you on TV! You have to go!”
“Sophie—”
“What? What possible excuse could you have?”
“I need to keep researching colleges.”
“You can do that on the way there. That’s why you pay for expensive Internet on your phone.”
“I can’t leave all my stuff here. I need to move out of the dorm. Are
you
going to pack it all for me?”
She barks a laugh. “No way, but it’ll be here when you get back. The school doesn’t require you to get out for a few more days. You can come back and get it.”
I squirm, searching my brain for any other excuse. “I don’t have any clean clothes.”
She raises her eyebrows. “What do you think Febreze is for?”
When I still don’t move, she sighs and gets up to place both of her hands on my shoulders. Leveling a hard gaze at me, she says, “Grace, you know I love you, but you’re being an idiot right now. A boy just did probably the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in real life for you, and you’re not going to go be with him?”
I stare back at her a second, the truth of her words seeping in. Then I break away from her grip, pull my biggest purse out of my wardrobe, and start throwing in any article of clothing I can find. Sophie hands me my toothbrush and other toiletries, and I toss in a few pairs of shoes for good measure. I have no idea how long I’ll be gone.
Slamming open the door, I give the room one more sweep to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything important.
“Why are you taking so long?” Sophie cries, waving me off. “Get out of here! Go!”
And I do.
For the entire drive, I can’t focus on anything around me. I keep looking at my watch, thinking at least twenty minutes have passed, only to find that it’s been five. When we reach the outskirts of the city, I shoot Jason a text:
I’m in Seoul!
A second later, he responds,
Waiting for you outside.
I have no idea what he means until Young Jo pulls up in front of a gigantic building in the middle of downtown. I crane my neck back and spot the posters, the big sign that says S
TAR
E
NTERTAINMENT
in both
Hangul
and English—Jason’s agency.
I jump out of the car onto the busy sidewalk, searching each face that passes for the one waiting on me. My heart sinks when I don’t see him.
I press the phone to my ear to call him, still scanning the sidewalk, when I see a familiar smile on a guy with aviator sunglasses. Standing at the bottom of the building’s steps, he waves.
Catching my breath, I break into a run down the sidewalk. Dropping my bag at his feet, I throw myself into Jason’s arms with an embarrassing squeal.
He staggers backwards, nearly losing his balance. With his palms pressed against my back and the tips of my toes just brushing the ground, a chuckle rumbles deep in the back of his throat.
People around us stare, and a few of them do a double take, like they wonder if that’s really Jason Bae, and if it is, why he’s hugging a white girl.
I pull back until I can see his face, and I push the sunglasses up so they rest on top of his head. “Hi,” I say.
He grins. “Hi.”
A camera flashes, and I jump back from Jason. A girl snaps another shot with her phone, and Jason slips his hand into mine and leads me inside the building.
I’m still trying not to melt into a puddle at the feel of his warm fingers laced through mine when we pass the security guard and ride the elevator down to the basement parking garage. He leads me to a car I’ve never seen, and I can’t help feeling like I’ve stepped into an alternate reality. I wait for him to say something, maybe whip out his guitar and sing a few bars. Anything. I just rushed all the way here from Ganghwa Island, and he’s not even going to kiss me?
He takes my bag and puts it in the trunk of the black sports car, and I sink into the leather passenger seat in a sort of daze. This is his car, I guess. I’m riding in Jason’s car.
He pulls out of the parking space and reaches for my hand. My breathing accelerates, and he shoots me a smile, like he can feel the way my heart can’t stop banging against the inside of my chest.
Maybe he turns on the radio. Maybe he talks to me. I don’t know. I just watch Seoul pass by us out the window, my chest constricting more with each passing minute. I’m crazy. Certifiable. I just threw away all my plans. For a boy. And a musician with a bazillion problems at that. I’m probably going to regret this later, but all I can think about is how much I want him.
I steal a glance at Jason, who drives with one hand, the other holding deftly on to mine. Like it belongs there. I’ve waited so long for it to belong.
Jason pulls into a tiny parking lot at the top of a hill just as the sun’s dipping below the horizon. He shifts into
PARK
and gets out. I hesitate, not sure if my legs are even capable of holding my weight at the moment.
Jason pokes his head back into the car. “Grace, are you coming?” Hesitancy lingers in his voice—the added push gets me out of my seat.
I peer up at a needlelike tower that stretches into the darkening sky, its lights brighter than any of the stars. I recognize it from the research I did before visiting Seoul in December. This is N Seoul Tower, a popular tourist spot.
“Come on. I want to show you something,” Jason says.
He presses his hand into the small of my back and pulls me along with him into a sky bucket like the ones at amusement parks. We’re the only ones inside, and he keeps smiling at me, then glancing out the window, more excited than a kid on his birthday.
We step out of the lift, climb up an endless number of stairs, and finally reach an observation area. Only a few other people mingle around the fences that overlook the city. Lamps illuminate giant treelike sculptures covered in ornaments. The warm wind whipping my hair into my face, I approach one of the sculptures, which looks like it’s decked out in trash.
But, when I get close, I realize they’re locks—locks of all shapes and sizes, with print scribbled in Sharpie or smeared with ink pen. They hang so close together, it looks like they’re all connected, one giant clump of locks.
Jason steps up beside me, his elbow brushing against mine and raising goose bumps down my arm. “They’re called the lover’s locks. You’re supposed to write your names on them, lock it to the railing or one of these, then throw the key off the edge.”
Biting his lip, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a plain silver lock with a three-number combination, the kind you would use on a suitcase. I swallow hard, my mind whirling.
“I couldn’t find one with a key,” he says, looking down at his shoes. “But I figured this would work.”
He slips out a Sharpie from the same pocket and writes some Korean symbols on the front of the lock’s shiny face. Then he spells out my name in English, each stroke of the marker making my heart race faster. He pushes back a couple locks until he finds a free space, then hooks ours onto the metal and clicks it shut, spinning the numbers so it’s secure.
I stare at our lock, which almost disappears among the myriad of others.
Jason clears his throat. “I just wanted to show you that I’m serious about this. About us.”
I catch his eye, and he peers down at me expectantly. But I can’t speak, my brain still unable to form coherent language. When did I become a mute?
His expression darkens, disappointment shrouding his face. He looks away. “I guess this was sort of dumb.”
I grab his hand, and hope alights in his eyes.
“It’s not dumb,” I murmur.
His lips curl into a soft smile, and the weight pressing down on my chest loosens a little, and my brain clears.
“I listened to what you said about the music thing, and you’re right,” he says. “I already talked to my manager and some of the record execs. They agreed to let me branch into rock music instead of pop. My album is going to be the music I like.” His smile widens. “We can work on more songs that I actually want to play.”
“
You
can work on the songs,” I correct.
He shakes his head. “I want you to help me. Grace, you’re a great composer, a great producer. The song I wrote for the drama is the best I’ve ever done, and it’s all because of you.”
“I can’t help you. You’re going to be here in Seoul, and I’m…” I throw my hands into the air. “Well, I don’t know where I’m going to be.”
“You can stay with me. Live with Sophie.” He steps closer. “Grace, you can’t go back to America.”
“Why? Because you need a collaborator for your songs?”
“No. Because—because I love you,” he blurts.
My face flames, but I hold on to control of my voice. “It sounds even better than I thought it would.”
His eyes soften. “So, does this mean you love me, too?”
Swallowing the sob that catches in my throat, I wrap my arms around his waist and nod my face against the soft fabric of his sweater. “I’ve basically been in love with you since that stupid music video shoot. But I guess I didn’t admit it to myself until later. I didn’t think I’d ever hear you say it to
me,
though.”
A chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Well, I’m pretty sure my big gesture just blew your declaration out of the water. I mean,
hello,
I love you.”
I join in his laughter, but my chest still tightens. My voice falls to a whisper. “I’ve had a lot of people in my life who’ve lied to me, who’ve manipulated me. Who left me. Please don’t add your name to that list.”
He smoothes my hair, resting his chin on top of my head. “I already told you—I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. I love you, Grace. Seriously.”
I pull in a shaky breath, stepping back and swiping the tears from my eyes. “I know. But I just…” My voice breaks off.