Sweat beading on the small of my back, I ask Sophie if we can sit and rest for a minute. We settle on a bench beneath a gnarled tree inside a small pavilion between two buildings.
I wipe moisture off the back of my neck. It’s not as hot here as in Tennessee, but the humidity sticks to my skin and sucks sweat out of my pores until I feel wrung dry.
“I’m going to have to walk this every day,” I say, the horrible realization slamming into me like a Mack Truck.
“You should buy a bicycle,” Sophie says. “It will help with getting around campus and the island.”
A sigh escapes my lips. “I already miss my car.”
She laughs. “Korean people don’t drive as much as Americans. It’s time for you to become Korean. Or, at least like someone living in Korea. Isn’t that why you came here in the first place?”
No, it’s not, and I could tell her exactly why I came, but I’m not ready to talk about it. Not to anyone.
South Korea is my escape, my RESTART button, where no one asks for my autograph when I go shopping or knows the rumored balance of my savings account. This is where I get to start over.
As we head to the dorms, I think back to meeting Sophie’s brother this morning. He said something about a band room. Does that mean people play music here? I mean, normal music, like rock or hip-hop or folk. Or is it only traditional Korean stuff?
“Does your brother play an instrument?” I venture.
An ironic smile curls Sophie’s lips, and she chuckles under her breath. “You could say that.”
“What does he play?”
“Guitar.”
So people do play Western music. “Is there a music program here at all?”
I didn’t bother to check when I applied. Dad wants me to follow in his footsteps and take up the mantle of the company when he finally decides to retire, but business isn’t my thing. Never has been. I may have music in my blood, but I have no head for the market—I wouldn’t know which artists should be invested in. And I doubt he wants me to run his multimillion-dollar corporation into the ground.
So I’m thinking about studying chemistry in college—basically, the furthest thing from music you can get. Of course, it helps that balancing chemical equations and performing experiments that could potentially blow up the lab rings my bell.
“I think there’s a symphony-esque band,” Sophie says. “Like violins, cellos, that sort of thing.”
“I take it he’s not in that one.”
Now she laughs for real. “Definitely not. He’s in a band, but I don’t think it’s one the school would sponsor.”
“What kind of music is it?”
Sophie stops in the middle of the walkway, and it takes me a good fifteen seconds before I realize she’s no longer walking beside me. I backtrack until we’re even again.
“You should probably know this now,” she says, hesitance creeping into her voice. She stares at me carefully, as if gauging my reaction. “Jason is … famous.”
“What?”
“He’s a famous singer. Here in Korea.”
My eyebrows shoot up, waiting for her to either cry, “Just kidding!” or, “How crazy that we both have famous families!” But she says nothing, just waits for my response, and I realize she must know nothing about my family.
This can’t be a coincidence. Either fate or the director of residency—or maybe both—must have thought we’d have a lot in common.
And the way the girls in the cafeteria acted—it makes more sense now, explains why they took the pictures. All things considered, they were pretty calm about a celebrity in their midst. I might have expected a mob. Or at least a few asking for autographs.
“That’s cool. What’s the name of his band?” I ask, keeping my tone as blasé as possible.
Her entire body seems to sigh, like she’s been holding on to this dark secret since we met. “Eden.”
I snort. “Why—because they’re perfect?”
“Exactly!”
Oh.
“They debuted at the end of last year, and they’ve sold a lot of albums. Have you heard of them?”
“Can’t say I have.”
She nods, picking up our walk again. “That makes sense. No one listens to KPOP in America.”
My eyebrows rise. “KPOP?”
“Korean pop music.”
“Right. KPOP.”
Didn’t Jane listen to that stuff in middle school? Or maybe it was Japanese pop music, which would be … JPOP? I can’t remember. She went through an Asian obsession phase about two years ago, when she owned enough Hello Kitty paraphernalia to stock a toy store. Even when we tried to tell her there’s more to Japan than Hello Kitty and sushi.
“The band is sort of taking a break right now,” she says. “That’s why they’re here, to sort of get away from everything. But they’re playing a small show at a club tonight, that lets in underage people, to try out a few new songs. It’s called The Vortex. You should come! It will be fun.”
I swore not to hang out at clubs anymore after Isaac, but it’s not like I have anything better to do. And I highly doubt my ex-boyfriend would be a DJ at a KPOP concert. In Korea.
A snicker escapes my lips. KPOP. Heh.
“Sure,” I say. “I’d like to hear them.”
“Great!” She links her arm through mine and giggles.
My instincts scream for me to free my arm, but her enthusiasm is contagious and I find myself laughing along with her. Even though the familiar pain that’s haunted me since the beginning of the summer still lingers in the back of my brain, I’m able to keep it quiet for now. I know it’ll resurface—it always does—but right now, I let myself consider the possibility that maybe I really am getting a fresh start. And if I am, it’s time for me to grab on to it with both hands.
Chapter Three
I peel the scarf off my neck and check my outfit for the millionth time. Really, the ensemble needs the scarf to be complete, but I think I’ll suffocate in today’s ultrahigh humidity if I have to walk outside for more than five minutes with it wrapped around my throat.