by Mercy Amare
I climb out of my dorm room window that is conveniently on the first floor. I’m short, so I have to jump. My feet land softly on the grass, and as I look around, I see another girl climbing out of a window. She doesn’t notice me, and I feel envious of her. She doesn’t have to be aware of people are her. She has no reason to be scared for her life.
“Lee Suel Ri,” I hear somebody say and I jump. I look over to see Winston standing beside me.
“You scared me!” I say, putting a hand over my chest. “And don’t call me that.”
“You weren’t answering to Pandora,” he says.
So much for being ‘aware’ of my surroundings.
“Sorry,” I say. “I am so not used to being Pandora.”
“It’s okay,” he says. “We should probably get out of here so we don’t get caught.”
I follow Winston towards the wooded area, feeling a bit creeped out.
“What if there is a wild animal in there?” I ask.
He laughs.
“I’m serious. Don’t you guys have wild animals in the US?” I ask. “Like bears and stuff.”
“You’re safe,” he says.
I hesitate.
I’m used to being surrounded by millions of people in Seoul. This is scary.
Winston holds out his hand. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
I look at his hand.
“Hold my hand if you’re scared.”
“It’s not appropriate,” I say. “Guys and girls shouldn’t hold hands in public.”
“It is normal in America,” he tells me.
I nod and grab his hand. I blush at the contact.
“This party better be worth the anxiety it’s causing me,” I say.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” he says. “It’s just a bunch of teenagers getting drunk, hooking up, and acting stupid.”
“What does hooking up mean?”
“You’re so innocent,” he says. “I’m not sure how I feel about being the one to corrupt you.”
“Does it mean something bad?” I ask.
“It’s just... well, there will be people making out and some of them will be touching each other in inappropriate ways. And I don’t mean holding hands,” he says. “Some of them go into the woods to have sex.”
“Oh.”
“Sorry,” he says.
I decide to change the subject from touching and sex, because holding his hand is making me feel weird enough. “I’m a good drinker. The family I stayed with in Korea used to let me drink at home all the time.”
“My parents let me drink wine,” he says.
“I’ve never had wine. I usually drink Soju,” I say.
“Isn’t that really strong?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I suppose.”
“And you were allowed to drink it?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, like it’s no big deal, because it’s not. “Everybody drinks in Korea.”
“Some Americans consider drinking bad. I guess it’s a religious thing,” he says.
“That’s weird,” I say.
“What is the legal drinking age in Korea?”
“Twenty...” I pause. “Well, if you measure age the way Americans do, it would be eighteen. I know Americans can’t drink legally until they’re twenty-one, which is weird. If you’re a legal adult, you should be allowed to drink.”
“I agree,” he says. “But I doubt the legal drinking age will be changing anytime soon.”
When we reach the clearing in the trees, I see a small campfire. People are walking around. Some are stumbling, which makes me nervous when I see how close they are to the fire.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a girl vomit into a bush.
“She does not hold her liquor well,” I say.
He laughs. “That’s Zoe Price. Since you’re a senior, you get your own room, but you do share a bathroom. Zoe is the girl you share with.”
I turn to study her.
She’s tall, probably about 12 centimeters taller than I. I’m 154 centimeters. She’s also a little on the heavy side. If Agent Kim were here, she’d say that Zoe has curves. But in Korea, she’d be considered overweight.
South Korea has a very set standard of beauty. Everybody wants the same thing from their body. But here, there are so many ideas of what is beautiful. It’s weird to me, but I guess it’s normal here.
“Do you think she’s pretty?” I ask him.
He looks at me. “Is that a trick question?”
I shake my head. “I’m just curious what your idea of beauty is.”
“Oh,” he says. “She’s okay. A lot of guys like Zoe’s body. But she’s not really my type.”
“American guys like fat girls?” I ask.
He laughs, shaking his head. “Zoe is not fat.”
I look at her again. “Really?”
“Not at all,” he says.
“If American boys find her attractive, they probably won’t like me.”
Winston laughs again. “That is not true. American guys like Asian girls.”
“Do you like me?” I ask. “I mean, the way I look.”
He looks at me to see if I’m serious. “Sometimes, you are so shy. But then other times, you’re really outspoken.”
“An American girl wouldn’t ask you if you find her attractive?”
He shakes his head. “No. Not after knowing her for only one day.”
“Weird. I want to know, so I asked.”
“To answer your question, yes, I find you attractive,” he says. “I’ve already told you that you’re beautiful. And I mean it.”
“Okay,” I say.
“What about me?” he asks. “Do you think I’m attractive?”
I look at him, truly considering his question.
“Yes,” I answer, after a few seconds. “You’re quite handsome. I especially like your hair. I’ve never met a guy with blond hair before. And I like your light brown eyes. They’re kind of... what was the word you used? Amazing? That’s the one.”
Winston smiles big, and I’m wondering what exactly it is about what I said that makes him so happy.
“You have a great smile,” I tell him, because he does.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he tells me.
“I’ve dreaded coming here for the past four months, now,” I admit. “But now that I’m here, and now that I’ve met you, I’m glad I’m here. I like being your friend.”
“I think I might have a crush on you,” he says.
My face grows warm.
“I have a question, but I’m not quite sure how to ask it in English. There is this one word that I don’t know what the English word is for it,” I tell him.
“What’s the Korean word?” he asks.
“Sseom lada,” I say.
“Hold on,” he says, then pulls out his phone. He taps something. “Google Translate. Say it again.”
“Sseom lada,” I repeat.
He frowns. “Thumb ladder? Maybe it didn’t pick it up correctly.”
I look at the hangul on the screen. “No, that’s right. That’s not the accurate translation though. I don’t know what a thumb ladder is.”
He laughs. “Me, either. Can you describe what it means?”
“No. Well, maybe,” I say, then sigh. “It’s so hard to describe in English. It’s... okay, so, you have a crush on me. And we’re not, like, in a relationship or anything. But this is kind of more than a friends thing. Right?”
“Wait, so you’re saying sseom lada is a word Koreans use to describe a girl who is almost their girlfriend?” he asks.
I nod. “Well, sort of...”
“That’s convenient. I wish there was an English word for that,” he says.
“Anyway, I am just asking because I know Americans move fast when it comes to dating and stuff,” I explain. “In Korea, since we’re strangers, we’d have to become friends first, which makes sense. But I know it’s not that way here.”
“We can do this the Korean wa
y,” he says. “I’m okay with moving slow.”
I grin. “But you already told me that you have a crush on me. So, it doesn’t make sense to call you my friend.”
“What was the word again?” he asks.
“Sseom lada,” I answer.
“We are sseom lada,” he says.
“Technically, you’d be my sseomnam and I’d be your sseomnyeo,” I explain.
“You’re my see-om-yo.”
“Sseomnyeo,” I correct. “I did think of a better way to describe sseom lada. Lada means to ride. Or go with the flow. So, that’s what we’re doing.”
“I like that,” he says. “Going with the flow.”
“Me, too.”
Maybe, just maybe, New Haven Academy won’t be so bad.
Saturday, September 7
American boys.
I wake up to my cell phone vibrating on the table beside my bed. I look at the screen to see that I’m getting a call from a blocked number. I instantly know that it’s my dad calling. He always calls at random times from blocked numbers. I have no way of ever getting hold of him.
I grab the phone and answer it quickly.
“Annyeong,” I answer.
“Are you alone?” he asks.
He can’t talk to me if I’m around other people, so he always asks. I don’t answer the phone if other people are around.
“Ne,” I answer, saying yes in Korean. “I’m in my dorm room.”
“Good,” he says. “You should be using English all the time so you’re in the habit.”
I roll my eyes.
I know that he means well, but it’s frustrating. I miss my dad and I want to talk to him like a normal teenager talks to their parent. Unfortunately, we are anything but normal.
“I know, Appa,” I say, sighing. “I’m trying, it’s just really hard. It seemed so easy when I was at CIA headquarters, but being around people my own age is different. I don’t understand a lot of what they’re saying. This one guy called me hot and he had to explain...”
My dad cuts me off. “Who called you hot?”
“Umm, a friend,” I answer. “Anyway, it was embarrassing having to ask what hot meant.”
“And how did this boy explain what hot was?”
“He said hot was another way to say sexy,” I answer. “But I’m thinking that people don’t use the word sexy in the way that it’s meant to be used. Because I know sexy means sex appeal, and I don’t think he meant that.”
“Right,” Dad says, clearly not happy.
“American boys are very promiscuous,” I say. “They like to talk about sex a lot.”
He groans. “What kind of school did I send you to?”
“I made a friend,” I say, changing the subject.
“That’s good. What’s her name?” he asks.
“Him,” I correct. “His name is Winston.”
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Dad says. “I’ll get you a new identity and move you out of there. You can do homeschooling.”
“Appa, no,” I say. “I like it here. I don’t want to leave.”
“Sorry,” he says. “I’m being over-protective, I know. I just know how American teenage boys are. I used to be one.”
“Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself,” I say. “There was this one boy who put his arm around me and I put him on the floor in two seconds flat. I didn’t take jujitsu all those years for nothing.”
“Why was this boy touching you?”
“I don’t know,” I answer. “He said he had a thing for Asian girls.”
I hear him sigh through the phone. “Are you sure you don’t want to be homeschooled? Maybe if you’re in a CIA safe spot, we could see each other more.”
“I’m almost twenty. I’m not a kid anymore. I can take care of myself.”
“You’re seventeen,” he says, reminding me of my American age.
“Right. I keep forgetting.”
“Maybe we can do something for your birthday in September,” he says. “Eighteen is kind of a big deal in America. You’ll officially be an adult.”
“I won’t feel like an adult until January, when I turn twenty in Korea,” I say.
I haven’t celebrated my “birthday” since my eomma died when I was five. I’m not sure how I feel about celebrating it without her.
“I know you’re used to how things are in South Korea, but you are an American,” he says, almost sadly. “I wish things had been different, Layla. I wish I were there with you right now. I’d make sure those American boys don’t lay a hand on you.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let them put a hand on me,” I say. “Well, except Winston. He’s my sseomnam. He held my hand last night.”
“What is sseomnam again?” he asks.
“A boy who isn’t your boyfriend, but more than a friend.”
“Layla,” he says, and I can literally hear his disappointment through the phone. “You just got there. You don’t know this boy.”
“Yeah, I do. His name is Winston Graham,” I say. “His dad is the senator of Massachusetts.”
I hear my dad typing something, then he groans. “Really? A democrat?”
“You know that I know nothing about American politics, right?”
“Maybe you should find a nice Korean guy,” Dad says.
I laugh. “I like Korean guys. But I also like Winston. He’s cute. He has blond hair and honey colored eyes, which is so cool.”
“You’re just like your mom,” he says. “She told me the reason she fell in love with me is because I have green eyes.”
“I’m sure it was more than just your green eyes.”
He sighs. “I miss you, Layla.”
“I miss you too, Appa.”
“I promise you, this will all be over soon,” he says. “I’m so close.”
“I know,” I say.
He always says it’ll be over soon. He’s been saying it since I was five. I don’t believe him anymore.
“I have to go.”
“Okay,” I say. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
The line goes dead, and I sigh, looking at the black screen on my phone.
I really do hope this is over soon. I’m ready to have a normal life.
After getting off the phone with my dad, I can’t go back to sleep, so I get up and decide to get ready for the day. I head to the bathroom to get a shower, and am surprised when I see Zoe standing at the sink brushing her teeth, wearing nothing but a towel.
“Sorry,” I say, and turn my head away.
“It’s okay,” she says, after taking her toothbrush out of her mouth. “Go ahead and do what you need to do. I’m almost done.”
“Thanks,” I say.
She spits into the sink, then turns to me. “I’m Zoe.”
“Lee... uh, I’m Pandora.”
Zoe doesn’t notice my slip up. “I am so hungover. I don’t know why I drank so much last night.”
I don’t know how to respond to her, so I don’t.
“We don’t get many new seniors,” she says.
“Yeah, I’m the only one this year.”
She looks at me, like she’s waiting for me to say something else. I stay quiet because I’m not sure what she wants me to say.
“Why are you here?” she finally asks.
“For school,” I answer.
Duh.
“I mean, why transfer here for your senior year?” she asks.
“Oh. Well, my dad thought it would be good for me to spend some time on the east coast. I’m from California, and I’ve never really been around people not from there,” I say, telling her my cover story.
“Hmm,” she says, almost sounding disappointed, then drops her towel.
I turn my head again, not wanting to see her naked.
“So, are you Chinese?” she asks, as she is putting on her clothes.
“Korean,” I answer. “Well, half-Korean. My dad is white.”
“Interesting,” she says. “Asians
are ugly, but you’re kind of cute. Must be the white side of you. Your eyes aren’t all squinty like them.”
I look up at her, no longer caring if she’s wearing clothes or not. “Ssabal!”
“She what?” she asks.
I force myself to take a breath and calm down.
“I said screw you,” I say, translating my Korean.
Her mouth falls open.
“Saying all Asians are ugly is like saying all white people are ugly, or all black people are ugly,” I say. “You are a close-minded, racist. And you need to get away from me right now before I hurt you.”
She just looks at me, not moving.
“I’m serious.”
She looks at me, then quickly grabs her clothes and runs out of the bathroom towards her room. I guess I looked scary.
Gah, what an idiot. This was not how I wanted to start my day.
10 a.m.
Blend.
When I get out of the shower, I have a text from Winston on my phone.
Winston: I’m bored. Want to hang out?
Me: 네.
Winston: I know enough Hangul to know that that says “Ne.” Are you saying “no”?
Me: I’m saying yes... YES, I want to hang out.
Winston: Good. What time should I come?
Me: Now.
Winston: Be there in ten :)
I quickly get dressed. Just as I’m putting on my shoes, there is a knock on the door. This time, I don’t reach for my gun. I know that it’s Winston. I’ve only been here for one day, but I already feel safe.
When I open the door, Winston is standing there in a pair of skinny jeans. He looks good in them, but I still think they’re weird.
“How can you wear those things?” I ask him, pointing at his legs.
“Jeans?” he asks.
“Skinny jeans,” I clarify.
“You were wearing skinny jeans the first time we met,” Winston says.
“Agent Kim made me wear them,” I say, then walk over to my closet. I open it up and show him the jeans inside. “She says if I want to blend in, I should wear what other American teenagers wear.” I point to my mini skirt. “Clearly, I didn’t listen. I only wore them because she was there when I got dressed to come here.”
