by Sarah Suk
“Just curious,” she said, sitting back in her seat and looking forward. She cleared her throat. “And you’re wrong, by the way. I do have to pay you back.”
“It’s really fine. It’s just a ride. Where do you live?”
“Just go straight and then a left at the next traffic light. And no. I have to.” Her voice was firm. “I don’t want to have to owe you anything.”
I smiled in spite of myself and she glanced at me. “What?” she said.
“Nothing. It’s just that you talk about everything like a business. How you have to pay me back otherwise you’ll owe me. It’s like everything has a cost.”
“Everything does have a cost. Everything has to be earned.”
“Not everything. Sometimes people do things just to be nice. It’s not always a transaction.”
“ ‘Just to be nice,’ ” she repeated, rolling her eyes. “That’s a soft way to think. You can’t always be nice to get what you want. Sometimes you have to be ambitious and fight to prove that you’re worth what you think you are. Take a right here.”
I turned right, suddenly feeling defensive. “Yeah, that’s true, but sometimes you have to recognize that people are people and not just customers you do business with. There isn’t always a price tag or a black-and-white answer for why people do what they do. It’s a bit narrow-minded to think like that, isn’t it?”
She turned to face me sharply, narrowing her eyes. “Are you talking about me?”
“Well, are you talking about me?”
We fell into heated silence. I didn’t know what it was about this girl that made me clap back in ways I would never have with anyone else.
Valerie pointed to a town house up ahead. “This is me.”
I pulled up to her house and cut the engine. Now it was really quiet, so all we could hear was the sound of the rain dancing across the car roof like fingers on piano keys. Neither of us moved. I sighed, turning in my seat to face her.
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” I said. Speaking my mind was one thing, but I didn’t want to end the car ride like this, not when I knew she already had a shitty day.
“Why are you sorry?” she said, her voice softer as well. “You just said what you think.”
Her words made me pause. Why am I always sorry for saying what I think? Because I hate it when people are mad at me. Because being sorry is easier than standing by what I really mean. But maybe she was right. Maybe I didn’t have to be so sorry all the time.
“I’ll take you up on your offer,” I said. “To pay me back. A favor for a favor. Since it’s so important to you.”
A hint of a smile flashed across her face. “You make it sound like you’re doing me a favor by accepting my favor.”
I shrugged, smiling back. “I’ll think of a way to make it work for me.” I fumbled for my phone, holding it out to her. “Your number? So I can text you when I’m ready to cash in my favor.”
“It better not be something that’ll make me regret this car ride,” she said, but she took my phone and punched in her number all the same. She was definitely smiling now, even though she was trying to pretend like she wasn’t. She passed it back without a word before gathering her beauty products in her arms and stepping out of the car. She paused before closing the door, looking carefully at me. “Thank you,” she said finally. “For being nice.”
She slammed the door shut before I could respond. I watched as she made her way into the house, staring after her until she disappeared inside.
I looked down at my phone. Valerie Kwon’s phone number shone back at me, and a smile spread across my lips.
CHAPTER ELEVEN VALERIE
Saturday / December 21
He texted me that weekend, the first day of winter break. I was in the kitchen with Halmeoni, peeling the skin off the goguma she had roasted for us. Our love for sweet potatoes is unparalleled. Halmeoni is always telling me, “Manhi muguh, manhi muguh!” Eat a lot, eat a lot! It’s because she buys so many boxes of sweet potatoes from H-Mart and no one else in our family likes them as much as we do. She doesn’t want it to go to waste, and I am happy to oblige.
Wes: Hi Valerie, it’s Wes. I thought of a way you can repay your favor. Would you be able to meet me at my house sometime during winter break?
Meet him at his house? I almost choked on a piece of sweet potato when his next message came in.
Wes: Sorry I just read back on what I wrote and I hope that didn’t sound weird or creepy?? I was hoping you could actually help me with some social media stuff.
As I read the rest of his message, Halmeoni raised her eyebrows at me. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “You look serious.”
“It’s Wes Jung,” I said. “He wants me to come over to his house during break.”
Halmeoni’s eyebrows rose higher, nearly disappearing into her hairline.
“It’s not like that, Halmeoni,” I said quickly. “Don’t think anything weird.”
“I wasn’t thinking anything.” A smile quirked her lips up. “But if I were to think something, I’d say it’s good for a girl your age to go out and make new friends. Maybe even date a little, hmm?”
I opened my mouth but closed it again when I couldn’t think of anything to say. Instead I took a giant bite of goguma, my cheeks flushing.
She laughed. “Is it good?”
“Mm-hmm,” I said through the smoky sweet-potato flavor, nodding my head.
The corners of her eyes wrinkled in a deeper smile. She reached across the table and patted my hand. “Manhi muguh, my Valerie.”
Friday / December 27
The heater was broken in Charlie’s car again. I was bundled up in a beanie and a red checkered blanket scarf, but I forgot my gloves at home and my fingers were freezing. I buried them in my scarf to keep them warm. Charlie was wearing three sweaters.
“Are you sure you can’t come in with me?” I asked, shooting Charlie a hopeful look. The closer the day got, the more nervous I became about going over to Wes’s house alone. I wasn’t even sure what I was nervous about. I just never really knew what to expect around him.
“Sorry, Val,” he said. “My mom wants me to help her with a bunch of errands today. Including getting the car fixed. My dad always says he’ll do it next time he visits, but who knows when that’ll be.”
There was an unmistakable edge to his voice. Charlie’s dad was always promising to visit, but then he would get caught up in work and not be able to come after all. That meant a lot of the maintenance work around the house fell on Charlie.
“Besides, I’m already missing my basketball game today to help my mom and drive you to Wes’s house,” he pointed out, his voice still frosty. “That counts for something, doesn’t it?”
I glanced at him. Things had been a little off with us ever since I abandoned him at Lisa Carol’s party. This wasn’t the first time since then that he’d been colder to me, even though I’d apologized. “Hey, what’s going on? Are you mad at me or something?”
He sighed as he made a left turn onto a wider street, where the houses were more spread apart and everyone had a front yard. “I’m not mad. I’m just a little hurt that you made that bet with Wes without consulting me about it first.”
I stared at him, surprised. “What? You’re upset about that? How come you didn’t say anything until now?”
“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” he said. “But to be honest, it’s been bothering me.”
“I’m only betting my share though,” I said. “I made sure to protect your cut from the bet.”
“I know, I know. And you’re entitled to do whatever you want with your earnings. But it’s not just a personal decision that affects you. It’s a business decision that’s affected how we run things. You’ve been asking a lot more of me recently. More meetings, more rides, more help with sales. Which is fine when I’m able to, but sometimes I’m not, and I feel bad about that, because suddenly you have so much riding on this. I just wish yo
u had talked to me about it. We’re supposed to be business partners.”
I fell silent. “I’m sorry,” I said finally, looking down at my bundled hands. “I didn’t think about it like that.” In fact, I hadn’t really thought of Charlie at all other than protecting his 30 percent. I felt bad now that I hadn’t thought beyond the money. “If I could go back and do things differently, I would have asked you what you thought first.”
He sighed. “Okay.”
I touched his arm lightly. “Really.”
He glanced at me, his voice softer now. “Okay.”
We pulled up to Wes’s house, both peering out the window at the same time to get a first look. I had to admit, I was curious about where Wes lived.
It was a nice house with a spacious driveway. Definitely a modern design, with floor-to-ceiling tinted glass windows and a flat, sloped rooftop that made it look like the house was wearing a graduation cap. With its double garage and stone wall accents, it looked like a home straight out of one of Appa’s real estate catalogs.
“I’ll be here to pick you up after,” Charlie said. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way.”
“Thanks for the ride,” I said, stepping out of the car.
As I walked up the driveway, Charlie honked and rolled down the passenger window.
“Val!” He flashed me a thumbs-up. “Good luck!”
I smiled feebly and rang the doorbell. The door opened almost immediately, startling me.
“Whoa,” I said.
Wes stood before me, dressed in a pair of jeans and a heather-gray sweater. It was a simple outfit, but he looked way more stylish in it than anyone should, like he’d just stepped out of a winter-wear magazine for men. His eyes widened behind his glasses. “Hi. Sorry, did I freak you out? I wasn’t waiting by the door or anything, I swear. I just happened to be close by when you rang…”
His voice trailed off like he had no idea how to finish his thought.
“It’s fine,” I said. “You didn’t scare me.”
I glanced behind my shoulder, where Charlie was still waiting. He waved through the window.
Wes smiled hesitantly and waved back. “Um, thanks for coming.” He stepped aside, inviting me in.
Warmth enveloped me as I entered the house, slipping out of my boots and into a pair of slippers that Wes offered me. I looked around at the open-concept living room. It was spotless and minimal, stylish but also somewhat bare, like it was missing something. I glanced at the walls. Frames were hung up, but none of them held photos of Wes and his family. Instead they looked like the stock photos that came with the frames: sunsets and ocean waves and writing in the sand. It felt more like I was in a display home instead of an actual home.
“Can I get you a drink?” Wes asked. “Water? Tea?”
“Tea would be nice,” I said, curious to see the rest of his house.
He led me to the kitchen, where a row of tea canisters was set out on the jade marble island along with snacks. Lots of snacks. I spotted my favorite sweet-potato sticks as well as rows of Pepero boxes, shrimp crackers, and chocolate biscuits in the shape of mushrooms.
“Wow, did your mom do an H-Mart run this morning or something?” I asked.
“No,” Wes said. “I did.”
“You got all this ready?” I said, surprised.
“It’s no big deal,” he said. “Just common manners when you have someone over.”
Huh. For a guy cashing in a favor, he was definitely a considerate host. At this rate, I’d have to pay him back again for being so hospitable. I gasped, my eyes falling on a bag of Hi-Chews I’d never seen before. “What are these?”
Wes rubbed the back of his head, making his hair stick up funny. “I noticed you holding a bag of the originals that time at the grocery store. So I got the tropical bag for us to try. Have you had them before?”
Wow. I couldn’t help but be impressed. I inspected the flavors inside. “Mango I’ve had. But kiwi and pineapple I’ve never seen before. I can’t wait to try these.”
He smiled, a look of relief passing his face. It was strangely disarming to see how pleased he was to see me happy. “What kind of tea do you want? These are from my mom’s collection. She gets a lot of tea gifts.”
I surveyed the tea selection. Wes was right. There were tea bags from all over the world to choose from. I selected a genmaicha green tea from Japan.
“Your mom must be popular if she gets so many gifts,” I said, leaning against the jade counter as Wes prepared the tea. “Are these from Crown Tiger?” I know, I know. I was boycotting Crown Tiger out of pettiness, but I couldn’t help but be curious about his mom’s job. I didn’t know anyone else who worked in the Korean entertainment industry.
“Some of them might be,” he said, setting a mug of genmaicha in front of me. “But to be honest, I don’t know exactly what she does or who she meets all the time. I just know that her job is the reason we move around so much.”
“Where have you lived?” I asked, wrapping my hands around the mug. My fingers were finally starting to thaw out from the freezing car ride. As much as Wes consumed my thoughts these days (because of the bet, of course), I realized I didn’t actually know that much about him.
“Born in Seoul. Then we moved to Tokyo. Then back to Seoul for a bit when I was in middle school. Then to LA, and finally here.” He counted the places off on his fingers, reciting them like he had been asked this question a million times. Which, to be fair, he probably had been.
“What was your least favorite place?”
For a second he looked taken aback, and then he laughed. “Most people ask me what my favorite place was, not my least favorite.”
I shrugged, sipping my tea. It was perfectly steeped, just the right mix of bitter and nutty. “I’m just curious.”
Wes considered this carefully, as if weighing my question very seriously. “That second time in Seoul was tough,” he finally said. “I went to an international school in Tokyo, so when I moved back to Korea, my Korean was way behind the other kids’. My parents tried sending me to public school for a bit, but I was teased mercilessly. Everyone would ask me, ‘If you’re Korean, why can’t you speak it?’ Eventually, I did get better, but I ended up moving to America pretty soon after.”
“Huh. That’s interesting,” I said, swirling my tea bag around. “And weird. You’d think as a Korean person you’d feel like you belonged the most in Korea.”
“Yeah… I mean, maybe that’s the case if you’re Korean Korean. But when you’re a third-culture kid like me, it gets a bit more complicated.”
I cocked my head to the side. “ ‘Third-culture kid’? That’s when you move around to a lot of different places when you’re a kid, right?”
He nodded. “Yeah. The more exact definition is when a kid grows up outside of their parents’ culture for a lot of their early years, which, as you said, usually involves moving around to a bunch of foreign countries.”
“Thanks, Wikipedia,” I joked.
He laughed. “Sorry. I answer this question a lot.”
“What else do you say about it?”
“Hmm.” He drummed his fingers on the counter. “I say that it can mean being exposed to a lot of different cultures but not really being ‘from’ anywhere.” He got a wistful look in his eyes.
“What?” I said.
“Huh?”
“That look in your eyes. What are you thinking?”
He hesitated and then shrugged. “I was just thinking that I wish I could just say I’m Korean American like you. I feel like it would be way simpler. But I don’t think I can really say that and feel honest about it. I was born in Korea. I lived in Tokyo for the most consecutive years. I may have gone to American schools for most of my life, but I haven’t actually lived in America that long. I don’t think I can even name all the states.”
I laughed. “Honestly? I always forget a couple too.” I rested my chin in my hand, mulling over what he’d said.
“What?” he said.
“Huh?”
“Now you have that look in your eyes. Like you’re thinking something you want to say.”
I pressed my lips together and ran my finger around the rim of the teacup. I didn’t open up about these things much, but he was right. I did have thoughts I wanted to share. “It’s not as simple being Korean American, either,” I said finally. “What you said about not really being ‘from’ anywhere? I kind of get that, even though I was born here and never left.”
He leaned back on the counter, thinking this over. “If you were born here and never left, why would you feel like you don’t belong here?”
“No, I do. Most of the time. There are just moments, you know, little things like strangers asking me where I’m from or why my English is so good or yelling ‘ni hao’ to me on the streets. Or going to the movie theater in the city I grew up in but not seeing anyone on the screen who looks like me.” I shrugged. “It feels more like home than Korea, though. The few times I’ve been, I felt way too American to fit in. I don’t even know what it is—my hair? My style? The way I talk? I don’t know. It’s everything. It’s like you said. If you’re not Korean Korean, where do you fit as a Korean person in the world?”
Whoa. Where did all that come from? I immediately stopped talking and took another sip of tea. Somehow I’d gotten caught up in the smell of genmaicha and Wes’s attentive gaze, like he was soaking up every word I was saying, like he really wanted to listen. I rarely talked about stuff like this, even though I low-key felt it all the time. I guess that’s what happens when you keep things bottled up. You overshare to a boy who’s supposed to be your enemy.
“Anyway,” I said, clearing my throat before Wes could continue the conversation, “I came here to pay you a favor, so let’s get started, shall we?”
“Ah, right.” He looked a little regretful that we were changing topics. “That’s probably a good idea.”
“You said in your text that you needed help with your social media?” Honestly, I had been pretty surprised that this was the favor he was asking for. I thought he was going to ask me to do something way more embarrassing, like dress up as a Crown Tiger mascot at school. After all, I’d made him walk around the school with lipstick writing on his shirt. God, now that I thought about it, I couldn’t believe I’d really done that. Despite everything between us, he’d consistently offered me kindness, and I had definitely done anything but.
