Hello, I Love You (16 page)

“What was that about?” I ask.

Jason laughs under his breath. “They recognized you from American tabloids. They said they like you because of your hair.”

“Oh. Well, that’s a new one.”

The only people I’m used to being recognized by are aspiring musicians hoping to use me to get to Dad. Or, more recently, reporters looking for a new scoop on my family drama.

He shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “It’s kind of nice. You being the one they recognize instead of me. Maybe I should hang out with you more often.”

My stomach flips at the suggestion.

But then he says, “Not that I understand why they like you because of your hair.”

I bristle, all fuzzy feelings now dead. “Well, maybe some people appreciate blond hair.”

“I guess.” He shrugs. “But it just looks fake to me. Almost everyone who’s blond isn’t
naturally
blond.”

My temper flares, and I’m ready to inform him that I am, in fact, a natural blonde—until I see the wry smile on his lips. I roll my eyes. I almost liked him better before he discovered a sense of humor.

“Yeah, well, I can’t really see why people like Korean boy bands, either,” I say.

He chuckles. “So, did you like your Thanksgiving dinner?” he asks as we pass a giant bank building with windows illuminated and people still sitting at desks.

“I did. I’m assuming it was Sophie’s idea.”

A smile plays at his lips. “Mine, actually.”

I scoff, though I can’t deny the spark of appreciation that ignites in my chest.

“I’m sure you miss being with your family,” he says.

The warmth coursing through me at his thoughtfulness instantly freezes. “My family. Right. Well, actually, I’m sort of glad to not be there. It sounds terrible, but it’s true.”

He glances sideways at me. “Why don’t you want to be with them?”

I blow out a long breath, scuffing my shoes against the sidewalk. “There’s just a lot of tension at home these days. And I don’t get along with my mother very well.”

Saying it out loud, I feel a rush of relief. The anxiety piling up inside me since I received her email seeps out with each word.

My voice drops to a murmur. “She sort of hates me, honestly.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you. She’s your mom.”

I bark a laugh, but it’s filled more with pain than amusement. “You don’t know my mother.”

We’re silent so long, I fear I’ve made him uncomfortable. I open my mouth to break the awkwardness, but he beats me to it. “My father and I haven’t spoken in three years. Your relationship with your mother can’t be as bad as that.”

I deny the urge to gape at him, not because of his confession but because he said it at all. He’s not exactly one to provide details about himself.

“What happened between you two?” I add quickly, “If you don’t mind my asking.”

His jaw tightens. “We disagree on a lot of stuff. He took Sophie and me away from our mother when he moved to America and wouldn’t let us return to Korea until we were fourteen.”

So he hasn’t forgiven his father for separating him and Sophie from their mom. I can understand that, but it seems a bit harsh to not have spoken to him in three years. Not that I’ve been really chatty with Momma lately. If I could get away with not talking to
her
for three years, I’d probably do it.

“Why did your dad move to the States?”

He runs a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp. “He and my mother divorced right after she got pregnant. My father … cheated on her,” he says through clenched teeth, his tone thick with disdain. “And he went to America to live with his mistress. They just got married about three years ago.”

“Was the woman American?” I should probably stop asking questions, prying into his past, but my curiosity outweighs any sense of social etiquette. Besides, he’s still answering, isn’t he?

He shakes his head. “She was Korean. His secretary.”

Ouch. And talk about clich
é
.

“So she’s your stepmom now?”

He slows to a halt in front of a crowded bar, staring out at the street with blank eyes. “Yeah. They live together in New York. With three kids.”

The bitter sharpness in his expression melts into a wearied sorrow, like he’s carried the weight of these emotions a long time without any sort of respite. The impulse to place my arm on his shoulder or take his hand to comfort him flashes through my brain, but I stomp it down, telling myself it would only complicate our friendship. He’s finally decided he trusts me enough to open up; I’m not ruining that by crossing any boundaries.

“I’m sure your dad loves you,” I say, more as a last resort because I can’t think of anything better. “He obviously wanted you and Sophie to live with him.”

Anger flashes in his eyes. “He wanted us to live with him because he wanted to ruin my mother’s life, that’s all. He never loved us.”

I’ve no idea how to respond, so I keep quiet, hovering beside him, waiting for any cues as to how I should react. He stands there a moment longer before a light flashes, and I notice the gigantic camera suddenly in our faces.

The paparazzo guy shamelessly clicks away at Jason, gaining the attention of people passing by. Jason tenses, throwing his hand in front of the camera. He says something to the guy in Korean, probably,
Get out of my face, dude,
but the photographer doesn’t budge.

With a huff, Jason turns his back on the camera, grabs my wrist, and pulls me away from the retina-burning flashes. We speed down the sidewalk at a half jog, and after a quick text to his driver, the car shows up and we disappear behind the protection of tinted windows.

The ride back to school is long and silent, and I can’t help wondering if the run-in with the photographer ruined our evening, though it could be in my favor that Jason not think too hard about our conversation. I worry he’ll regret telling me about his past, and I have no idea how to assure him that he can trust me.

The driver drops us off in front of the entrance to the school, and we walk back to our dorms, still not talking. My mind races for any words that might rewind our conversation to a place where we haven’t lost any ground in our relationship. I’ll kick myself if my prying questions have made him less keen on hanging out with me.

We pause outside my dorm, and he hesitates. “I’m sorry for … how crazy my life is sometimes,” he says, not meeting my gaze.

“No!” I cry, with probably too much vigor. “It’s fine. I umm … like hearing about you. And Sophie. Your family.”

“What?” He tilts his head to the side and stares at me a second before his mouth forms an
O
. “No, I meant with the photographer.”

“Oh! Well, that’s fine, too.” I breathe a self-conscious laugh. “I mean, I totally understand the crazy.”

“Right.” He gives an almost imperceptible nod, then mutters, “Also, uhh … thanks for listening. You know. About my dad.”

“No worries. I mean, y’all planned the whole Thanksgiving thing. It means a lot to me that you guys—” My voice breaks off, and I bite down on my bottom lip. “That
you
would do that for me.”

He jerks a nod, staring down at his foot, which scuffs the sidewalk. But even in the pale light from the streetlamps, I can see the smile curling his lips.

We fall quiet. I wait for him to leave, to interrupt our nice evening with an insensitive, inappropriate, or otherwise mean word. But he doesn’t, and I feel the need to bridge the silence between us.

“I’ve got to figure out how to ditch my parents for Christmas.” I force a laugh, though my throat feels like it might close up. “My mom emailed me today and said I needed to tell her when to buy my airplane ticket, but I definitely don’t want to spend an entire month at home.”

He catches my eye, a new, earnest spark in his. “Are you going to spend Christmas here, then?”

“No idea. But anything’s better than Nashville. I just wish I could steal my little sister so we could be together.”

“Well, Sophie and I are going home for the break, so you’ll be in the dorm alone.”

My heart sinks. The improbable hope that I’d held on to that they would choose to stay here at school withers. Looks like it’ll either be a stressful or a lonely holiday for me.

“Oh,” I manage. “Okay.”

“We’re going to spend Christmas with my mother,” he continues. “And I have to start working on the drama.”

“Oh yeah, your drama.” I cut my eyes to him. “I’m sure you’re excited to see your face on the small screen.”

He scowls, but there’s no effort in it. “I’m dreading it, actually. But what I was thinking was that, maybe you would like … if you have no interest in going home … I’m not sure if you would want to—don’t feel you have to accept—”

“Jeez, Jason,” I interrupt. “Out with it.”

His cheeks redden, and my stomach flip-flops. I had no idea it could be sexy for a guy to blush.

“I thought you might like to spend the break with us,” he finally says. “In Seoul.”

I’m shocked silent. He wants
me
to spend Christmas with
him
? Or rather, his family? But he’ll be there. Working, yeah, but still present. And hopefully in adorable scarves and gloves that match his colorful shoes.

Momma will kill me. No way will she let me go home with people she’s never met. Especially not for a holiday.

Good thing she’s not here to stop me.

Chapter Thirteen

After Thanksgiving, midterms arrive and throw me into one of the most stressful weeks of my life. I’ve officially decided high school in Korea—especially at a school for rich kids with parents who expect them to get into good colleges—is way harder than in America. Between long study sessions in the library and enough stress to keep perpetual purple circles beneath my eyes, I’m ready to quit school and buy a private island with my trust fund, where I can sit by the beach every day.

Also, cold weather has officially arrived. Venturing outside is practically like braving the Arctic tundra.

My first midterm is physics, my easiest class. The others are spread out throughout the week. After school, I head back to the dorm and find Sophie curled up on her bed with her laptop. When I slam the door shut, she shushes me.

“What are you watching?” I stand on the edge of my bed and peer up at her screen. “One of those Korean soap operas again?”

“It’s not a soap opera!” She huffs, clutching the blanket over her mouth, her eyes so wide they might pop out of their sockets.

“Those shows can’t be that interesting.”

She tears her gaze away from the screen long enough to shoot me a death glare. “You don’t even know.”

I laugh, dropping back down to the floor. “Fine. What’s it about?”

She pauses the video. “It’s only the most romantic story ever!”

I yank off my shoes and collapse on my bed, a dull headache settling beneath my eyebrows. Physics problems float around my brain.

“You say that about all of them.”

She sighs. “Be quiet and listen. It’s about a guy who’s trying to end political corruption, but he has to do it secretly.”

“Like a superhero?”

“Exactly! But without the costume.”

“And how is this romantic?”

“Because he can’t be with the girl he loves!” She pounds her fist against the mattress with such vengeance I’m wondering if this show really
is
worth watching. “She doesn’t know that he’s actually the one outing all the bad guys, and she doesn’t like him. But he’s really a good person; she just doesn’t know it.”

“That sounds like Spider-Man. Or Batman. Or both rolled into one.”

“It’s wonderful.” She bolts up in bed. “You should watch it. Now.”

“I don’t think so…”

“Come on! I’ve been trying to get you to watch a Korean drama for months. Give it a chance.”

Sophie snatches up my laptop and searches for a website to view the show online with English subtitles, and I can’t really say no when the alternative to watching the show is studying some more.

We spend the next
three hours
watching episodes from the beginning, and by dinnertime I’m starving but so addicted to the story that I have to know what happens. We run down to the cafeteria and eat as quickly as possible, then detox all the stress from midterms by watching four more episodes before crashing.

If the drama Jason’s going to be in is this good, I might just have to watch it.

*   *   *

“You’ll do fine, Grace,” Jason whispers to me as we flip over our Korean exams. “Don’t stress yourself out.”

Don’t stress myself out. Right. Calm. Focus. I can do this.

He flashes me a smile, and my insides squirm. How can I focus when he’s freaking grinning at me? He smiles so little, I should fear the apocalypse.

I rip my attention away from him and focus on the paper.

I got this.

No problem.

Iron, cobalt, nickel, copper, zinc …

I move the pencil slowly across the paper, making my lines just like Jason showed me.

I move through the exam with a lot less difficulty than I expected. Each time I run across a translation I’m unsure about, I think back to our study sessions in the library, Jason’s head bent over the textbook and his calm, even voice explaining vocabulary words and grammar.

An hour and a half later, I practically float through my next exam, knowing I did way better on the Korean test than I expected.

After our last class before winter break, Jason and I walk together toward the dorms. We tilt our chins down to hunker against the freezing wind blowing across campus.

“I can’t believe I’m done with all my midterms,” I say. “Done. Free.”

Jason nods. “You have officially completed your first semester in Korea.”

“You’re right. Wow.” I stop in the middle of the path. “That’s insane.”

He pauses and turns around to face me. “Why?”

“Because if I’d stayed home, I would still be at my old school, applying for colleges and stressing about the graduation test at the end of the year. I’m only seventeen, and I’m living in South Korea, going to graduate in six months with zero plans for college. My parents are terrible people for letting me do this.”