Hello, I Love You (13 page)

I drop my backpack onto the bed nearest the door, then push open the sliding glass door and step out onto the stone terrace, which grants a view of the ocean below. Gorgeous during the day, I’m sure.

The balcony’s larger than I would have expected. I then realize it’s shared with the room next door.

Jason steps up beside me and rests his elbows on the railing. The wind tosses his dark hair, and my stomach somersaults.

“I hope that’s y’all’s room.” I point to the other glass door.

He nods.

“Well, at least I don’t have to worry about some strange man breaking into our room and kidnapping us.” I infuse my voice with mock seriousness. “But those Koreans boys—I just don’t trust ’em. Maybe I should sleep with some pepper spray or something.”

He doesn’t respond to the jab, though I didn’t expect him to—this
is
Jason we’re talking about. My brain buzzes with sudden jitters, a dozen small-talk starters falling flat even in my head. With his shoulder only a few inches from mine, I can’t help but think back to the night of his birthday. I’m dying to know if he remembers, and if he does, what he thinks about it. I should have asked earlier, but I don’t want to upset Sophie again. Still, I need to know.

Sophie’s, Yoon Jae’s, and Tae Hwa’s voices drift to us through the open door, but they fade away and eventually cut off with a slam of the door. I glance over my shoulder and see that they’ve left me and Jason alone. I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. The distance between our shoulders now seems much smaller.

He keeps silent, posture completely relaxed. Obviously, I’m the only one sweating bullets here, and I don’t think it has anything to do with the heat. I clear my throat.

“I need to ask you a question,” I start.

“Hmm?”

“It’s about your birthday.”

His shoulders tense. “What about it?”

“Do you … remember anything?”

He hesitates a long moment, staring down at his clasped hands on the balcony railing. “Why do you want to know?”

I clench my jaw. He’s going to make me work for this. “Because I just do.”

“I don’t see how it has anything to do with you.”

“You’re my friend. I’m pretty sure it’s my business whether or not you have any memory of being so wasted you passed out on my shoulder on the ride home from the bar.”

He pulls in a sharp breath, so quiet I can hardly hear it. But he responds with, “Who says we’re friends?”

I snort. “Don’t pull that. You can say whatever you want, but I think we’ve known each other long enough to be past the acquaintance stage. Plus, I’m helping you out with your song, remember? And you’re my Korean tutor. We’re friends. We’ve been over this already.”

He doesn’t argue, and that speaks louder than his former protest.

“So are you going to tell me or not?” My stomach twists. “Do you remember what happened?”

Turning his head, he gazes at me with those dark, somber eyes. I search them for any emotion, but it’s too dark to see more than the general outline of his irises. Still, my pulse kicks into high gear just being under his scrutiny.

“I—” His voice breaks off. “I don’t remember anything.”

I wait for the surge of relief, but it doesn’t come. I should be happy he doesn’t remember us dancing, our bodies rocking back and forth to the music, close enough that my mother would have raised her eyebrows at me. But, instead, I find myself a little disappointed.

“Oh,” I mumble.

“Is that good or bad?” he asks.

I shrug. “Neither. I was just curious.”

But I have to swallow the tightness in my throat.

“I wrote the words to the chorus of our song. Do you want to hear it?” He pushes away from the railing and doesn’t wait for my answer before he goes into his room.

I blink back the stinging in my eyes, but I can’t help smiling. He called it
our
song. And, you know, I guess that’s what it is.

*   *   *

We wake up at the crack of dawn the next morning. Sophie tells me to wear comfortable clothes, so I opt for a pair of jeans, an Indian-inspired shirt that’s beaded but lightweight, and tan saddle shoes I bought at a vintage shop in Nashville.

We meet the boys in front of the hotel. As soon as I step outside, I’m hit by a wave of salty air that churns my already queasy stomach. I went to bed with a stomachache and woke up to an even more unruly belly. I blame the seaweed chips.

The driver pulls up the van, and we all climb in. I slide in beside Jason, and Yoon Jae sits next to me, pushing me up close to Jason. Every time our knees bump each other, my heart hammers against the inside of my chest.

We zip through town, maneuvering around women carrying their vegetables to market on rickety bicycles and kids on their way to school
on a Saturday,
dressed in uniforms with backpacks sporting cartoon characters.

The driver takes us out of town and onto a bumpy dirt road that weaves its way through mountains that loom over the turquoise water. We pass long stretches of harbor housing rows and rows of boats, from modern ferries to one-person dinghies.

We drive past beaches left empty in the cool air. Water laps at the shore, backlit with rolling mountains in the distance. I watch the sandy beaches whiz past and transform into shrubbery-covered rocks and cliff faces that slope down into the sea.

The farther we drive, the more I feel like I’ve stepped back in time. Without any power lines or billboards, and with the mountains and sea surrounding us, I can imagine myself back before industrialization. I reach around Jason and open the window so the salty air blows against our faces. He scowls and pushes hair out of his face, but I flash him a huge grin and he keeps quiet.

Up ahead, a village appears, nestled close to the water, zero other signs of civilization within sight. The pavement ends, and we bump along on sandy gravel as we pass buildings so wind and salt weathered, they look like they might fall over in a strong wind.

The driver parks at the edge of a long row of docks that stretches into the calm water. A number of tents have been set up on the shoreline, with crew members rushing around them. A group of people congregates around a camera that’s half assembled on the boardwalk.

I step out of the van and catch my breath, the beauty of the place really settling in. Spinning slowly, I take it all in, wishing I had a camera but knowing it could never capture everything—the wet scent on the air, the soft rustle of waves, and the emptiness of the village, whose inhabitants have mostly gone out to work on the boats that dot the harbor.

We don’t have anything like this in Tennessee. You can drive out into the country and listen to the cicadas on a summer night or hike into the Smokey Mountains, but you can’t find anywhere this untouched by modernity.

Sophie links her arm through mine, pulling me out of my thoughts. I realize that the boys have already disappeared, probably into a makeup or wardrobe tent. She leads me into the catering tent, but I decline the offer of dumplings and fruit that looks like it’s been sitting out since yesterday.

“They won’t be ready to shoot for at least an hour,” Sophie says. “Do you want to explore the village?”

“Yes!” I rush after her out of the tent.

We wander up and down the streets of the fishing village, neither of us talking. Sophie and I drift apart as she continues down the street and I fall back, taking my time soaking in the scenery. I pull out my phone and stick one earbud in, finding the only song that can capture this moment—the Verve’s “Bitter Sweet Symphony.” The slicing violins lull me further into the surreal feeling, and all I want to do is dance. Or run. Or throw my arms out and spin until I can’t see straight.

All the anxiety that’s been brewing inside me since I arrived—since Nathan’s incident, really—ebbs until I can no longer feel its presence in the back of my mind. For the first time since my brother called me that night, I can breathe. This feeling—this peace—will probably disappear as soon as I set foot back at school. But for now, I can relish not having to hold back emotions, to just be real.

As I walk through the village, a pack of children begins to follow a few paces behind me, their big, dark eyes watching me with curiosity. One of them, a girl who’s maybe seven, ventures closer. I pull the earbud out and wave.

“
Ahn nyeong ha se yo,
” I say, not sure if they speak Korean or a local dialect.

She giggles, and I realize I probably should have said
hello
in a less formal way.

She steps up close to me, and I bend down. She fingers a lock of my hair, which has curled into a ringlet since I haven’t washed it in two days.

“
Yeppeun,
” she says, and I’ve picked up enough Korean to know she just said I’m pretty, and I wish I knew enough vocabulary to tell her she is too.

An older woman calls out to the kids, and they disperse with adorable squeals. Guess Grandma had stuff for them to do.

I peer at one of the homes, where a little boy peeks around the doorframe, and it hits me—this is what I’ve been searching for, here in this little village, so far from the school I never would have known it existed. Why I came to Korea in the first place.

This is what freedom feels like—totally lost, totally out of place. But in a good way.

In a
great
way.

Chapter Eleven

I wipe sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand, and a shudder zips down my back at the same time. Fighting a whimper, I set my palm against my stomach. My nausea has only gotten worse, and I haven’t been able to eat or drink anything since I hauled myself out of bed.

The crew has set up the camera on a rickety raft that looks like it might capsize any second. Fishermen tie up their boats farther down the dock, hauling in their latest catch. Their fish fill the air with a murky smell that makes me want to look for the nearest bucket to hurl into.

Sophie’s chatting up one of the camera guys, but I stand off a few paces to the side, not ready to whip out my Korean skills—or lack thereof. My one-word conversation with the kids will tide me over for at least a week.

A group of three fishermen head down the boardwalk toward us, wearing identical black pants that reach just below their knees and straw hats covering their faces. I wonder why their hands are empty until they get closer, and I recognize them. Laughter bursts from my mouth before I can bite it back, and Jason glares at me from underneath his wide-brim hat.

Sophie breaks off her conversation with the cameraman, and she joins in my laughter. “You three look ridiculous,” she says through giggles.

Yoon Jae spins. “Really? I like it. I was thinking about wearing it at school.”

Jason scowls, and when he catches my eye, I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning. The extra nausea is worth getting a good laugh at him.

The director arrives on set, and filming launches. The boys step into a boat barely large enough for all three of them. Yoon Jae is handed a pole to guide them through the water, and Jason and Tae Hwa each hold one side of a gigantic net.

Sophie and I stand to the left of the camera, snickering under our breaths. Again, I wish for my camera. Jason needs to see how ridiculously awkward and out of place he looks.

The boys launch into “fishing.” I don’t have any experience with the fishing industry, but I’m fairly certain they’re not doing it right.

Yoon Jae manages to move them a few feet through the water, the muscles in his arms straining as he fights the tide. But Tae Hwa and Jason struggle to cast the net. They throw it, but it slaps the water only a few feet away from the boat.

Frustration visible in his scowl, Jason braces his foot against the rim of the boat and leans out to throw the net farther—

And pitches forward.

He hits the water face-first with a loud
clap
.

Jason’s head bobs to the surface, and he sputters, hair plastered to his face. Once we ascertain he isn’t going to drown, Sophie and I can’t contain our intense amusement. I laugh so hard, I have to hold my stomach to keep myself from gagging.

Once his feet are firmly back on the dock, he rips the hat from his head and stomps toward shore. When he passes me, he drips water on my shoes.

“Hey, watch it!” I cry with a snicker.

“Why don’t
you
get in there and try it?” he snaps.

A flint of irritation sparks inside my chest at his snippy tone, and my hands gravitate to my hips. “I was just kidding. Loosen up.”

He storms off, muttering in Korean.

I sigh. “Sophie, what is this song even about?”

She squints against the sun’s glare off the water. “Unlikely love. The chorus talks about unexpectedly falling for someone who’s different from you but trying to work it out. It’s hard to translate into English.”

I nod, but my pulse spikes at the mention of loving someone unexpected. The question of when Jason wrote the song springs to my lips, but I hold it back. The song probably appears on their album, one of the ones they played at the club where I watched them perform. Still, my mind clicks through every girl I’ve seen him talking to, trying to figure out who he might have written the song about.

Filming continues when Jason returns—freshly dried—with the guys performing various actions fishermen do every day. They grunt carrying giant nets full of fish across the boardwalk, and they get tangled in the rope as they try to tie the boat to the dock. The more I watch, the more respect I have for the people who do this type of work every day.

Around two, the boys disappear into wardrobe for about half an hour, then reappear dressed in their typical, fashionable ensembles. A pretty girl shows up in clothes similar to what the boys were wearing earlier, and she shoots a few scenes with Jason, mostly him following her around as she completes chores. It would be cute if I didn’t feel like I were suffocating—both from the queasiness that keeps worsening and the irritation swelling inside my chest at watching him smile at her. I’ll never be the recipient of that smile. We’re barely even friends. And that shouldn’t bother me as much as it does.