Chapter 8

On Sunday, during breakfast at Yura and Jonghyun’s place, there’s an expected visitor. “Hey, Sunshine,” I greet her, walking into the dining room.

“Hey, Minho!”  Aria Kim wraps her arms around my waist.

Aria’s almost thirteen now, and in the year or so since I last saw her—when Onew and I visited Mississippi for her mother’s wedding—she’s lost some of the cute baby roundness in her face, moving one step closer to a full-fledged brown-haired southern beauty.

Her teen years will be fun. Jonghyun’s gonna lose his ing mind—and probably his hair.

We sit down to eat and he asks, “Remember that band manager I represented last year? The DWI.”

There are nods all around.

“Turns out he works with GOT7 now, and they’re in town. He sent me four front-row seats to the concert tomorrow. Yura and I were gonna take Aria.”

“Who’s GOT7” I inquire, but don’t actually care.

Aria’s eyes bug out. “Who’s GOT7? What, y’all live under a rock?” She holds up the magazine she’s been flipping through and flashes me a picture of seven koreans in skinny jeans. “This is GOT7. I’m so excited!” she squeals. “The concert is gonna be so on point.”

My eyebrows rise to Jonghyun. “Have fun with that, buddy.”

Jonghyun chews a cheese ball, his brown eyes alight with humor. “Yura and I were talkin’—we thought instead of tossing the fourth ticket, it might be nice if you came with me and Aria instead. You and that Jessica girl.”

“Are you nuts?” I ask, because—obviously.

“Please, Minho?” Sunshine begs. “It’ll be so much fun havin’ a girl my own age there with me.” She turns to her father. “No offense, but you and Yura just don’t get it.”

Jonghyun shrugs. “No offense taken. I still know I’m the cool daddy.”

Aria puts her hand on his arm. “I love you, Daddy, but whatever you think cool is? It’s not that.”

Jonghyun gives her a mock frown.

And her bright brown eyes plead with me. “Come on, Minho. I bet you’ll like them. Their music is amazin’—better than the Beatles.”

I fear for today’s youth.

“It might be good for her,” Jonghyun says, pressing me. Because I told him all about Jessica’s Friday-night misadventures with Jägermeister.

I sigh, already knowing I’m going to regret this.

But I pick up my phone to call Tiffany anyway.

• • •

The next day, Jonghyun, Yura, Aria, and I arrive at Tiffany’s house after work. She hasn’t told Jessica about the concert yet, wanted it to be a surprise. And she said she didn’t want to risk Jessica’s shattering the windows with her screams of excitement.

Oh—and Onew tagged along too. Because I’ve mentioned Tiffany and the kids at lunch and he wants to meet them. Also, because he has no life.

We gather in the foyer and I make the introductions. Tiffany greets each of my friends warmly. She’s wearing a casual, pale blue shirtdress that displays miles of smooth, succulent legs. And I fantasize about Jonghyun taking the girls on his own, and Yura and Onew taking the rest of the rabble. Far, far away.

“Hi,” June says to Yura, toddling into the room and holding a stuffed bear who looks like he’s seen better days.

“Hi,” Yura replies, smiling.

“Hi!” June squeaks.

“Hi!” Yura laughs.

And here we ing go again.

For my own sanity, I’ve gotta teach this kid another word.

Jonghyun and Onew pick up their conversation from lunch—the ongoing “perfect murder” game. “Drowning,” Onew says insistently, ticking off his points on his fingers. “Chances are the body will be too decomposed to retain any useful evidence, and there’s a built-in alibi because the defendant can always claim the person slipped. It worked like a charm for Natalie Wood’s husband.”

Jonghyun shakes his blond head. “I’m still stickin’ with an allergic reaction.”

James adjusts his glasses and jumps into the conversation. “Are you guys talking about the best way to off somebody?”

They nod and James’s face turns eager. “I know a way. You make a high-powered bullet out of ice. And fire it from a sniper’s rifle. After it passes through the heart, it’ll melt. No fingerprints. No footprints.”

We’re silent. Shocked.

And kind of freaked out.

“I just got goose bumps.” Onew shivers. “Did anyone else get goose bumps?”

Jenna steps forward, her eyes focused on Onew. “Why do you walk like that?” she asks innocently.

“Jenna!” Tiffany chides. “That’s rude.”

But from experience, I know it’s fine and I tell her so.

Onew explains to the seven-year-old. “I got hit by a car when I was a kid, lost part of my leg.” He lifts his pant leg, showing off his titanium prosthetic. “So be careful riding your bike.”

She regards him with a tilted head. “So they gave you a fake leg?”

“Yep.”

“Can you take it off and show me?”

“No.” Onew shakes his head.

Jenna considers this. Then she asks, “You wanna come see my playhouse outside? It has curtains.”

“Sure.” Onew che