Dara

After school on Wednesday, I’m washing my car in my driveway when Seunghyun drops off Jiyong after REACH. Seunghyun comes over to me and picks up an extra sponge.

“Your dad said you’re havin’ problems with the radio even after I put the spring in.”

“Yeah.” I love my car, but . . . “It’s imperfectly perfect.”

“I guess that’s one way to describe it. Sounds like some people I know.” Seunghyun peers inside the car. “Bom’s car is fast, but this thing has some juice left.” He sits in one of the bucket seats. “I could get used to this. One of our customers has a ’73 Monte Carlo for sale. I’m thinkin’ about buyin’ it. Did Jiyong tell you he worked at my cousin’s auto body back in Busan?”

“No.”

“I’m surprised. Jiyong always hung out with Daesung at the shop. He loves workin’ on cars probably more than me.”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Jiyong asks. He’s been leaning against our garage this entire time. I know this because, well, when Jiyong is anywhere near me I can sense it. I’ve purposely been avoiding him since Monday, which has been working out fine for both of
us.

When Seunghyun leaves a little later, Jiyong steps forward. “Need help?” I shake my head.

“Are you ever gonna talk to me again? Dammit, Dara, enough with the silent treatment. I’d rather have you say your little two-word sentences than stop talkin’ altogether. Hell, just flip me off again.”

I toss my backpack in the backseat and start the engine. “Where are you goin’?” Jiyong asks, stepping in front of my car. I beep.

“I’m not movin’,” he says.

My response is another beep. It’s not an intimidating, deep beep like most cars, but it’s the best my car can give.

He places both hands on the hood.

“Move,” I say.

He moves all right. With pantherlike quickness, Jiyong jumps through the open passenger window, feet first. “You should get the door fixed,” he says. Guess he’s coming along for the ride.

The wind is blowing through the open windows, the fresh air hitting me in the face and whipping my ponytail against the back of my neck. “I could fix the door,” Jiyong tells me. He puts his hand out the window, letting the wind rush through his fingers. I drive up the road in silence, taking in the scenery. You’d think I’d be immune to the beauty of Seoul after living here so long, but I’m not. I’ve always felt a strange fascination and peace with the few mountains.

After a while I park near the mountains, reach in the backseat to get my backpack and step out of the car.

Jiyong sticks his head out the window. “I’m assumin’ this isn’t your destination.” I admit I get a little satisfaction when I say, “Guess again.” Slinging on my backpack, I start walking toward the bridge.

“Yo, girl,” he calls after me. I keep walking, heading for my sanctuary in the mountains.

“Damn!” I don’t turn around, but by the sounds he’s making and the English swear words flying out of his mouth I can tell he’s trying to open the passenger door to get out. He’s hopelessly unsuccessful. When he climbs out the window and falls on the parking lot, I hear him curse again.

“Dara, dammit, wait up!”

I’m at the base of the mountain now, at the beginning of my usual route.

“Where the hell are we?” he asks.

I point to the sign, then start toward the big boulders.

I can hear him slipping on pebbles as he tries to keep up. We’re on the trail now, but soon I’m going to veer off and follow my private path. He’s definitely not wearing appropriate hiking shoes. “You’ve got some serious problems, girl,” he growls.

I keep walking. When I’m halfway to my destination, I stop and pull out a water bottle from my backpack. It’s not too hot, and I’m used to the altitude, but I’ve seen people get dehydrated here and it’s not pretty.

“Here,” I say, holding the bottle out to him.

“Are you kiddin’ me? You probably poisoned it.”

I take a long gulp, then offer it to him again. He makes a big deal of wiping the mouth of the bottle with the bottom of his T-shirt, as if I have cooties; then he takes a long drink.

When he hands it back, I make a bigger deal of wiping off his germs with the bottom of my own T-shirt. I think I hear him chuckle. Either that or he’s covering up his heavy breathing from the climb.

When I start walking again, Jiyong is huffing and puffing. “Is this fun for you? ’Cause this is definitely not my idea of a good time.”

I keep up my pace. Every time Jiyong slips, he curses. You’d think he’d concentrate hard on hiking and not slipping on the rocks, but he keeps jabbering on.

“Did I tell you it’s annoyin’ that you hardly say anythin’ to me anymore? You’re like a mute who doesn’t use any hand gestures. I mean, seriously, it’s irritatin’ the hell outta me. Don’t you think I have enough to deal with, bein’ framed, arrested, and havin’ to go to that stupid REACH program?”

“Yes.” I come to the place where I have to go over a small ledge and grab on