Jiyong Part 2

We step down the stairs in silence. Before we reach the kitchen, someone walks out of Park’s office. It’s Dara, wearing a long black dress that hugs her delicious curves from her chest to her thighs. Her hair is not only flowing down the front of her chest, the ends have been carefully and perfectly curled. One of her long, lean legs peeks out from the insanely y slit on the side.

I’m stunned.

I’m speechless.

My eyes roam over her, enjoying the view. I know I’ll remember this moment for the rest of my life. When I look down at her y open-toe pumps with a higher heel than I ever imagined her wearing, my heart skips a beat. I’m afraid to blink for fear she’s a figment of my imagination and will disappear.

“W-w-well, w-w-what d-d-do you think?”

Sanghyun gives her a loud, “Shh,” and puts a finger over his mouth. “We’re on a secret mission,” he whispers loudly, oblivious that his sister has transformed into a goddess. “Don’t tell Mom or Dad.”

“I won’t,” she whispers. “What are you on a mission for?”

“Candy. The unhealthy kind. Come on!”

I look back at Dara, wishing we were alone right now. Really wishing we were alone right now. “Sanghyun, go check where your dad is so we know the coast is clear,” I tell him. I need a few minutes alone with his sister.

“Okay,” he says, slithering out of the hall. “Be right back.”

I’ve got less than a minute alone with her. I shove my hands in my pockets, to prevent me from showing my nervous, shaking hands. She rewards me with a half smile, then looks at the ground.

I look up at the ceiling, wishing I could get some advice, or at least a sign from my dad. I take another look at Dara. Oh, man. She’s staring right at me now, waiting for me to say something. Before I can come up with a meaningful or funny remark, Sanghyun comes back. “He’s in his den. Let’s do it before he catches us.”

I choked. I’ve got to get Sanghyun out of here. We all head for the kitchen. I reach up and open the small cabinet door above the refrigerator. Sure enough, there’s a big basket filled with contraband.

Sanghyun tugs on the bottom of my shirt. “Show me, show me.”

I put the basket on the table. Sanghyun steps on a kitchen chair and checks out the loot. “Here,” he says, shoving a chocolate bar in my hand. “They have nuts. I don’t like nuts.” In the end, he swipes one milk chocolate bar and two pieces of licorice. Satisfied with his treasure, he hops off the chair.

I put the basket back in the secret hiding place that everyone knows about. When I turn back around, he is already breaking off a piece of chocolate and shoving it in his mouth. “Dara, why do you look like a girl?” Sanghyun asks with a mouthful of chocolate.

“I’m going on a date. With Jiyong.”

“Are you gonna French-kiss him?”

Dara gives him a scolding look. “Sanghyun! That’s totally not an appropriate thing to ask. Who told you about that?”

“The fourth graders on the bus.”
 

“What did the fourth graders say it was?”
 

He gives her an exasperated look. “You know . . .”
 

“Tell me,” she says. “Maybe I don’t know.”
 

I have firsthand knowledge that she does know what French kissing is, but I’m not giving her secret away.

“It’s when you the other person’s tongue,” he whispers. Damn, the kid knows more than I did at his age. First he’s a cyber drug dealer, now he’s talking about French kissing. Dara looks to me, but I hold my hands up. While I’d like nothing better than to French-kiss her right now, I can wait until later. “He’s not my kid.”

“You can get a lot of germs that way,” he says as he munches away and contemplates the consequences of French kissing.

“Absolutely,” Dara agrees. “Right, Ji?”

“Right. Germs. Lots of ’em.” I don’t tell him that some girls’ germs are worth getting.
 

“I’m never gonna do it,” he declares.

“Nobody’s ever gonna want to do it with you, kid, if you don’t wipe your mouth after you eat chocolate. You’re disgustin’.”

As Dara reaches for a napkin and wipes Sanghyun’s face, he looks up at her curiously. “You never answered my question. Are you and Jiyong going to French-kiss?”

Dara

“Sanghyun, stop asking that or I’m telling Mom you just snuck chocolate without her permission.” I lean over and kiss his now-clean cheek. “But I still love you.”

“Meanie,” Sanghyun says, but I know he isn’t upset, because he bounces out of the kitchen with a spring in his step.

We’re alone at last. Jiyong comes up from behind me and gently swipes my hair to the side, exposing my neck. “your beautiful,” he whispers into my ear. Just the sound of the words makes my insides feel like Jell-O.

I twirl around and face him. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

“I should go take a shower and get dressed, but I don’t want to stop lookin’ at you.”

I push him away from me, even though I’m actually giddy because he can’t stop staring. “Go. I’m not missing my first high school dance.”

Forty-five minutes later, I’m still standing in heels afraid to sit down and wrinkle my dress. My mom insisted on painting my fingernails pink, so I resist picking at them even though I can’t help fidgeting. We’re in the backyard, where my mom and dad are snapping picture after picture of me standing next to the house, next to a potted plant, next to my car, with Sanghyun, and the fence and . . .

Jiyong opens the sliding glass door and steps onto the patio. A black suit and white buttondown shirt have replaced his ever-present T-shirt and ripped jeans. Just looking at him all dressed up for me makes my heart beat faster and my tongue feel thick and heavy. Especially when I see him holding a corsage in his hand.

“Oh, you look so handsome. You’re sweet to take Dara to Homecoming,” my mom says.

“She’s always wanted to go.”

“It’s not a problem,” Jiyong says.

I don’t interrupt and tell my mom that he asked me because we shook on it. I’m pretty sure if we hadn’t made a deal we wouldn’t be standing here in the nicest clothes we own.

“Here,” Jiyong says, holding out the corsage full of purple-and-white flowers with yellow centers.

“Put it on her, Jiyong,” my mom says excitedly as she holds up her camera.

My dad makes my mom put the camera down. “Let’s go inside. I think we should give them a few minutes alone.”

When my parents give us privacy, Jiyong slips the corsage on my wrist. “I know it doesn’t match your dress,” he says shyly. “And it’s not roses like I’m sure you were expectin’. But I want you reminde of me, every time you look at it tonight.”

“They’re p-p-perfect,” I say, bringing the purple and white flowers to my nose so I can breathe in their sweet scent.

On the patio table is the boutonniere I bought him. It’