Dara

“So how was being a peer guide?” my mom asks me at the dinner table. “I know you were looking forward to it this morning.”

“Not the best,” I answer as I hand my little brother a third napkin because he’s got spaghetti sauce all over his face.

I think back to the end of eighth period, when I showed up to Jiyong’s class only to find he’d already left for the day. “Jiyong ditched me twice.”

Dad, a psychologist who thinks people are specimens to be analyzed, furrows his brows as he scoops up a second helping of green beans. “Ditch you? Why would he do that?”

Um . . . “Because he thinks he’s too cool to be escorted around school.”

My mom pats my hand. “Ditching your peer guide is not cool at all, but be patient with him. He’s been displaced. It’s not easy.”

“Your mom’s right. Don’t be too judgmental, Dara,” my dad says. “He’s probably just trying to find out where he fits in. Seunghyun stopped in my office after class and we had a long talk. Poor kid. He’s just twenty himself, and now he’s responsible for a seventeen-year-old.”

“Why don’t you invite Jiyong over tomorrow after school?” Mom suggests.

Dad points his fork at her. “That’s a great idea.”

I’m sure the last thing Jiyong wants to do is come to my house. He’s made it perfectly clear he’s just tolerating me this week because he has to. Once my peer guide job is done on Friday, he’s probably going to have a party to celebrate. “I don’t know.”

“Do it,” Mom says, ignoring my hesitation. “I’ll make cookies from this new orange marmalade recipe Seohyun gave me.”

I’m not sure Jiyong will appreciate orange-marmalade cookies, but . . . “I’ll ask him. But don’t be surprised if he says no.”

“Don’t be surprised if he says yes,” Dad says, always the optimist.

The next morning, as I’m escorting Jiyong to class between third and fourth period, I finally gather up enough nerve to ask, “Do you want to come over after school?”

His eyebrows go up. “You askin’ me out?”

I grit my teeth. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Good, ’cause you’re not my type. I like my women y and stupid.”

“You’re not my type, either,” I snap back. “I like my guys smart and funny.”

“I’m funny.”

I shrug. “Maybe I’m just too smart to get your jokes.”

“Then why do you want me to come over?”

“My mom . . . made cookies.” I cringe after the words leave my mouth. Who invites a guy over for cookies? Maybe my brother does, but he’s in kindergarten.

“It’s not like it’ll be a date or anything,” I blurt out in case he thinks I’m secretly trying to hit on him. “Just . . . cookies.”

I wish I could rewind this entire conversation, but there’s no going back now. We reach the door to his classroom, and he still hasn’t answered.

“I’ll think about it,” he says, then leaves me out in the hall by myself. He’ll think about it? As if coming over to my house would be doing me a huge favor instead
of the other way around?

At our lockers at the end of the day, when I hope he’s forgotten I even asked him over, he leans his weight on one foot and stuffs his hands in his front pockets.

“What kind of cookies?”
Out of all the questions in the world, why did he have to ask that one?

“Orange,” I say. “Orange marmalade.”

He leans closer, as if I didn’t say it loud enough or clear enough. “Orange what?”

“Marmalade.”

“Huh?”

“Marmalade.”

I’m sorry, but there’s just no cool way to say the word “marmalade,” and all those m’s so close together make me sound goofy. At least I didn’t stutter.

He nods. I can tell he’s trying to keep a straight face, but he can’t. He bursts out laughing. “Can you say it one more time?”

“So you can make fun of me?”

“Yes. It’s become the only thing I look forward to in life. Just so happens you’re an easy target.”

I slam my locker door shut. “Consider yourself officially uninvited.” I walk away, but then remember that I’ve left all my homework in my locker and have to open it again. I quickly grab the three books I need, shove them in my backpack, and head out.

“If they were double-chocolate chip, I would have come,” he calls after me, then laughs.

Taeyang is waiting for me in the senior parking lot. “What took you so long?”

“I was arguing with Jiyong.”

“Again? Listen, Dara, it’s only Tuesday. You’ve got three more days with him. Why don’t you quit being his peer guide and be done with the misery.”

“Because that’s just what he wants,” I say as we get in my car and I drive out of the lot. “I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of one-upping me all the time. He’s so obnoxious.”

“There’s got to be something you can do to make him eat his words.”

Taeyang’s words spark the perfect idea. “That’s it! Taeyang, you’re a genius,” I say excitedly. I make a sharp U-turn.

“Where are we going?” Youngbae asks, then points behind us. “Your house is that way.”

“First we’re stopping at the grocery store and Kang’s Hardware. I need the ingredients for double-chocolate chip cookies.”

“Since when do you bake,” Taeyang asks. “And why double-chocolate chip cookies?”

I flash him a mischievous smile. “I’m going to use them to make Jiyong eat his words.”  

Jiyong

On Wednesday, I walk out of school and head over to the body shop to meet Seunghyun. Just as I cross the street, a red Mustang pulls up beside me. Sohee is driving, her windows wide open. When I get closer she asks where I’m goin’.

“Youngwoon’s Auto Body—the place where my brother works,” I tell her. He said I could help him to make some extra cash.

“Hop in. I’ll drive you.”

Sohee orders her friend Yubin into the backseat and tells me to sit in front, next to her. I’ve lived in a place where you’re judged by the color of your skin or your parents’ bank accounts, so I’m wary of Sohee’s immediate interest in me. Hell, I put on the charm for Dara before Lau Lau’s class and she didn’t even bat an eyelash or attempt to loosen those pursed lips. All I got was a disgusted gasp. Although yesterday she invited me over for cookies. Orange-marmalade cookies. Who the hell invites someone over for orangemarmalade cookies? The funniest part about it was that I think she was serious.

Today she walked me from class to class without saying a damn word to me. I even tried to goad her into talkin’ by making fun of her, but she refused to take the bait.

Sohee punches in the address to Youngwoon’s Auto Body on her GPS.

“So, Jiyong,” Yubin says, leaning between the seats as Sohee starts driving. She taps me on the shoulder as if I didn’t hear her. “Is it true you got expe