Jiyong

I can’t get rid of the cookie smell. It’s on my hands, it’s in my books . . . hell, it’s even in my backpack. I tried taking a few of them off my locker, but it was such a mess I gave up. I’ll keep ’em in until they get really moldy . . . then I’ll collect all the crumbs and shove them into Dara’s locker. Or better yet, superglue them to the inside.

I have to get my mind off cookies and Dara. Nothing beats mum's cookin’, but as soon as I get home from school today I take whatever I can find in Seunghyun’s apartment and attempt to make us an authentic housemade meal. It’ll get me to stop thinking about those damn doublechocolate chip cookies. That, combined with the fact that I’ve been here almost a week and have yet to eat this spicy things, what they call food, is drivin’ me nuts.

Seunghyun leans into the pot of stewed meat and inhales the scent. I can tell just by the expression on his face it reminds him of home.

“It’s called KIMCHI-FRIED-RICE. It’s Korean.” I say the words slowly as if he’s never heard of it.

“I know what it is, smart-.” He replaces the lid, then sets the table and goes back to studying.

We sit down to eat an hour later. I watch as my brother inhales his first serving and takes a second.

“Eat much?”

“Nothin’ as good as this.” Seunhyun his fork. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“You don’t know a lot of things about me.”

“I used to.”

I push around the food on my plate, suddenly not hungry. “That was a long time ago.” I keep my eyes focused on my food. I don’t even know my brother anymore. After he got shot, I guess I was afraid to talk to him because talkin’ about it made it real. Seunghyun never said what exactly happened when he got jumped out of Big Bang, and I never asked. But yesterday mornin’ I got a clue. “I saw your scars yesterday when you came out of the shower.”

He stops eating and puts down his fork. “I thought you were still sleepin’.”

“I wasn’t.” The image of his badly scarred back, full of what looks like whip marks, is etched into my brain. When I noticed the bulging skin between his shoulder blades with the letters BB permanently branded into him like a head of cattle, my skin crawled with hateful anger and thoughts of revenge.

“Just forget it,” Seunghyun says.

“Not gonna happen.” Seunghyun isn’t the only Kwon brother who feels a fierce protectiveness toward his family. If I go back to Busan and find the responsible for branding Seunghyun’s body, he’s a dead man. I might rebel against my family, but they’re still my blood.

Seunghyun isn’t the only one with scars. I have more fights to my name than a professional boxer. Along with my scars, if Seunhyun knew the tattoos on my back marked me a Fighter, he’d a brick. I might be in Seoul, but I’m still connected.

“Bom and I are goin’ to visit her sister Suzy tonight. Want to come?”

I know Bom’s sister is disabled and staying in some assisted-living place near the university. “I can’t. I’m goin’ out,” I tell Seunghyun.

“With who?”

“Last time I checked, our dad was dead. I don’t have to answer to you.”

Seunghyun and I stare each other down. He used to be able to kick my without even tryin’, but not anymore. We’re about to get into it again, but the door opens and Bom walks in.

She must realize there’s tension in the air, because her smile fades when she reaches the table. She puts her hand on Seunghyun’s shoulder. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s perfect. Right, Seunghyun?” I say, then pick up my plate and weave my way around her to get to the kitchen.

“No. I asked him a simple question, and he can’t even answer it,” Seunghyun says.

I swear that’s something that should only come out of a parent’s mouth. I let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m just goin’ to a party, Seunghyun. It’s not like I’m goin’ out to murder someone.”

“A party?” Bom asks.

“Yeah. Ever hear of the concept?”

“I’ve heard of it. I also know what goes on at parties.” She sits next to Seunghyun. “We went to parties in high school, though we learned from our mistakes, and he’ll learn from his. You can’t stop him from going out,” she tells my brother.

Seunghyun points to me accusingly. “You should see those girls he was hangin’ with the other day, Bom. They’ve got that psycho Hyesun  written all over them. Remember her? That girl would have screwed the entire football team back in high school if it would have upped her popularity status.”

Once again my brother isn’t helping my cause. Thanks, bro. “Well, it was nice listenin’ to both of you discuss my life in front of me, but I’ve got to go.”
“How are you gettin’ there?” Seunghyun asks.

“Walkin’. Unless . . .” I eye Bom’s keys lying on top of her purse.

“He can use my car,” she says to my brother. She doesn’t say it to me, because God forbid either my brother or she make a decision without the other one’s approval. “But no drinking. Or drugs.”

“Okay, Mom,” I say sarcastically.

Seunghyun shakes his head. “Not a good idea.”

She weaves her fingers through his. “It’s fine, Baby. Really. We were going to take the bus to visit my sister anyway.”

For a nanosecond I like my brother’s girlfriend, but then I remember how she controls his life, and that warm and fuzzy feeling disappears as fast as a streak of lightning.

I pick up Bom’s keys and twirl them in my hand. “Come on, bro. Don’t make my ty life worse than it already is.”

“Fine,” he says. “But bring that car back in perfect condition. Or else.”

I salute him. “Yes, sir.”

He pulls his cell phone out of his back pocket and tosses it to me. “And take this.”

Before either of them can change their mind, I head out the door. I forgot to ask where her car is parked, but it’s not hard to spot. The Beemer shines like an angel in front of the apartment building, calling to me.

I reach into my back pocket and pull out a sheet of paper with Sohee’s address on it. I wrote it down before I washed off my arm. After I figure out how to use the thing, I enter the address into the GPS, put the top down, and screech out of the parking lot. Finally . . . freedom.

I park on the street and walk up the long driveway to Sohee’s house. I know I have the right address because music is blarin’ out of the second-story window and kids are hangin’ out on the front lawn. The house is huge. At first I’m not sure if it’s one house or an entire apartment building until I get close and see that it’s just one big mansion. I step inside the monstrosity and recognize a bunch of kids from my classes.

“Jiyong is here!” a girl screeches. I pretend not to hear the echo of squeals that follow.

Sohee, wearing a short clingy black dress and carryin’ a can of Bud Light in her hand, weaves through the crowd and gives me a hug. I think she spilled beer on my back. “Omigod, you’re here.”

“Yeah.”

“We need to set you up. Follow me.”

I follow her to a kitchen that looks like it came out of a magazine. It has stainless-steel appliances. Big granite slabs line the top of the counters. Next to the sink is a huge bin stuffed to the rim with ice and cans of beer. I reach in and grab one.

“Is Dara here?” I ask.

Sohee snorts. “As if.”

I guess that’s my answer.

Sohee wraps her hand around my elbow and leads me down a hallway and up a flight of stairs. “I have someone you have to meet.” She stops when we reach a room off to the side, filled with five huge vintage arcade games, a pool table, and an air-hockey table.

It’s a teen guy’s dream.

It also reeks of pot. I think I’m gettin’ high just by inhalin’ the air.

“It’s the rec room,” Sohee explains.

I’m sure it takes the definition of “recreation room” to a whole different level.

A american guy is sitting on a brown leather couch, leaning back as if he’s content to stay in that position forever. He’s wearing a plain white T-shirt and black jeans and boots. I can tell he thinks he’s one cool dude. On a small table in front of him is a bong.

“Jiyong, this is Nick,” Sohee says.

Nick nods to me. I nod back. “ ’Sup.”

Sohee sits next to Nick, picks up the bong and a lighter lying next to it, and takes a really long hit. Damn, that girl can inhale.

“Nick wanted to meet you,” she tells me. I notice her eyes are bloodshot. I wonder how many hits she took before I got here.

Yubin peeks her head in. “Sohee, I need you!” she screeches. “Come here!”

Sohee tells us she’ll be right back and stumbles out of the room.

Nick waves me to the couch beside him. “Take a seat.”

The guy is too slick, and my radar goes up. I know his game, because I’ve seen a hundred Nicks in my lifetime. Hell, I was a “Nick” back in America.

“You dealin’ the stuff ?” I ask.

He chuckles. “If you’re buyin’ it, I’m dealin’ it.” He holds out the bong. “Want a hit?”

I hold up the can of beer in my hand. “Later.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re not a narc, are you?”

“Do I look like a narc?”

He shrugs. “You never know. Narcs come in all different shapes and sizes these days.”

I immediately think of Dara. She’s definitely become my daily entertainment. I try and peg her reactions every time I do my best to piss her off. Her rose-colored lips tighten into a thin line every time I make an outrageous comment or flirt with a girl. No matter what I told her, and no matter how many cookie crumbs are scattered on the inside of my locker, I’m gonna miss havin’ her as my peer guide.

I haven’t decided what I’m gonna do to get back at her for the cookie stunt. whatever it is, she’ll never see it comin’.

“I hear Sohee wants to get into your pants,” Nick says as he pulls out a bag of pills from his front pocket. He spills them out on the table.

“Yeah?” I ask. “Where’d you hear that?”

“From Sohee. And you know what?”

“What?”

He pops a little blue pill into his mouth and throws back his head to swallow it. “Usually what Sohee wants, Sohee gets.”

 
Dara 

“I’m color-blind,” Mr. Cho complains in a cranky, scratchy voice as he dips a paintbrush into a cup of brown paint and swipes it on the canvas. “Is this green? How am I supposed to paint anything when these colors aren’t labeled?”

There’s never a dull moment during art class at The Seoul's Long-Term Health Care Facility, otherwise known as a nursing home. The regular art teacher quit, but since I was volunteering to help during art hour I just kind of took over the class. The administration supplies the paint, and I come up with subjects for those who want a painting activity after dinner on Friday nights.

As I rush over to Mr. Cho, a little old lady with stark white hair named Min Jeong comes shuffling over to us. “He’s not color-blind,” Min Jeong croaks out as she finds an empty easel and sits down. “He’s just plain ol’ blind.”

Mr. Cho looks up at me with his thin, weathered face as I kneel beside him and label the colors with a thick, black marker. “She’s just sore because I wouldn’t dance with her at the social last week,” he says.

“I’m sore because you forgot to put your teeth in at dinner yesterday.” She waves her hand in the air. “He was all gums. Some Casanova you are,” she says in a huff.

“Hussy,” Mr. Cho growls.

“Next time maybe you should dance with her at the social,” I say. “Make her feel young again.”

He reaches up with calloused, arthritic fingers and pulls me closer. “I’ve got two left feet. But don’t tell Min Jeong that, because she’ll give me a hard time.”

“Don’t they have dance lessons here?” I whisper right into his ear, loud enough so he can hear but the rest of the class can’t.

“I can hardly walk. Now, if you were the dance teacher instead of that old bat Min Hwan, I’d definitely start coming to lessons.” He waggles his overgrown white eyebrows at me and pats me on the .

I shake my finger at him. “Didn’t anyone tell you that’s ual harassment?” I tease.

“I’m a dirty old man, honey. In my day there was no such thing as ual harassment and women actually let men buy them sodas and open doors for them . . . and pinch their butts.”

“I let guys open doors for me, just as long as they don’t expect any favors in return. I could do without the -patting and pinching, though.”

He shoos me away. “Ach, you girls today want it all . . . and then some.”

“Don’t listen to him, Dara,” Min Jeong says, waving me over. “What you want is a nice boy . . . a real gentleman.”

“There are no such things,” Geun Young says next to her.

A nice boy. I thought Jaejoong was nice, and he couldn’t even dump me like a gentleman.

“Maybe I’ll just stay single for the rest of my life.”

Both Min Jeong and Geun Young shake their heads vigorously, their wispy white hair flying from side to side. “No!” they both say.

“You don’t want that,” Min Jeong says.

“I don’t?”

“Nope.” She looks over at Mr. Cho. “Because we need them . . . even if they are the devil in