He smiles at the two of us and then looks expectantly back at Bom.

“Take a seat here.” She pulls an empty chair out from the table and returns to her own. “So, Jiyong, this is  Chaerin. And this”—she pauses in a pathetic attempt at dramatic effect—“is our track star.” She gestures toward me, and  Jiyong’s eyes follow until they rest on mine.

 “Cross-country,” I correct her.

 “Whatever.” Bom shrugs at me and turns her attention back to Jiyong. “She’s a runner.” She twists in her chair to face him straight on. “But you already knew that, right?” Her accusatory glare is fierce and unrelenting.

 Oh. Dear. God.

He looks at her, then back at me, then back at her. “I’m not sure what you mean.” “Didn’t you two see each other at the Northwestern track this morning, Jiyong?” she asks, sharp and critical, like a lawyer cross-examining her witness. Bom rests her hand on my shoulder. “She runs there at the crack of dawn. She saw you there. You were watching her.”

Yes. Bom is going to die.

 “Northwestern?” He furrows his brow and stares at us. Like he’s never heard of the university that dominates this town. “I’m sorry, but that’s impossible. I just moved here over the weekend. I’ve barely seen this campus, let alone the university.” He looks straight at me and smiles—kind and sincere, like he’s telling the truth—and even though it’s not the same smile, it’s much closer to the one he shot me at the track. Close enough to make me all the more certain I’ve got the right guy. “You must have me confused with someone  else.”

I don’t. I stare at him with nervous anticipation, waiting for him to tell me he’s just kidding and reach across the table to give me a friendly punch in the arm. But he just sits there. Looking at me like this is the first time he’s ever seen me. And like maybe I’m nuts. “Are you sure? You were  wearing a parka,” I finally say

There it is again. His smile is still tinged with confusion, still lacking any sort of recognition, but it’s warm. Sweet. The same. “I’m sorry, I don’t own a parka,” he says. “It wasn’t me.” I want to believe him, but I can’t, and when I look over at Bom, she’s still wearing a questioning expression that makes me think she doesn’t either.

Still, I decide to let him off the hook, and I try to match the warmth in his eyes. “You just look . . . exactly like him. I guess I was mistaken.” I hope my expression is masking my lie. And my embarrassment. I reach across the table. “I’m Dara.”

He was already reaching his hand forward to meet mine, but it stops midway. “Dara?” He stares at me in disbelief. “Your name