He would not. Stop. Touching. Everything.

It had started with the vents, which he spent the first 5 minutes of the drive - I was watching the dashboard clock - turning this and that to achieve what he referred to as "maximum cooling velocity." Then he moved on to his side of the thermostat dial, turning it to basically Arctic, followed by loosening and tightening his seat belt. Now it was the radio.

"Stop," I said, as he changed the station yet again. When he'd asked if he could, I'd said yes, thinking he'd do it once or twice. This was ur fourth round of my presets, and my headache was increasing with each push of a button. "Just leave it on one thing, would you please?"

"I can't listen to bad music," he explained. "It's like a thing with me."

"Fine." I hit the AM/FM button. "Talk radio it is."

I realized my mistake almost instantly. As it was the top of the hour, the national news was on.

"Authorities have released the names of the five victims of yesterday's shooting in Sangya." The reporter's voice, seemingly like everyone on public radio, was level and calm. "All were students at Sangya High School, as was the gun-man, a seventeen year-old male who was a junior. Classmates and teachers have stated that he was quiet, but showed no previous signs of violence."

I took in a breath, focusing on my hands on the wheel. Sehun was messing with his seat belt again.

"Fifteen year-old Sunny Lee was a neighbor of the shooter," the voice continued. Then that of a girl, speaking quickly, breathless. "He wasn't a bad kid, but he did pick on some. I never thought he'd do something like this, though. Never in a million years." The reporter again. "The shooter's name has not yet been released to the media. In China, government officials -"

I hit the button again, bringing us back to the music. Sehun looked over. "Now who's messing with the radio?"

I didn't answer, instead just focusing on breathing and driving. He reached out to turn the A/C down another notch. "Crazy about the shooting, huh? I watched some of coverage with Rose's mom this morning, when she made us pancakes. Heavy stuff."

A truck switched lanes in front of me, and I hit the brakes, giving it space. "Who's Rose?"

"Oh, just this girl from last night. I crashed on her couch." He tugged at his belt again. "They were saying that the kid had a fixation on other school shootings."

I realized I was gripping the steering wheel. Nine and three, I though, moving my hands on the wheel.

"Like, he'd done a report on that one in Haikou. Stood up in front of a current events class and talked all about it. How creepy is that?"

I swallowed, suddenly aware of the prickly feeling space between my ears. The truck switched back to the other lane. "I can't -"

"Seriously. Me neither. I mean, I didn't love high school either, but come on. No need to take it out on everyone else." A pause. "Hey, are you okay?"

I wasn't. But I was also behind the wheel, in heavy traffic, and knew to acknowledge this would be the worst thing I could do. "Why . . ." I began, then heard a crack in my voice. I swallowed. "Why didn't you like high school?"

He pushed the strand aside. "Well, it was really countless reasons. First, I don't do well in standardized learning environments. Also, I have problems with conventional forms of authority and a compromised attention span, and can be super annoying." As if to underline this, he changed the radio station again. "Those are direct quotes, by the way."

"From counselors?"

"And teachers. Psychiatrists. Peer evaluation."

"You peers said you were annoying, I assume?"

"Nope, that was one of my withdrawals." I raised my brows. "I know! I was like, wait, that's not a medical term! Is annoying a diagnosis now? And if so, can I get medicines for it?"

He laughed, in a can-you-believe-it kind of way, shaking his head. Then he looked out the window, drumming his fingers.

I could see my exit now, the one that would take us on a two-land road that made up the rest of the trip. I turn on my blinker, switching lanes carefully you would've thought I was taking the driving test with a DMV worker beside me. Only when we reached the top of the ramp, the heavy traffic now a distant roar below, did I realize I'd been holding my breath. Keep talking, I told myself.

"Did you really go home with one of those girls?"

He stretched the seat belt away from him, then let it snap back. "Well, yes, in the technical sense. But nothing really happened. I crashed on her couch, and in the morning her mom came out in her bathrobe and offered me breakfast."

"Doesn't Julee worry when you don't come home?"

"No. I checked in. And remember, I'm annoying. She needs a break every now and then."

"She seems like a nice girl," I commented.

"She is." He said, simply; it was clear it was a fact. "It's not easy always having to be the good one, but she's a natural. You have any siblings?'

I shook my head. "Nope. Just me and my mom."

"Huh," he said.

Don't ask, I told myself. Then I asked. "What?"

"Nothing," he said. I waited, making it clear I expected more. "Just that, you know, it explains things. How you like to be alone."

"I don't like to be alone," I said.

"Right. You just don't want to be with me."

I looked over at him. "That's not exactly true."

"Right. You basically did all you could to not have to be with me right now, including telling your mom you don't like me," he pointed out. I blinked, surprised. he'd been in the other room, after all. He said, "My annoyingness doesn't affect my hearing. I'm like a dog, it's so good."

"I'll have to remember that." I clear my throat. "Anyway, I'm sorry I said that. It's just . . .I'm just to working alone, and -"

"Look, you don't have to explain yourself," he said easily. "I'm not for everyone."

Again, this was said with such ease, a plain truth. What was it like to be so confident even in your failings that you weren't the least bit bothered when other people pointed them out? I was almost envious.

We were close to Kimmy's now; I could see the greenhouses, as well as the burst of color that were their outdoor plantings, in the distance. When it came to florists, my mom only recommended the best, usually choosing companies that catered to the exact needs of the client. If you wanted perfect, sculpted centerpieces of roses and lilies, picking Gwangju Florist or Events was easy. But if your taste was more natural, bohemian wildflowers-in-tiny-jars - increasingly popular with the younger brides - Kimmy's was the place.

I pulled into the parking lot, right up to the squat building that housed the office. This was a family business, another reason my mom preferred them. If you called with a problem, there was no corporate voicemail system, just a hand cupping the receiver while someone bellowed for Mr. or Mrs. Kimmy, who were usually out in the fields tending the plants themselves. "Okay," I said, reaching back for my bag and pulling out the invoice. "We're here for succulents, daisies, and sunflowers. Ten buckets in total. Mrs. Kimmy will always try to add on an extra bucket or two she's trying to move, but we don't have room so we have to be firm."

"Ten buckets," he repeated. "Succulents, daisies, and sunflowers. No extras."

Huh. Maybe he was right about that hearing. "Correct. It shouldn't take longer than a half hour total if we don't get caught up talking."

"Keep it short. All business. Thirty minutes max."

My phone rang then: Gayeon, most likely wanting to catch up while en route from the twins to another. As I hit IGNORE, preferring to wait until I was alone, Sehun said. "Wait, what was that? Your ringtone?"

"Nothing," I told him.

"It sounded like this awful pop song -"

"Nope. Let's go."

I pushed open my door, getting out as he did the same, then followed me through the propped-open screen door. Inside, rows of plants sat on tables made of sawhorses and plywood, a row of walk-in coolers along one wall.

"Suzy Bae." A woman's voice came from behind a tall basket of greenery. "Right on time, as always."

"Hey, Mrs. Kimmy," I replied. "How are you?"

She stepped out, wiping her hands on her apron. She was a tall and broad woman with a melodic voice, and everything she said sounded important. "Very good, very good. Have some gorgeous peonies I want to show you, on special. Your mom's favorite."

"They are," I agreed. "But space is tight."

"You can always make extra room for extra blooms," she replied, then noticed Sehun. "Who's this? A boyfriend?"

"No," I said a bit too quickly. "This is Sehun. He's working with us for the summer."

"Oh. Well. I'm sure you can forgive me for getting hopeful that you might have found another romantic male." She turned to him, shaking her head. "So heartbreaking what happened with that boy of hers."

This was so unexpected for a moment, I couldn't even respond. Mrs. Kimmy was a talker, always had been. The previous fall, I'd come out here to collect a client's rehearsal dinner flowers and, in an unusual move for me - everything when it came to Jongsuk was different - mentioned I had a boyfriend, thinking back to how happy I'd been, how I'd worked this fact, and him, into just about any conversation. When she asked after him the next time I saw her, I was so raw I told the truth. Both mistakes. Big ones.

Sehun was looking at me. This he couldn't miss, even without the good hearing. I said, "We're really kind of pressed for time, and my mom wants pictures before we packed up the car. Can we go ahead and look at what you have?"

Mrs. Kimmy, like any long-winded person, was used to being redirected. "Of course, sweetie, whatever you want," she said. "But you have to see these peonies. I can't let you leave without at least a glimpse."

She started walking toward the back, and I immediately followed behind her, making a point of not looking at Sehun's way at all. Whatever was on his face as he worked this out, or guessed at it - surprise, pity, empathy - I knew I did not want to see it. I would take annoying instead, all day long.