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Chapter 13: Sick

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My alarm went off that morning at 6 AM on the dot, not that it woke me up or that I got any sleep at all. I had only set it as a precaution in case I did drift off so that I could be awake and off of the couch before JB could wake up and find me there. I didn’t want him to worry, and, although I knew I could always fall back on some lame excuse like I thought the couch would be more comfortable (let me tell you it wasn’t), I knew JB could read through me like tracing paper.

He’d never fall for that.

As for the couch, it was about as stiff as a piece of plywood and the loosely woven upholstery snagged my clothing with every twist and turn.

“Ugh, c’mon,” I muttered, drowsily rolling off the side, “they’re freaking millionaires with a $90,000 piano. Why’d they stop at the couch?”

Every thought of the instrument made my stomach lurch. It still felt like a dream trapped in some far off, hazy dimension, but I knew it was real. I had played last night for the first time in 10 years, and I’d had an audience.

Running over to the kitchen sink, I doubled over, clutching my side, but nothing came up. The experiences of the previous night had been emotionally draining, but I knew it had taken a physical toll as well. The lazy cat I’d seen rubbing past JB’s leg my first night in the house came to gawk at me, keeping a safe distance.

It’ll pass. It always does.

Straightening up in the downstairs bathroom, I tried to ignore the throbbing headache.

Maybe I just need a distraction, some fresh air to clear my head.

I knew my classes wouldn’t be starting for a while, so, instead of heading straight to school I decided to walk down the street to a grocery store Yugyeom, BamBam, and I had passed on our treks to and from the school.

By the time I get back, the others will probably be up and about, looking for food.

Food, which I remembered we had none of.

I gathered all of my belongings back into my suitcase and walked upstairs to set it by the entrance to the studio. To my surprise and relief the room was empty.

Turning around to head back down, I passed by Jinyoung’s door as quietly as possible. Heeding his sign and not wanting to wake him, I crept stealthily by. I almost made it to the end of the hall when the door creaked open.

“I thought it might be you. No one else is that loud.”

I spun around in my tracks and froze.

“You know… last night,” he continued.

“You should just forget about last night,” I interrupted, “You can’t tell anyone about that.”

His expression shifted from an amused annoyance to blatant confusion.

“Not even JB? Aren’t you two childhood besties or something?”

I guess he’s done his research since the night he didn’t even know I’d be living here.

“Especially not JB.”

He paused for a moment, “Okay, I’ll agree to forget about last night, if you can answer one question I’ve been wondering for a while.”

I sighed.

I’d rather be dared. I hate the truth.

“Fine, what do you want to know?”

“The other morning when you woke me up, that wasn’t the first time we met was it?”

“No, it wasn’t.”

He nodded, as if he’d already known the answer. He’d just needed my confirmation. I don’t know how he’d remembered. He had been so drunk that day, but something had clearly refreshed his memory.

“Then… I’ll forget what I saw… last night I mean, if you forget what you saw there.”

He must’ve seen the curiosity in my eyes, and instead of waiting for me to ask he gave me a simple excuse, “My family is in the business of curating and we own the majority of the art in that exhibit. It was supposed to be closed that day, but I got drunk and… anyway, I just wouldn’t want it circulating around. It would be bad for business.”

I stood in the hallway, shocked, more at his calm demeanor than anything else. This wasn’t the same Jinyoung I’d seen in the museum that day or at any other point in my stay. He seemed sober, remorseful, gentlemanly even, and I couldn’t understand why. His excuse was understandable, but it didn’t explain the extent of his actions.

Why did he go there when he got drunk? Why did he try to rip the painting down? Why did he seem so hurt, so angry, so upset, so fragile? Like a piece of art, himself, surrounded by lifeless imitations.

It wasn’t a full explanation, sure, but it wasn’t as if I’d explained myself to him, either. We were both bearers of secret truths, and in this game of truth or dare we weren’t asking each other to be honest, we were daring each other to lie.

“Deal, your secret’s safe with me.”

Buying groceries for eight people was proving to be more difficult than I’d originally hoped. I wasn’t even really sure what anyone liked aside from Jackson’s health food craze and a mild hunch that BamBam had a major sweet tooth.

“Hmm, yams seem sweet and nutritious,” I shrugged as I loaded the cart down with the essentials and then some.

I can roast them with marshmallows, and if Jackson asks, I’ll just tell him they’re gluten free or something.

The little corner grocery store was mostly empty at that hour, so I was surprised to be waiting behind someone when I reached the counter. The girl, turned away from me, had long dark hair with red highlights. If it weren’t for the slight turn she made to grab her wallet from her purse when she reached the register, I never would have recognised her.

“Excuse me,” I said, catching up with her as I quickly checked out and exited the store.

“Yes?” she blinked inquisitively at the girl chasing after her down the sidewalk.

“Sorry to chase after you like that. I was just wondering if you were maybe a student at the college near here, JYPU?”

“Oh, uhm, yeah, I am. I’m sorry, but I don’t recognize you-”

I knew it. It has to be her.

“I’m a freshman, so it makes sense that you wouldn’t. Your name is Mina, right? Mina Myoui?”

“Uhm, yes,” she spoke in a soft, shy manner.

I knew this was maybe my only chance to hear her side of the story about the BamBam situation, and a lucky one at that, but I wasn’t entirely comfortable with busting out major questions to a stranger about their personal life, so I took the easier route. I remembered what Hwasa had told me about Mina being a talented viola player, and I lied.

“Ah, that’s what I thought. My name’s Alice. I work for a student newspaper organization, interviewing talented students and you were actually on my list of people to ask. Do you think you’d be up to do an interview with me after class today?”

“Oh, well, I mean I’m not that good,” Mina sweetly argued, “I wasn’t even planning on competing in this month’s music competition, because I’m pretty out of practice. I’ve had a lot on my mind recently.”

“Well, that’s okay. We could just talk about the instrument, itself, or really anything you want.”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s just that you’re really popular around school, and I think a lot of people would read my article if I wrote it about you.”

She looked to the ground before looking back up to me in uncertainty. In that moment, I felt terrible about lying to her. She wasn’t the preppy popular girl I’d imagined at all. On the contrary she seemed very shy and withdrawn. Still it wasn’t hard for me to see why people liked her. She seemed nice.

“But-,” I added quickly as I noticed her open to speak, “if you really want, I can leave your name off the article.