Taehyung hands out the rest of his maps while the other group's voices fade away. We then followed him to the opposite side of the lobby, through the arch marked JAEHYUN'S WING, where we trade the cool lobby air for musty, too warm mansion air.

I feel like this is the part of orientation I should be enjoying, but I'm so shocked that Taehyung recognizing me that I'm not paying attention to my surroundings. I want to hang back and get away from him, but there's only like fifteen of us, and Anna happily drags me by the arm to the front of the group. Now we're walking right behind him - so close, he probably thinks we're interested of his , which is pretty nice, to be honest.

"There are 42 rooms in Jaehyun's Wing, also known as the world's biggest man cave," Taehyung says as he stops in the middle of a drawing room filled with all things related to vampires. Fangs. Pale skin portraits. Victorian figures of vampires showing their fangs. At the back of the room, there's even an old-fashioned coffin from England that's been renovated to a bar.

"Our beloved insane millionaire loved hunting, gambling, vampires, booze, and pirates," Taehyung said. "The pirates, especially. But who doesn't, really?"

Okay, so the boy's got a certain charm about him. I'm not immune to charm. And while he's talking, I realize he's got a deep voice that sounds like it belong to a video game voice-over actor - easygoing and cocky at the same time. Ugh, I bet he's so full of himself.

Why is he giving us this tour anyway? I thought security guards were supposed to stand around, waiting to yell at idiots for putting their hands on paintings.

When we head into the next room, I find out why.

"This is the slot-machine room," he says, walking backward as he talks. The room is filled with a maze of counters, at which you can sit and play one of a hundred antique tabletop slot machines. Looks like the rarer ones are behind ropes.

Taehyung stops. "You might be asking yourself at this point, Are all the rooms named after what's in them? And the answer is yes. The museum owners are not creative - unless it comes to stretching out the workforce, in which case they are extremely creative. Take my job, for example. Why pay a customer service manager to handle guest disputes when you can just send in your security team? You'll quickly find that the irrepressible Mr. Loser . . . sorry, Mr. Lopez" - he gets a few snickers for that one - "likes everyone to be able to do every job, just in case you  have to fill in for someone else. So don't get comfortable, because you, too, could be given the next wave of new hires a tour in a couple of weeks. Better memorize that map I gave you, ASAP."

Ugh. Great. I don't like the sound of this. Maybe it's not too late to apply for that vomit cleaner job Anna was talking about earlier.

Over the next half-hour or so, Taehyung breezily snakes us through the rooms in this wing. Rooms filled with: fake mummies (Mummy Room), weird 19th Century medical equipment (Medical Equipment Room), and walls of aquariums (Aquarium Room). There's even a collection of sideshow outfits inside a gigantic circus tent. It's major sensory overload up in this place, and it's all blurring together, because there's no rhyme or reason to the mansion's layout, and it's all confusing turns and secret staircases and hidden rooms behind fireplaces. If I were a museum guest and had several hours to waste, I'd be thrilled. Total eye candy everywhere. But knowing I was supposed to memorize all this? Headache city.

At the end of the first floor, the maze opens up to a large dark room with a double-high ceiling. The walls are all fake rock, and a night sky rigged with LED stars twinkling above fake buffalos, a glowing fake campfire, wax figurines of Native Americans in weird outfits, and a bunch of teepees. - which several members of the male in our group decide to explore, like they're kids. It smells like musty leather and fur, so I opt to wait by the fake campfire with Anna.

Unfortunately, Taehyung joins us. And before I can move away, he points to my name-tag. "Were your parents obsessed with lilies or did they have a thing for Biblical city of Susa in Persia?"

"Probably about as much as your parents wanting all your wishes come true."

He winks his eyes at me. "I think you mean all my wishes are becoming true."

"Whatever." Maybe I can duck into the teepee with the others. I pretend to be looking at something across the room in hopes that he'll ignore me and move on, a low-level vague tactic, but one that actually works.

Not this time, Taehyung just continues talking. "And yes, my parents did name me after that meaning. It was between that and Victor, so . . ."

Anna playfully pushes Taehyung's arm and scolds him in her tiny voice. "Shut up, they did not. Don't listen to him, Suzy. And don't let him start with the name thing. He called me Anna 'Wing' for half of sophomore year . . . until I tripped him in gym class."

"That's when I knew you were harboring a secret love for me, Anna, so I felt sorry for you and gave you a break." He moves away from her hits and smiles, and I kind of hate that smile, because it's a really nice boyish smile, and I'd rather it wouldn't be.

Anna, however, is immune to its power. She just rolls her eyes. Then she volunteers more information about me. "Suzy's new. She'll be going to MIIS as a senior with you since you skipped a grade."

"Oh?" Taehyung says, lifting a brow in my direction. "Where are you from?"

For a moment, I genuinely I don't know how to answer. I'm not even sure why, but my brain is hung up on his question. I can't tell if he's asking what neighborhood appa lives in. Maybe I should just say Seoul, because that's where I've been living with Eomma and Minho - or even Gwangju, where I was born and raised. When I don't answer immediately, he doesn't seem to know what to do with me. He just stares, waiting for an answer, and that makes me choke up even worse.

"Probably Los Angeles," he finally says, looking me over. "Just going by the way you're dressed, like you're headed to a LA party. If you're going to stand there and make me guess, that's my guess."

Was that a slight? How was I supposed to know that the orientation dress code was going to be shorts and flip-flops? No one told me! "Um, no. Seoul, Republic of Korea. And I guessed you're supposed to be part of some local famous family or something?"

"Ah, across the Pacific. My grandfather got a statue in town and everything," he says. "It's tough being lengendary."

"I'll bet," I mumble, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.

He squints at me and sort of chuckles, as if he's not sure how to take that remark. We glare that each other for several long seconds, and suddenly I'm extremely uncomfortable. I'm also regretting I said anything to him. None of this is me. At all. I don't argue with strangers. Why is this guy getting under my skin and making me say this stuff? It's like he's provoking me on purpose. Maybe he does this with everyone. Well, not me. Find someone else to pick on. I will evade the crap out of you.

He starts to ask me something else, but Anna interrupts - thank goodness. "So, which job here is the best?" she asks Taehyung. "And how do I get it?"

Laughing, he crosses his arms over his chest, and his jagged scars shine in the fake campfire light. Maybe Anna will tell me where Taehyung got the scars; I'm definitely not asking him.

"The best job is mine, and you can't have it. the next best is cafe, because you're above the main floor. The worst is ticketing. Believe me, you do not want that job."

"Why?" I ask, self-preservation outshining my desire to avoid interaction with him. Because if there's a position here I need to avoid, I want to know about it.

Taehyung flicks a glance at me and then watches the males in our group emerge from the big teepee, one by one, laughing at some joke. "Yoongi says every summer they hire more seasonals than they can afford, because they know at least five of them will quit the first two weeks, and those are always the ones running the ticket booth."

"Seems like information desk would be worse," Anna says.

"It's not, believe me. I've worked them all. Even now, I spend half of my day ticketing, fixing problems that have nothing to do with security. It , big-time. Hey, don't touch that," he calls over my shoulder toward a guy who's sticking his finger in the buffalo's nose. Taehyung shakes his head and grumbles under his breath. "That one won't last a week."

Everyone is done exploring this room, so Taehyung leads us out of the Wild West and through the rest of the wing, taking a path that leads us back to the lobby - which is empty, because we've beaten Yoongi's group. While we wait for them, Taehyung corrals us all next to a panel in the wall near the lost and found and opens it. Inside is a small cubby where a back phone hangs.

"I know what you all are thinking," he says. "This might look like an antique, but it isn't a museum display - shocker! See, a long tim ago, people used telephones with cords. And even though you might find a new rare examples of technological advances in this museum, like the 1990s security cameras, or the junked printers in the ticket booth, the museum phone system is not one of them."

He picks up the phone and points to three buttons on the side. "You can make outgoing calls on these, but unless it's an emergency, you'll probably get fired. The only reason you should ever use this fine antique is for intercomming. This green button, marked 'SECURITY,' will allow you to call me if there's some emergency you can't handle alone. Like this -" He presses the button, and a little radio on his sleeves beeps. "See? It's magic. O-o-o."

Then he points to a red button. "This one marked 'ALL' announced the entiiiire museuuum," he says like he's yodeling across a wide space. "The only reason you'd do that is if you work in information and are telling everyone the museum is closing or on fire. Don't use it."

"What does the yellow button do?" I ask. I mean, I guess it's stupid to think I can avoid talking to the guy about work stuff, right? he has information I need. Maybe if I act professional, he'll do the same."

He points to me. "Good question, Suzy Graceful Lily. The yellow button is a lobby-only intercom - see? L-O-B-B-Y. And it's mainly used by the information desk to page lazy idiots who've lost their kids or wives." He hits the button and unpleasant sound crackles from unseen speakers. He holds out the phone to me. "Go on, say something, superstar."

I shake my head. Not happening. I don't like the spotlight. Not I'm regretting that I asked about the yellow button.

He tries to coax me into taking it with that laid-back voice of his, but his eyes are 100% challenge, like this is some sort of contest, and he's trying to see who'll break first. "Come on. Don't get shy on me now, glamour girl."

Again with the nicknames? What is his problem? Well, he can forget it. Now it's matter of principle. I cross my arms over his chest. "No."

"It's just a little intercom," he says, wiggling the phone in front of me.

I shove his hand away. Okay, maybe I kind of slap it away. but I've just about had it with him. I'm genuinely irritated.

And I'm not the only one. The easy-breezy manner disappears from his face, and I can tell he's kind of pissed at me now, too. I don't really care. He's not my boss, and I'm not doing it.

His jaw clenches for a moment. Then he leans closer and says in a calm, condescending voice, "You sure you're cut out for this? Because speaking on the intercom is part of your job description."

"I . . ." I can't finish my thought. I'm angry and embarrassed, and I'm freezing up all over again like I did when he asked me where I was from. Part of me want to cut and run, and another part of me wants to punch Taehyung in the stomach. But all I can do is stand there like a dying fish with my lip flopping open and closed.

It takes him five seconds to lose patience with me. I see the moment his eyes flick to the waiting crowd behind us - the moment he realizes he's supposed to be talking to them, not me - and something close to embarrassment crosses his face. Or maybe I imagined it, because in a heartbeat later.

He holds the phone up to his mouth. "Testing," he says, and it echoes around the Palace lobby. "My name is Suzy, and I'm from Seoul, where apparently mismatched shoes are the latest trend."

A few people chuckle as I look down at my feet. And to my horror, he's right. I'm wearing the same style flats: one black and one navy. I have three pairs in the different colors, and because they're small and comfortable, I packed a pair in my carry-on. I was in such a rush to iron my dress this morning. I threw them on without looking before I walked out the door. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

And, to top it all off, I now realize that Taehyung was never checking out my legs - he'd been staring at my shoes the entire time.

My cheeks flush. I want to melt into a puddle and slid under the tacky purple carpet. I can't look at him now, much less come up with a witty response. My mind has flipped on the auto-pilot switch and blanked out, and all I'm aware is the sound of my own pulse throbbing in my ears. I'm so numb, I can't even manage to feel anything more than the smallest drop of relief when Yoongi shows up and swaps groups with Taehyung so we can tour the other wing.

I swear, if I never see that boy again, it'll be too soon. And if life is the least bit fair, I'll be assigned a job that's light-years away from him. I'll do anything. Clean toilets. Take out trash. I'll even make announcements on that stupid phone. As long as it means I'll have little to no contact with Taehyung freaking Kim, I'll do it with a smile. Because one of his job requirements seems to be Getting a Laugh at Suzy's Expense, and I would rather get on a plane and fly back home to Eomma and Minho if that's how things are to be around here.

I think about V, and how much better I'd feel if I could go home and tell him about all this. He would definitely sympathize. And I need someone to vent to, because, really, could this day get any worse?

When the tour is over, and we get our schedule assignments from Mr. Lopez, I find out he answer to that is yes, oh hell yea, it sure enough can.

I stare at my printed schedule in disbelief. I've been assigned to ticketing.