It was not all that different from the circus, and it came to town in much the same way. Only instead of elephants and giraffes, there were cameras and microphones. Instead of clowns and cages and tightropes, there were production assistants and trailers and yards upon yards of thick cables.

There was a sense of magic in the way it appeared as if from nowhere, cropping up so quickly that even those who had been expecting it were taken by surprise. And as the people of Daegu showed up to watch, even the most jaded members of the film crew couldn't help feeling a slight shiver of anticipation, a low current of electricity that seemed to pulse through the town. They were used to filming in locations like Seoul, city where the locals gave them a wide berth, grumbling about the traffic and the disappearance of parking spots, shaking their heads at the huge lights that snuffed out the darkness. There were places in the world where a movie shoot was nothing more than a nuisance, a bothersome interruption of real life.

But Daegu, was not one of them.

It was June, so the crowds that had gathered to watch the men unload the trucks were fairly large. The size of the town rose and fell like the tides. Through the winter, the full-timers rattled around the empty shops, bundled against the frost coming off the water. But as soon as summer rolled around, the population swelled to four or five times its usual size, a stream of tourists once again filling the gift shops and cottages and B&Bs that lined the coast. Daegu was like a great hibernating bear, dozing through the long winters before coming back to life again at the same time each year.

Most everyone in town waited eagerly for Memorial Day, when the seasons clicked forward and the usual three-month frenzy of boaters and fishermen and honey-nooners and vacationers invaded. But Bae Joohyun had always dreaded it, and now, as she tried to pick her way through the thick knots of people in the village square, she was reminded of why. In the off-season, the town was hers. But on this blisteringly hot day at the start of June, it belonged to the strangers again.

And this summer would be worse than ever.

Because this summer, there would be a movie too 

A few seagulls wheeled overheard, and from some distant boat a bell began to clang. Joohyun hurried past the gawking tourists and away from the trailers, which now lined the harbor road like a gypsy caravan. There was a sharp tang of salt in the air, and the smell of frying fish was already drifting out of the town's oldest restaurant, the Lobster Pot. Its owner, Mr. Kim, was leaning against the doorframe, his eyes trained on the flurry of activity down the street 

"Kind of crazy, huh?" he said, and Joohyun paused to follow his gaze. As they watched, a long black limo glided up to the main production tent, followed by a van and two motorcycles. "And now photographers too," he muttered.

Joohyun couldn't help frowning as she watched the explosion of flashes that accompanied the opening of the limo door.

Mr. Kim sighed. "And all I can say is, they better eat a lot of lobster."

"And ice cream," Joohyun added.

"Right," he said, nodding at the blue shirt with her name stitched to the pocket. "And ice cream too."

By the time she reached the little yellow shop with the green awning that read SPRINKLES in faded letters, Joohyun was already ten minutes late. But she didn't have to worry; the only person inside was Joy - her very best friend and the world's very worst employee - who has hunched over the ice-cream counter, flilling through the pages of magazine.

"Can you believe we're stuck in here today?" she asked as Joohyun walked in, the bell above the door jangling.

The inside of the shop was wonderfully cool and smelled like spun sugar, and as always, there was something about it that made the years recede for Joohyun, peeling them back one at a time like the layers of an onion. She had been only four when she and her mom moved here, and after the long drive up from Seoul - the car heavy because of all they'd taken with them and silent because of all they had not - they'd stopped in town to ask for directions to the cottage they'd rented for the summer. Mom had been in a rush, eager to finish the journey that had started well before then ten-hour drive. But Joohyun had walked right through the front door and pushed her freckled nose againsed the domed glass, and so her first memory of their new life would always be the black and white tiles, the cool air on her face, and the sweet taste of orange sherbet.

Now she ducked beneath the counter and grabbed an apron from the hook. "Trust me," she said to Joy, "you don't want to be out there right now. It's a total zoo."

"Of course it is," she said, twisting around and then hoisting herself up so that she was sitting beside the cash register, her feet dangling well above the floor. 

"This is probably the biggest thing that's ever happened here," Joy was saying, her eyes bright. "It would be like something out of the movies if it wasn't literally a movie." She grabbed the magazine and held it up. "And it isn't some little dinky art-house film either. I mean, there are huge stars in this thing. Jimin and Kang Seulgi. KANG SEULGI. Here for a whole month."

Joohyun squinted at the photo being dangled in front of her, which showed a face she'd seen a thousand timed before, a dark-haired girl with even darker sunglasses, scowling as she muscled her way through a group of photographers. She knew she was right around her age, hut there was something about her that made her seem younger. Joohyun tried to picture her here in Daegu, dodging paparazzi, signing autographs, chatting with her beautiful costar between takes, but she couldn't seen to make her imaginations cooperate in that way.

"Everyone thinks she and Jimin are dating, or will be soon," Joy said. "But you never know. Maybe small-town girls are more her type. Do you think she'll come in here at all?"

"Wait, girls?" I stared at Joy.

"Yes girls, seriously? You don't know much about her? She's bi!" exclaimed Joy.

"Well, okay. And also, there are only like twelve shops in the whole town," Joohyun said. "So the odds that she'll come in here are probably in your favor."

Joy watched as she began rinsing the ice-cream scoops in the sink. How can you not care about this stuff at all?" she asked. "Its exciting."

"It's a pain," Joohyun said without looking up.
"It's good for business."
"It's like a carnival."
"Exactly," Joy said, looking triumphant. "And carnivals are fun."

"Not if you hate roller coasters."
"Well, you're stuck on this one whether you like it or not," Joy said with a laugh. "So you better buckle up."

Mornings were always quiet at the shop; the real rush didn't start until after lunchtime, but because the town was so busy today, a few people trickled in to buy bags of penny candy from the jars on the shelves, or to cool off with an early cone. Just before the end of her shift, Joohyun was helping a little boy pick out a flavor while Joy made a chocolate milkshake for his mother, who was busy on her cell phone.

"What about mint chip?" Joohyun suggested, leaning over the cool glass as the boy- probably no more than three years old- stood on his tiptoes in an effort to survey the various flavors. "Or cookie dough?"

He shook his head, and his hair falling across his eyes. "I want pig.".
"Pink?"
"Pig," he said again, but less certainly.
"Strawberry?" Joohyun asked, pointing at the pin