Mijoo led the way to the diner I had seen on her walk through the business district, and I had to admit that it did have some charm, particularly if you were fond of the 1950s. There was an old-fashioned counter flanked with stools, the floor was black and white tiles, and cracked red vinyl booths lined the walls. Behind the counter, the menu was written on the chalkboard and as far as I could tell, the only change to it in the last thirty years had been the prices.

Mijoo ordered a cheeseburger, a chocolate shake and French fries; I couldn't decide and ended up ordering only a Diet Coke. I was hungry but I wasn't exactly sure what kind of oil they used in their deep fryer, and neither, it seemed, was anyone else at the diner. Being a vegetarian wasn't always easy, and there were times when I wanted to give up the whole thing.

Like when my stomach was growling. Like right now.

But I wouldn't eat here. I couldn't eat here, not because I was a vegetarian-on-principle kind of person, but because I was vegetarian-because-I-shouldn't-want-to-feel-sick kind of person. I didn't care what other people ate; it was just that whenever I thought about where meat actually came from, I'd imagine a cow standing in a meadow or Babe the pig, and I'd feel herself getting nauseated.

Mijoo seemed happy, though. After she placed her order, she leaned back in the booth. "What do you think about the place?" she asked.

"It's neat. It's kind of different."

"I've been coming here since I was a kid. My dad used to bring me every Sunday after church for chocolate shake. They're the best. They get their ice cream from some tiny place in Georgia, but it's amazing. You should get one."

"I'm not hungry."

"You're lying," Mijoo said. "I heard your stomach growling, but whatever. It's your loss. But thanks for this."

"No big deal."

Mijoo smiled. "So what happened last night? Are you like . . . famous or something?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"Because of the cop and the way he singled you out. There had to be a reason."

I made a face. "I think my dad told him to go find me. He even knew where I lived."

" being you."

When I laughed, Mijoo reached for the saltshaker. After tipping it over, she began sprinkling salt onto the table while using a finger to mold into a pile.

"What did you think of Mingyu?" she asked.

"I didn't really talk to him. Why?"

Mijoo seemed to choose her words carefully. "Mingyu never liked me," she said. "Growing up, I mean. I can't say that I liked him very much, either. He always kind of . . . mean, you know? But then, I don't know, a couple of years ago, things changed. And when I really needed someone, he was there for me. "

I watched the salt pile grow. "And?"

"I just wanted you to know."

"Fine," I said. "Whatever."

"You too."

"What are you talking about?"

Mijoo scraped some of the black polish from her fingernails.  "I used to compete in gymnastics, and for maybe four or five years, it was the biggest thing in my life. I ended up quitting because of my coach. He was a real hard-, always telling you what you did wrong, never complimenting you on what you did right. Anyway, I was doing a new dismount off the beam one day, and he marched forward screaming at me about the proper way to plant and how I freeze and everything I'd heard him scream about million times before. I was tired of hearing it, you know? So I said, 'Whatever,' and he grabbed my arm so hard that he left bruises. Anyway, he says to me, 'Do you know what you're saying when you say, "Whatever"? It's just a code word for the f-word, followed by "you." And at your age, you never, ever say that to anyone.'" Mijoo leaned back. "So now, when someone says it to me, I just say, 'You too.'"

Right then, the waitress arrived with our food, and she placed it in front of us with an efficient flourish. When she was gone, I reached for my soda.

"Thanks for the heartwarming story."

"Whatever."

I laughed again, liking her sense of humor.

Mijoo leaned across the table. "So what's worst thing you've ever done?"

"What?"

"I'm serious. I always ask people that question. I found it interesting."

"All right," I countered. "What's the worst thing you've ever done?"

"That's easy. When I was little, I had this neighbor—Mrs. Park. She wasn't the nicest lady, but she wasn't a witch either. I mean, it's not like she locked her doors on Halloween or anything. But she was really into garden, you know? And her lawn. I mean, if we ever walked across it on our way to the school bus, she'd come storming out, screaming that we were ruining the grass. Anyway, one spring, she planted all these flowers in her garden. Hundreds of them. It was gorgeous. Well, there was this kid across the street named Taemin, and he didn't like Mrs. Park much, either, because one time he'd hit a baseball and it went into her b