I think if you cheat, it should be with someone worthy of your sin. I’m not sure if this is old Yein’s thoughts or new Yein’s thoughts. Or maybe, because I’m observing Jeong Yein’s life as an outsider, I’m able to think of her cheating with detachment rather than judgment. All I know is if you’re going to cheat on Jeon Jungkook it had better be with Ryan Gosling.

I turn back to look at him before he drives away and catch a glimpse of his profile, the dim streetlamp behind the car illuminating his face. The bridge of his nose isn’t smooth. At school, the other boys had pretty noses, or noses that were still too big for their faces. Or worse, noses pocked with acne. Jungkook has a grown-up nose. It makes you take him more seriously.

I turn back to the house. My stomach feels oily. No one is around when I open the door and peer inside. I feel like I’m an intruder breaking into somebody’s house.

“Hello?” I say. “Anyone here?” I close the door quietly behind me and tiptoe into the living room.

I jump.

Yein’s mother is on the couch watching Seinfeld on mute, and eating pinto beans straight from the can. I’m suddenly reminded that all I’ve eaten today is the grilled cheese I split with Silas.

“Are you hungry?” I ask her tentatively. I don’t know if she’s still mad at me or if she’s going to cry again. “Do you want me to make us something to eat?”

She leans forward without looking at me and slides her beans onto the coffee table. I take a step toward her and force out the word, “Mom?”

“She’s not going to answer you.”

I spin around to see Chaeyeon stroll into the kitchen, a bag of Doritos in her hand.

“Is that what you ate for dinner?”

She shrugs.

“What are you, like fourteen?”

“What are you, like brain-dead?” she shoots back. And then, “Yes, I’m fourteen.”

I grab the Doritos from her hand and carry them over to where drunken mommy is staring at the TV screen. “Fourteen-year-old girls can’t eat chips for dinner,” I say, dropping the bag on her lap. “Sober up and be a mom.”

No response.

I stalk over to the fridge, but all that’s inside it is a dozen cans of Diet Coke and a jar of pickles. “Get your jacket, Chaeyeon,” I say, glaring at the mother. “Let’s get you some dinner.”

Chaeyeon looks at me like I’m speaking Mandarin. I figure I need to throw something mean in there just to keep up appearances. “Hurry up, you little turd!”

She scampers back to our room while I search the house for car keys. What type of life was I living? And who was that creature on the couch? Surely she hadn’t always been that way. I glance at the back of her head and feel a spurt of sympathy. Her husband—my father—is in prison. Prison! That’s a big deal. Where are we even getting money to live?

Speaking of money, I check my wallet. The twenty-eight dollars is still there. That should be enough to buy us something other than Doritos.

Janette comes out of the bedroom wearing a green jacket just as I find the keys. Green is a good color on her—makes her look less angsty teen.

“Ready?” I ask.

She rolls her eyes.

“Okay then, mommy dearest. Going to get some grub!” I call out before I close the door—mostly to see if she’ll try to stop me. I let Janette lead the way into the garage, anticipating what kind of car we drive. It isn’t going to be a Land Rover, that’s for sure.

“Oh, boy,” I say. “Does this thing work?” She ignores me, popping her earbuds in as I eye the car. It’s a really old Oldsmobile. Older than me. It smells of cigarette smoke and old people. Chaeyeon climbs into the passenger side wordlessly and stares out the window. “Okay then, Chatty Cathy,” I say. “Let’s see how many blocks we can go before this thing breaks down.”

I have a plan. The receipt I found is dated last Friday and is from The Electric Crush Diner in the French Quarter. Except this piece of crap car doesn’t have GPS. I’ll have to find it on my own.

Chaeyeon is quiet as we pull out of the driveway. She traces patterns on the window with her fingertip, fogging and re-fogging the glass with her breath. I watch her out of the corner of my eye; poor kid. Her mom’s an alcoholic and her dad is in prison—kind of sad. She also hates me. That pretty much leaves her alone in the world. I realize with surprise that Yein is in the same situation. Except maybe she has Jungkook—or did have Jungkook before she cheated on him with Seongwoo. Ugh. I shake my shoulders to get rid of all my feels. I hate these people. They’re so annoying. Except I kind of like Jungkook.

Kind of.

The Electric Crush Diner is on Hongdae Street. I find a parking spot on a crowded corner and have to parallel park between a truck and a MINI Cooper. Yein is an excellent parallel parker, I think proudly. Chaeyeon climbs out after me and stands on the sidewalk, looking lost. The diner is across the street. I try to peer in through the windows, but they’re mostly out. The Electric Crush flashes in pink neon over the front door.

“Come on,” I say. I hold out my hand to her and she draws back. “Chaeyeon! Let’s go!” I march up to her in what can only be an aggressive