One Day

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Yearbook was mostly painless, except when we had our bimonthly deadline meetings, Park Bogum, editor in chief, liked to call them "socials" to make them sound more fun, but they were really just deadline check-ins with fried chicken and Soju. The yearbook office was a forgotten room in the basement of the Union. On any given day, the heat either blasted or was non-existent, and the awful fluorescent lighting made made everyone looked like zombie apocalypse survivors. At least we didn't have to share with another club.

We sat around a long table, noshing on cookies and waiting for Bogum, who was busy staring at his bulletin board of multicolored Posit-its with the same concentration you would expect from a warlord devising a plan of attack. I entertained myself by continuing a mehndi-inspired floral design I'd started earlier in the day on the back of my hand with a dark brown pen.

I was officially on design staff and didn't need to be at both monthly editorial meetings, but it was cool hanging out with Yoona and Stephanie. The three of us were in the running for editor positions next year when we were seniors. Aside from looking excellent on my resume, being in charge of design was something I couldn't wait to sink my teeth into. I figured an interest in every facet of production would help my cause.

Bogum grabbed a neon-blue Post-it and planted it on the desk next to me.

It had CJ E&M Dance written in bold letter.

"What's this?" I finished the vine on my hand with a spiral and looked up.

"Park Sodam was originally supposed to handle the CJ E&M Dance section, but she's going on a family trip. I need you to take photos for the layout."

Stephanie covered but failed to conceal a quickly growing smile.

"This is your doing," I said, pointing at her. She had already tried to rally both Yoona and me to go to the dance since we was working it for Spirit Club.

"No, swear," she said, raising her right hand. "I'm writing the copy for the section. Although, I thought Yoona could help too - there should be a sidebar with the history of the dance, don't you think?"

Yoona glared at Stephanie over her laptop. Once something was said in front of Bogum, there was no turning back.

"When is this?" I asked.

"Next Friday." A chorus of voices around the table answered.

"I don't get the whole CJ E&M thing; I mean, technically, isn't all the dances a CJ E&M dance?" Yoona asked.

"True, but still - we need this. Between winter and midterms, this dance is the only social event until Spring Fling. It's way better than some Valentine's BS with balloon hearts," Bogum said. "Maybe you could somehow work that angle in the copy. Stephanie, how were you thinking of incorporating the theme?"

Stephanie  shuffled through a couple of the pages in the notebook, stopped at one and put her finger on it. "I was thinking 'On the Edge of . . . Romance?"

"Too banal," Bogum said, waving her hand. "Dig deeper, what were you going to write about? I want it more than just the basic 'There was a band and cupcakes.'"

"Of course. I panned on interviewing couples to see how they felt about the dance, if a girl asking a guy to a dance was even that big of a core-shaker anymore. And I know some girls are making it a girls' night, so that would be interesting to include too."

Core-shaker? I mouthed to her across the table. Stephanie pretended not to notice so she wouldn't lose face with Bogum, who took the yearbook's theme, "On the Edge," seriously. The faculty had given us some trouble, thinking it sounded neurotic or like some veiled drug reference. Bogum assured them "On the Edge" was positive and meant being on the forefront. I didn't always understand Bogum's vision, but the challenge of figuring it out was kind of fun.

"Cool. I like it. Have it to me the following Wednesday after the dance, right? Yoona, where were we on the Fathers' Club layout?"

"Um, well . . . we're . . . Bogum, I have no clue what I doing with it yet. Not sure how to make the Fathers' Club edgy. All I have so far is the fall bowl-a-thon and sponsoring Toys for Tots."

Bogum knocked on the table. "Anyone have any ideas?"

Silence. I went back to working on my mend design - brainstorming about fathers was something I could thankfully be excluded from. There was a time when it might have made me feel awkward, but I'd grown out of it. When I was in third grade, momma had explained it very matter-of-factly - my biological father was far out of the picture by the time she realized she was pregnant with me. He hadn't been the right person, but it was the right time and there was never a doubt in her mind that she wanted me.

It's not like I never wondered if he was out there, somewhere . . . but it's not like I had a gaping hole in my life either. Eomma and I were fine; besides, when Stephanie had sleepovers I  lived vicariously with Mr. Lee doling out Sunday-morning breakfast or dousing us with the hose when we sun-bathed in the yard. I mean, who wanted to go to some lame- fall bowl-a-thon anyhow? Puh-lease.

"Well, we have time to figure out to make bowling edgy," he said, smiling and moving on to another Post-it.

✿ Secrets of Attraction ✿

"So you guys are really going to CJ E&M, right?" Stephanie asked as we walked to our lockers after the meeting.

"If it involves me asking someone, then no," Yoona said.

"Come on, Minho can -" I began.

"You don't need to find me anyone, okay?" She dropped her chem book to the floor and muttered under her breath. Stephanie and I exchanged puzzled looks.

"What's wrong?" I asked, crouching down to pick up the book.

Yoona took the book from my hand and slid it onto the top shelf of her locker. "Nothing, I just hate being put on the spot like that. This "On the Edge' thing is hard."

"Yes, but one more year, and then we'll be running the book. And we can come up with a normal theme but nothing banal," Stephanie said, mimicking Bogum's smile.

"You don't usually get so upset at this stuff," I said.

"The meeting ran late and I was supposed to . . . I just missed my run, that's all," she said, grabbing her coat. 

"Don't you usually run with your dad at night?" Stephanie asked.

Yoona leaned against her locker and frowned. She looked between us.

"I really don't want to talk about it yet. It's so new and -"

"Aish, just spit it out, Yoona," I said.

"There is someone I wanted to ask to the dance."

"Great!" Stephanie said.

"No, not great - he's already going with someone."

"Who?"

"Lee Seunggi."

"No, who were you going to ask?" I wasn't not about to let her off the hook. This was too juicy a development on an otherwise completely boring Wednesday afternoon.

"This guy I've been running with."

I motioned for her to go on but she clammed up. "Do you want us to play twenty questions to get it out of you?"

She laughed, then took breath. "His name is Changwook, remember the guy from -"

"Lee Jongsuk's party?" Stephanie asked. Yoona nodded.

"What party?"

"In December, you were puking your brains out and couldn't go. We went to see Jisoo in his theatre act. Changwook played the lead role with Yoona," Stephanie explained.

"Oh, right. This has been going on since then?"

"No - I mean, we met that night, but it turns out he runs. I saw him at the park a few weeks back, we got to talking, and, well, we've been training together. he says I keep him on pace - we're both trying to get down to seven-minute mile."

"How romantic," I said.

"So, yeah, I'm kind of bummed about it."

"No - you need to go to the dance," Stephanie said.

"Absolutely. So he can see you there, realize that his amazing running partner is also scorching, and he will fall head-over-Nikes for you."

"New Balance."

"Huh?"

"He trains in New Balance."

"Whatever - he won't be wearing running shoes when you train to do something else in seven minutes."

Yoona blushed. "Suzy, geez."

"I'm loving this idea. Come on, Yoona - it'll be fun." Stephanie batted her eyelashes. I put my hands together in prayer. We stared at Yoona down until  she gave in.

"Okay, okay, fine - but where will I find a date?"

"Consider Minho your hookup source."

"Who's the guy who went to the movies with us the last time we all went as a group? Minho's friend . . . the one that wears the leather jacket?"

Stephanie laughed. "The one you sat next to?"

"Um, Kyungnam, maybe?" I said.

"Yeah, we had a great conversation about history mash-ups and movies. He was pretty cool. I could handle, um, being fixed up with him."

"I'm seeing Minho later, I said.

"No, wait. Just ask Minho if you think Kyungnam would be into it. Then, I don't know, get me his number, I'll call him. That's how this works, right? Have to get over my nerves somehow."

"Consider it done," I said.

✿ Secrets of Attraction ✿

It was hard to focus on homework across from Lee Minho. We sat in my dining room table - well, I sat; Minho took up two chairs, his legs draped over the seat of one, his body slunk down in the other, the tip of a pencil grazing his bottom lip as he read from his history textbook. Dark straight hair fell over his forehead. His hair had been short when we first met, close-cropped to keep out of his eyes during fall soccer. I loved the length now, the wildness of it. The way he owed the space around him was distracting.

While he studied history, I studied him - his angles and edges, the gentle swirls and waves of his hair. How his orange T-shirt fit him just right, not too tight but showed off his chest, his arms. I could spend hours drawing his arms alone, the way his biceps and triceps curved into each other. As a subject, he was captivating.

I was supposed to be working on a dwelling design for the scholarship portfolio. I'd chosen to put an addition on my house - well, at least to draw the floor plans for it. Something functional and beautiful and congruent with the original house design. Right now, all of those words described Minho. Except, I couldn't get his nose right. He had a small bump near the bridge that I kept turning into a beak. Noses always gave me trouble.

Without warning he snatched the sketchbook from me.

"Hey," I said. A long, jagged line now went through the picture where my pencil had still been in contact with the paper as he pulled it away. I squirmed in my seat while he looked at the drawing. Minho's idea of art was the Korean flag he had hanging above his bed. I knew he would never say my drawing was total crap - it was of him, after all - but showing it to him made me fidgety.

"Nice floor plan," he said, smirking and sliding it back to me.

"You're distracting." I opened up to a fresh page.

I knew art was a process; trial and error and failing and growing, but anything that came out through my pencil lately looked nothing like the vision in my head. Not being able to translate what was in my brain to paper made me want to hurl my sketchbook across the room.

"You need to chill, like that little shirtless dude over there," he said, referring to the new resident of our mantelpiece: a Laughing Buddha statue momma picked up to help her focus on all the abundance in her life while she meditated.

"That little shirtless dude is enlightened, so happiness is his natural state - he doesn't need to earn a scholarship anywhere."

"No, I think he's happy because he's half-." Minho pulled his shirt off to prove his point. If I thought I could draw his arms for hours, Minho's torso could keep me occupied for weeks.

"See, you're smiling already," he said. "Stop worrying, it'll get done."

That was Minho. Academic scholarship? He'd get an athletic scholarship and gets counted. Backup schools or programs? Without a doubt his mind he was going to the Nationals. He'd play soccer for eight years, and be in the Nationals like his older brother. And if none of that worked out? Something else would come along. Nothing fazed him. He was spectacularly uncomplicated, a living, breathing chill pill.

"Please, you have to put your shirt back on. Want a water or something?" I asked, getting up to go to the kitchen. He reached for my hand as I brushed past him, and pulled me onto his lap.

"I think can do better than water."

My muscles tensed to spring up, but he was so warm . . . and half-. Maybe he was right. I needed to loosen up, although the moment his lips grazed my neck every cell in my body snapped to attention. Chillin' was the last thing on my mind.

His hair brushed my cheek, then my chin, as he kissed my neck. I traced the curves of his arms with my fingertips, buried my face in his hair. God, he smelled so good. Like mint. Some sulfate-free organic shampoo. The day dissolved. What floor plans? What dance?

"Oh, hey, Minho," I said, my voice sounding far away to me. 

"Mmmmm."

He lifted his face to mine, planting a kiss on my mouth. He looked sleepy, unconcerned.

"Yes," he said, kissing my cheek.

"What's Kyungnam doing next Friday?"

He stopped, stiffened. "What?"

I pulled back from him. "There's this dance at school and -"

He laughed. "You want to go with Kyungnam?"

"No, but . . . is he seeing anyone?"

"No."

"Thing you could hook me up with his number? For Yoona."

"For Yoona, yeah, sure," he said, grabbing his phone off the table.

"Wait, do you think . . . He'll go, right?"

He scrolled through his contacts, copied Kyungnam's number, and sent it to me in a text. My phone dinged from across the room.

"I don't know, I guess. Am I going?" he asked, placing his phone back down.

 I walked my fingers up his chest. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" He put his hands on my waist and poked his fingers into my ribs - my absolute worst ticklish spot. There was a dare in his eyes. I wriggled in anticipation.

"Okay, okay, sure," I said.

"Sure what? Are you asking me?" His fingers poised to dig deeper.

"Lee Minho, will you go to this silly dance thing with me next Friday?"

He stared me down, then all-out tickled me until I howled.

"Minnie . . . okay . . . okay . . ." I begged. Just before it got more painful than fun, he stopped. I wrapped my arms around him, laughing. It took a few seconds to catch my breath. I rested my chin on his bare shoulder, resisting the urge to give him a nibble.

"Why wouldn't you ask me first?"

"Huh?" I sat up to look at him.

"Why would you ask for Kyungnam's number first? It's just weird."

"Your noticing is even weirder," I said, running my fingers into his hair, gently nudging him to look at me. Minho was a warrior on the soccer field and had that quiet sort of confidence that made people take notice when he walked into a room. But here, in this moment, his brown eyes searching mine, he looked lost. Did not officially being asked really bother Mr. Chill Pill?

"Minho," I said, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"Would you go . . ." I kissed the other corner.

"To the CJ E&M Dance with me next Friday?" I ended by running my bottom lip across his. He took it between his teeth and nibbled, eyes still on mine. His jaw softened, our mouth dropping open. My tongue found his. Minho's hands wandered along my waist, my hip, my thigh. His kiss made me want to be somewhere soft. He stopped a moment to look at me.

"You make me -"

"Shhh," I whispered, touching my lips to his again. He gathered me in his arms and stood up, stumbling for a moment before getting his footing. I laughed underneath his kiss.

"Suzy."

Our mouths pulled apart. and the realization that neither of us had said my name made us both go wide-eyed. Minho looked up and gently tipped me to standing.

"Eomma, I thought it was your late nigh," I said, smoothing my skirt. Even though I was fully clothed I felt completely . But Minho . . . oh . He stood there shirtless and stunned. How had we missed the door being opened?

"I got off at six tonight, I thought I told you that," she said, her face flushed as she looked at Minho. He finally grabbed his shirt and put it on. Was she blushing or was it from the cold? Juhoon was behind her, trying his hardest not to smile and losing. They both held bags of groceries. Long, leafy sprouts and a baguette poked out of the top of eomma's brown bag.

Minho brushed past me.

"Here, let me help you, Ms. Bae," he said, taking her bag. 

"Thank you, Minho," she said. Juhoon closed the door and followed Minho to the kitchen. I busied myself with pushing Minho's chair into the table. Straightening up papers. Anything but looking at eomma. The thought of what they might have walked in on had they arrived five minutes later made me cringe.

"Why was he shirtless?" she asked.

"He, um, was inspired by the Laughing Buddha." I pointed to the mantle and tried not to succumb to the fit of giggles that was building in my stomach. Wow, that sounded ridiculous. Eomma put a finger to her lips to stifle a laugh herself.

"You really expect me to believe -"

"Eomma, you can ask him, I swear, he was doing it to make me smile."

"You weren't going upstairs, were you?"

Eomma was always candid with me about . Not that she was okay with me having any, just that she let me know it was cool to talk to her. We'd had the discussion on house limits when I was old enough to have friends over unattended. She was okay with boys in the house when she wasn't home but she had strict no-bedroom policy that, even though I'd thought about it, I'd never dream of breaking. We'd done plenty of damage on the couch, though, but it was different knowing someone could walk in on you at any second.

"No."

She shrugged off her gray coat. "Good."

Minho came back to the dining room and collected his books from the table.

"You're more than welcome to stay for dinner, Minho," eomma said.

He looked up as he stashed his notepad into his backpack. They way his hair framed his face, the light in his eyes, made my fingers itch to sketch him. He pulled his jacket off the back of the chair.

"Thanks, but I have a scrimmage tonight for my indoor league," he said, telling what I knew to be a bald-faced lie. He slung his backpack over his shoulder. My body still ached from kissing him.

"Dinner will be ready in thirty, Suzy, so clean up." She disappeared into the kitchen.

I walked Minho to the door.

"Scrimmage," I whispered, laughing.

"Call me later, we'll pick up where we left off," he said, kissing me.

I nodded, and stepped onto the porch, folding my arms against the chill.

"And Suzy . . ." Minho sid, stopping at the top step.

"Yes."

"I'll go to that dance with you," he said, before walking down the steps to the sidewalk. We walked up the block, looking back once to smile. I waved and walked inside, jogging upstairs to my room to change out of uniform.

I should have been thrilled, and I was, I guess - a dance together would be a new experience for us. I'd get to hang with Stephanie and Yoona. Buy a new dress. And I suppose it was sort of cute the way he wanted to be asked. What guy does that? There was something about it, though - maybe the fact I knew he wouldn't say no because that's who he was in my life. He was in the hot boy who makes me laugh, turns girl-bits nuclear compartment. I wasn't sure I wanted any more from him than that or if he could even give it to me.

I stayed up in my room, starting physics until the smell of onion frying became too much to resist. I wandered back downstairs to find that our dining room had been transformed into a place where people could actually have a meal. 

The table, half of which usually served as a catchball for junk mail and miscellaneous random crap, was completely cleared from when Minho and I were there earlier. It was set with a wrinkly tablecloth and the good china, the flowery stuff that my grandparents left when they bequeathed us the house and moved to Busan twelve years ago. There was even a crystal pitcher of ice water on the table.

Eomma breezed in with a basket of bread in her hand.

"Wow, what's the occasion?" I asked.

"Nothing, just dinner. We thought it would be nice to eat in the dining room, with real plates for a change."

"We have real plates?" I joked. On an average night, eomma and I were the takeout queens, even had our favorite, Twosome Restaurant, on speed dial. I followed her out into the kitchen, where the delicious, onion-y aroma was even stronger.

"Can I help?" I asked, peering over Juhoon's shoulder into the skillet.

"Hey," he said, blocking me from seeing anything. "You must wait to zee masterpiece."

"Here," eomma said, handing me some silverware. I finished setting the table, then took a seat.

The fabulous meal turned out to be tiny tacos - Juhoon claimed it was a little something he'd picked up when he travelled to Spain, my new favorite food. I ran my last piece of crusty bread over my disk to sop up the olive oil that remained, and slunk into my seat.

"That was amazing," I said scarfing it.

"Well, I try," Juhoon said.

Eomma's plate was still half-full. She traced the rim of the wineglass with her forefinger. Her bob was freshly sleep and angular and drew attention to her eyes. Bangs. She had bangs now.

"You cut your hair," I said to her, wondering why I hadn't noticed before. Getting caught with Minho must have nullified my observational skills.

"Yes, finally, I was getting tired of it always in my eyes," she said, running her fingers through her new fringe.

"They make you look hot," I said.

"Ha, funny."

"No, she's right, Seonmi," Juhoon said, lifting a glass to her.

She shook her head and waved her hand, dismissing the flattery.

Wait, had Juhoon just called her hot? Maybe they wanted to be alone.

I inched away from the table.

"I'll clean this up, you guys hang out," I said, stacking Juhoon's empty plate onto mine.

"I'm still working on it," eomma's said. I carried the pile out to the kitchen.

The sink was almost full with warm, sudsy water when she walked up behind me and squeezed my shoulder.

"Suzy, could you come sit with us? There's something we need to talk to you about," she said. We? My stomach dropped to my feet. Was I about to get a lecture on being alone in the house with Minho? With Juhoon right there?

"What's up?" I asked, sitting down. I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I folded them in front of me, then I unfolded them because, duh, what am I? Five? I wished I had my pen so I could distract myself with some more mehndi design on my hand. This had to be about Minho.

"So I guess you've noticed that Juhoon has been here for a few days," eomma said.

"Um, yeah, I guess."

"He's here because . . . Well, do you want to tell her? Eomma took a sip of wine. I looked at Juhoon.

"I had a bit of falling-out with the airline. and I'm jobless right now."

"Is that a fancy way of saying you were fired?" I asked.

"Suzy."

Juhoon laughed. "No. They're doing a lot of restructuring and I'm not too happy about some of the new policies, so I decided to jump ship before things got too ugly. I'm through with the politics of the big guys."

"But, don't you love to fly?"

"Oh, I'd never give up flying - just doing it on a smaller scale. I have a connection at a smaller, private company and thought I'd give it a shot. It's based here in Seoul. SO if it works out, you might be seeing more of me."

"Cool," I said, looking at Eomma.

"There's something else," she said.

"While I settled, I'm going to need a place to hang out - not a permanent thing or anything but -"

"Juhoon wants to stay with us for a while."

They both looked at me, searching for a reaction, which on my end felt like something between shock-relief and confusion. This wasn't about Minho. At all.

"Are you asking me?"

"Of course," eomma said. "This involves you, obviously; some of your freedom won't quite be the same with someone here after school."

So maybe it was a little about Minho.

"But Juhoon will be paying rent, so that will help with some expenses."

"It's not like I'm going to be here all the time," Juhoon added. "This is just home base, until I figure out if I want the job. Considered me a tenant who cooks and brings the good donuts. Does that sound okay?"

It felt nice sitting here with them. They say you can't choose your family . . . but what if I could? What if part of Juhoon figuring things out included him and Eomma getting together? It wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen.

I smiled.

"It sounds fantastic."