Within twenty four hours, everyone at school knew about Hyunseung. Rumors about Seungie replaced rumors about Junhyung. He had three weeks to live, he really had AIDS, his cancer was catching-you name it, we heard it. It was so completely horrible it was almost funny.
     Seungie’s parents arranged for him to have a surgery at a medical center in Seoul. The surgeon came highly recommended and was doing some interesting work with brain tumors, Seungie told me brightly. Seung actually seemed excited about getting to hang out at such a swell facility. He was even hoping to get a tour of their lab. I wondered if maybe he was in denial. While the rest of us were so frantic, he was…well, just Seung.
     Wednesday, Seungie insisted on coming to school, even though he and his parents had a four p.m. flight to Seoul. He had a physics test that morning he didn’t want to miss. Afterward we sat under a palm tree, having lunch. Neither of us was very hungry.
     “Are you nervous?” I asked him.
     “Nervous? Just because some stranger’s going to drill a hole in my head and scoop out a handful of brain? Nah, I’m not nervous. Now, if I were having a nose job, then I’d be nervous.”
     When he came back from Seoul, all of his hair would be gone. I thought he would still look handsome and I told him so.
     “Just promise me this, Seob. If I come out of surgery a cauliflower, make them yank the plug.” He tossed his lunch into the trash. “I told my parents the same thing, but you know how attached parents can get to their kids. I mean it. If I come out drooling-or suddenly I started watching Full House or something-put me out of my misery.”
     I managed something between chocking and laughter.
     “No, I’m serious,” he insisted. “Promise.”
     “I promise.” I was glad we were both wearing shades. I didn’t want to see his eyes.
     Seungie leaned close. “Handsome, brooding semi stranger at three o’clock.”
     I followed his gaze. Junhyung. It was the first time I’d seen him since that afternoon in the grove. He’d probably been cutting classes again.
     I hadn’t even mentioned him to Seungie. Somehow all those new, amazing feelings about Junhyung had gotten lost in all the worry about Seung.
     He was leaning against the spiny trunk of a nearby palm, maybe looking at us, maybe not. He was wearing sunglasses too.
     The damp breeze played with his hair.
     “Bad Boy Junhyung,” Seungie said. He pushed down his sunglasses. “You know, I kind of like the look of that person.”
     “Junhyung?” I asked neutrally. “How come?”
     “Well, he’s got one of those great smiles. Like he knows some really juicy secret but he’s not going to let you in on it. Plus there’s that Harley. Guaranteed to piss off Umma.”   
     “I think his Harley is out of commission.” As soon as I said the words I wanted to swallow them. This was the stupid time to bring up my infatuation with Junhyung. I wanted to discuss it with Seungie, but not just then, not that day of all days.
     “Yeah? How do you know?”
     I plucked at a piece of grass. “I saw him crash it. In that grove where I go riding. It was totalled, pretty much.”
      “You’re kidding. Why didn’t you tell me this?”
     “Well…” I paused. “It was Monday.”
     “Oh.” Seungie nodded. “So what happened?”
     “He bled on my t-shirt.”
     “Is that it?” He grinned. “No mouth-to-mouth? No CPR on that smooth, firm young chest?”
     “Nothing life-threatening.”
     He cast me a questioning look. “Do I take it sparks flew?”
     “No sparks, Seung.” I lied. “He came, he crashed, he bled. That’s it.”
     “Good, because I’m thinking maybe I’ll just walk over there and ask him out. ‘Hey, honey, I know your Harley’s dead, but maybe you could still take me for a ride.’”
     “Yeah, right.”
     “Too much?” he shrugged. “What do I care, anyway? You know, I believe the spectre of death is liberating. What’s the worst that could happen? I ask him out, he says no, I die. I ask him out, he says yes, I die. Either way, the rejection part is sort of small potatoes in the grand picture, no?”
     “Are you serious?”
     “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore, Seob.”
      He lay back on the grass and sighed. “You think I’ll die a ?”
     “Yeah, I’d lay odds on it. But I’m figuring you’ll be about ninety.”
     Seungie laughed. “You’re such an optimist.”
     “I am an optimist. And I wish you’d see the light and convert.”
     “I wish I could. It must be nice to assume that if you just think good thoughts and say the right things, everything will turn out peachy keen.”
     The edge of sarcasm hurt. “Look who’s limping over,” Seungie nudged me.