by Jaclyn Jhin
* * *
“Okay, roomie. Update time.”
I hadn’t even closed our door before Melissa sprang out of her bed like a contortionist, pulling me down beside her. As we landed, we spilled the pile of Gummy Bears she had been nibbling on.
“He asked me how my day was.”
Ignoring the mess on the floor, Melissa threw back a rainbow palm full of Gummies as if she were watching a movie and the gossip of my life was the main attraction. “Aw, that’s so sweet.”
Scooping up the candy, I threw them into the wastebasket before falling into bed. The soft pressure of the mattress felt good against my sore shoulders.
Melissa continued to stare at me as she chewed noisily. “You know what you should do? You should text him back with a slightly funny anecdote that will non-threateningly reveal your personality.”
I didn’t even try to answer. I knew when Melissa was on a roll.
“Maybe you shouted something clever in class that made everyone giggle.” Before I could respond, she was onto her next suggestion. “No, I know. They were having a campus fair and you signed up to participate in a charity that’s close to your heart. What are you passionate about? Philanthropy-wise.”
I rolled over to my backpack to retrieve my laptop. “I don’t think there was a fair today.”
“Damn, you’re right. Okay, well you still have to say something.”
I looked at my planner, trying to figure how I would spend the next few hours. “I was actually thinking I should probably just not reply.”
Melissa sat straight up. “You’re seriously going to ghost Ian Anderson?”
“He knows I’m busy.”
Bing! We both looked at my screen.
“Also—there’s a concert on campus this Friday. Some guitar player I’ve never heard of—Guess he’s really good though. You down?”
Melissa reached over, putting her greasy gummy hands on my keyboard. I swatted them away, leaning back on my bed and pulling my laptop closer. “No. I have to study the rest of the weekend. I have to read over 100 pages.”
“100 pages? That’s nothing. I bet you’re one of those speed readers.”
I took a deep breath, then typed the message I’d been mentally composing. It was lame and mean and made me feel like shit, but what choice did I have? “I’m sorry, I can’t. And I’m sorry to 180 on you, but I need to focus on school. I’m here on scholarship, and I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and clicked “Send,” guilt replacing my nerves. I snapped my laptop closed as if that would make the texts disappear and laid down.
Melissa must have seen what I wrote, because she began pacing. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this.”
“Don’t feel bad. I’m not rejecting you.”
“Sure feels like it,” she said curtly. I turned to see she had plopped back into her bed with a fresh handful of gummies.
* * *
“Melissa,” I said, gently shaking her shoulder. I didn’t feel bad about waking her. After all, it was 2 pm on a Wednesday and an American Literature textbook laid open across her lap. “Melissa.”
She awoke with a start, almost smacking my hand before I moved it. She crumpled up the teal comforter between her fingers and sat up. “What? What?”
“You fell asleep again.”
She looked at her phone to check the time. “Damn.”
“He texted me again.”
She covered her face with her hands. “Do I even want to know?”
I read off my phone. “He just said, ‘I totally understand feeling overwhelmed in your first year or if you’re just not interested in me. I just wanted to say that I wish you the best of luck at school and let me know if you ever need anything.’ Ugh, why does he have to be so freaking nice!?”
“Girl, listen to me. Ian Anderson is probably the most eligible bachelor in New York ... No, take that back, in all of America! And you’re telling him to pound sand. Face it, you’re an idiot.”
“I really do have to study, and he’s a distraction.” I was trying my best to convince myself of this, so I kept repeating it to myself.
Melissa threw her covers off, returning to her textbook. “Hey, on the subject of studying ... you don’t have Adderall, do you?”
“No.”
“Man. I knew I should have bugged my brother for some before I left.” Grabbing a credit card-sized remote control, she suddenly doubled the volume of the music that had been playing in the background. The music blasted through our walls, making me feel bad for our neighbors. I put my phone down on my nightstand. “I’m going to leave this here. No distractions. I’ll be in the library.”
“What?” Melissa shouted over the music, pulling out two huge garbage bags from our closet.
“I’ll be in the library!” I screamed back.
“I’m getting hungry, too. Bring me something. Tacos, please.”
I shook my head as she dove through her bag of décor items, looking for things to hang up. This wasn’t new. Whenever she felt stressed out, she told me she like to redecorate. As I took the stairs two at a time down to the ground floor, I made a silent vow. As of now, Ian did not exist for me. Text messaging did not exist, either. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I just needed to do what I did best in a quiet place with books: study.
* * *
It occurred to me I needed to start setting timers for myself, tracking the amount of hours I could study in one sitting without giving up and going back to my dorm. Right now, I was at two. From other students, I’d heard people reached up to 10 by the end of their first year. New goal. I swung my heavy backpack around, rubbing my left shoulder before grabbing my ID card out of a side pocket to get back into my dorm. It was around 9 pm, so I inserted it in the slot, pulling the door open slowly just in case Melissa had fallen back asleep.
When I pushed the door open, even brighter chains of lights exploded luminosity across the room. It looked like Melissa had bottled Thanksgiving into our tiny dorm room with small red and green lights, pictures of autumn leaves, a faux pumpkin vase and candles surrounded by pine cones. All that was missing was a Thanksgiving turkey. It took me a second to recognize the male figure occupying the chair at my desk.
Ian.
Ian was in my room. Sitting at my desk. In my room. In front of me. I froze, looking between him and Melissa who was on her bed, frantically waving a book in the air. She mouthed the words: “I’M SORRY.”
Ian rolled back in the chair, gave a small wave, and then smiled in his cute boyish way that made me require the door for support.
“Heeere she is. The beautiful Kelleee,” he said slowly. I could smell the alcohol on him. He was drunk.
“Kelly! I’m so glad you didn’t take your phone to the library so I could tell you about our guest.” Melissa pretended to smile in an overblown way, matching the insincere tone of her voice.
I glared at Ian. I had to remember his being here was not a good thing. How could he be so audacious to just show up in my room unannounced, uninvited? And on top of that, drunk? Even though I was angry, I felt my heart beating quickly and felt uncomfortable knots forming in my stomach. “Are you drunk?” I said angrily.
“Maybe a little,” he said sheepishly. “I’m not much of a drinker. Two shots and I’m gone. Somehow ended up in your room.” He pointed to Melissa. “Your roommate was gracious enough to let me stay for a bit.”
My eyes burrowed into Melissa’s. She made an “oops” face and shrugged.
I dropped my textbooks on the desk with a loud thud as if the act could somehow reclaim my space. “What are you doing here?”
Ian could see I was annoyed so he tried his best to seem sober by sitting straighter and articulating his words with precision. “Kelly. I know you can’t be that busy. You have to let me take you out again. We had fun.”
“What happened to your text about totally understanding?”
“Then I was sober and polite. Now I’m d
runk and honest.” He offered another one of his adorable grins. “Please. Just give me one more shot. If you say no after that, I promise I will leave you alone forever.”
Why does he have to wear those dark-wash jeans? And plaid shirt? Ugh, my kryptonite.
Suddenly he dropped out of the chair and onto his knees, putting his hands in prayer position. “Please.”
I widened my eyes in horror. This was not happening.
Melissa appealed to me with her arms outstretched. “Kelly. How can you say no to a man on his knees? I mean, it’s like he’s proposing to you.”
I shot Melissa a look and she turned away, suddenly fascinated by something on the ceiling. Then I crossed my arms, thinking about what I should do. Ian’s sexy eyes seemed somehow even more clear and bright today than ever. For some reason, it popped into my head that if someone were to ask me for a word to best sum up Ian’s personality, it would be hopeful. The guy was a determined optimist. I wanted to run over and kiss him for that, but I had to maintain my angry expression. After all, I began this way, I couldn’t just give in. I took one more deep breath. “Fine. But only if you promise that you will not show up to my dorm unannounced again.”
“Of course, your royal highness.” He kissed my hand as he stood up. “So, Friday night—the concert?”
“Yes!’ Melissa blurted out. “I mean ... Kelly?”
“Fine.”
He smiled at me, and I think he would’ve kissed me again if Melissa hadn’t been sitting right there. I wished he had. Instead, he leaned over, grazed the top of my head with his lips and whispered, “Fine.” Then he turned and waved to Melissa. “Thanks again for the hospitality.”
“Anytime,” she blushed.
Ian closed the door, and I put my hands on my head, trying to slow the adrenaline coursing through my veins. Melissa threw her book across the room and flopped backward on her bed. “Well, I don’t need that anymore.”
I looked down where the paperback had fallen. A shirtless guy appeared on the cover beneath the title, When The Night Takes Over.
I shook my head and sat down on my bed, trying not to scream.
“I am so happy for you.” Melissa joined me. “I mean he’s not just super hot. He’s super rich. Like super MEGA rich.”
“I don’t care about that.”
Melissa scoffed. “You obviously haven’t lived in Manhattan long enough.”
“I don’t know. My family and I never had a lot of money, but we were happy. Especially my parents. Everyone always said stuff about my dad not being Korean, but my mom didn’t care. He made her feel special.” I played with the strap of my backpack, smiling to myself. “I just want someone who makes me feel that way, too.”
“Ian!” Melissa said, as if she just found the answer to the million-dollar question.
“Maybe.” I tried to keep my expression neutral.
“You know why?”
“Why?”
“Cause he’s rich.” She picked up her book, nestled back beneath her covers, settling in for more of her steamy romance. I looked back at my planner, realizing I needed to readjust my study schedule. My dad’s advice rang in my head: Live life without regrets.
I picked up my phone. No regrets. Halmuni had to understand that, too. I decided to send her a text.
Halmuni -
I know you are not happy that I am dating Ian. But I’m going to see him again. He is a really nice guy. Mom and Dad would’ve loved him, and I know you will, too. Don’t be angry. Xoxo Kelly
At midnight, I finally fell asleep. No new text messages.
CHAPTER TWELVE
So much for only being at Columbia to study. The concert with Ian turned into a third date, then a fourth. Whenever I could step away from schoolwork, Ian always had somewhere exciting to take me, like indie films at the arthouse or exhibits at MoMA. But those were perks; I really just liked the chance to spend time with him doing the little things: walks in the park, holding hands on the train, kissing on the stairwells when no one was looking. It was so much fun—even if I could feel my clothes (or, more accurately, Melissa’s outfits) tightening a bit from all the sushi dinners and weekend brunches.
I had become less selective about my wardrobe lately, anyway. Though it gave Melissa incredible joy to choose my apparel, I started grabbing things from my own limited array of discount fashions. The more I got to know Ian, the more I realized he didn’t care about my financial standing. I felt like he liked me for me.
As the semester wore on, the homework grew ever more challenging. Pop quizzes came hurling at us like a barrage of cannon balls. Gone was the easy camaraderie between instructor and student. The professors became the enemy, pushing us to achieve—or drop out. I noticed less students watching TV in the lounge with each passing week. Meanwhile, some inspired would-be anarchist kept tearing down our RA’s inspirational posters as a silent protest against all of the clichés about hard work and success.
Melissa became nocturnal, finding it easier to cram at 2 am and then sleep between classes during the day than keep any kind of normal sleep routine. She also began letting off steam by partying at campus bars, armed with her fake ID. In the mornings, I would find empty K-Cups overflowing our wastebasket, and she began to dress like everybody else, wearing pajamas to class, looking overworked and overwhelmed. But so far, I hadn’t cracked. Probably because this is what I had always thrived on: the challenge, the pressure, the knowledge that only a few thousand kids in the whole country even had the opportunity to compete in this marathon of physical and intellectual endurance. And I was one of this chosen few. I might have actually enjoyed the constant adrenaline rush if I hadn’t had a spectacular reason not to study.
When I did get a few moments to myself, I tried contacting Halmuni, but she still gave me the silent treatment. One night, I scrolled through my call log to see how many times I’d called her, and a red arrow appeared by each attempt, mocking me. My mom told me that, while Koreans tend to get fiery when angry, the rage would dissipate quickly. She blamed our red-hot tempers on all the spicy Kimchee we ate. Well, if that was the case, I didn’t understand why Halmuni was still upset. Why did she even care that I wasn’t dating a Korean? My dad was white. He and my mom loved each other so much that others would tease them about it. So why had Halmuni cut me off?
These dark thoughts swirled through my head even as I worked at the restaurant, which was proving more and more to be a significant hindrance, despite the money I was bringing in. Sophia always prepared her hostesses to step into server roles, meaning I had to memorize every offered item and their ingredients. At the end of my online-study Quizlet for all of my Columbia classes, I listed “Poseidon Appetizers,” “Poseidon Entrees,” and “Poseidon Beverages.” I needed to study them just as much as my academic courses. It was exhausting, but I had no choice. I couldn’t afford to lose my job or my scholarship.
One Friday, Sophia took a breather at the end of the dinner rush to inform me in painful detail everything I was doing wrong.
“You need to organize these in-between customers.” She ducked behind the podium and flipped over the silverware. “The logo must face outwards. People walking from Tables Five or Eight can see all of these mangled looking sets.”
There was no way customers could actually see the hidden silverware, but I nodded my head, anyway.
“Hello, sir, how many in your party?” I said to a man in a leather jacket coming through the door. My fingers gripped a pile of menus, at the ready.
“Just a seat at the bar.”
“Of course, right this way.” Smiling, I motioned for him to follow.
“You’re getting better at that,” Sophia said when I returned to my post at the door. She was already busying herself, using a rag cloth to wipe down the menus.
“I already did those.” I pointed to the clean, laminated surfaces.
She raised her eyebrows. “I know.”
I sighed quietly, leaning against a pillar. It was going to be one of those n
ights. Looking at the clock on the POS machine, I saw the time was 8:05. Ian would arrive any minute. At least that would make the night better. If Sophia would let me go. Maybe she forgot? I should remind her—
“So, let’s go over Happy Hour again,” she suddenly asked. “What are the weekday specials?”
I imagined the virtual flashcards on my laptop, trying to recall all the different food categories. Then a flash of blue crossed my peripheral vision. I looked out the window to see Ian’s car pull up along the curb. My heartbeat sped up as he put it in park.
“Um ... they begin at five?” I said, still watching him.
Sophia stopped mid-swipe of a menu, squinting at me. “And you go to Columbia?”
Ian walked up alongside the restaurant. “Sorry. It’s just that I thought my shift was done at eight, and I have—”
“No, I’m sorry.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, removing my apron. Could it be she had decided to be nice to me? “No problem. I just have to change real quick and—”
“I’m sorry you think you’re the one who decides when you get to leave,” she said sarcastically as she picked up another menu and went on cleaning.
I froze. I knew it was too good to be true.
“I’m the one who tells you when your shift is over. Not the schedule. Understand? I have a lot of applications stacked up in my office. Don’t take this job for granted.”
I gulped, nodding.
“Also, Happy Hour begins at four, not five, and ends at six. On the weekdays. No Happy Hours on Saturday. Sunday, it runs from three to six.”
“Okay—”
“Half off bottles, half off appetizers. With just a few exceptions. Not that hard.”
Except it’s not just a few exceptions. Which is why I have an entire Quizlet dedicated to learning it.
Sophia stopped cleaning, stood up straight, and faced the entrance. I turned. My heart thundered in my chest even more as Ian looked at me.