Loveboat in 서울

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"Thursday, after lights out."

"Thursday. Thursday night."

In the morning, the whispers buzz through the humid hallways, stilling whenever a counselor walks by. Everyone's invited. I get my phone partially working at the lobby store, but maybe I'm on the cheap plan, because my internet won't load, and I can't get calls or texts. The cheerful woman behind the counter shows me how to download KaKaoTalk, the Korean messaging app. It means I can reach Sihyeon and Wendy secretly, and Eomma and Appa can't reach me—I'll take silver linings where I can.

I send Sihyeon an invite to sign up for KaKaoTalk. Miss you, I text her. How's it going? It's okay here. My roommate seems cool, but she spends money without even blinking. A bunch of us are sneaking out clubbing Thursday.

Hey, I text Wendy, along with her invite. How's Nick's visit going? Things are okay so far, although lots of kids here seem to know each other already. Cousins and camp friends. Classes are whatever, but I'm looking for a dance studio. Sneaking out clubbing Thursday too—hope we don't get caught.

I'm staring at the screen, hoping for an answer. But they're asleep on the other side of the world.

I arrive in classroom 1-3, an airy white cube cut into five rows of white desks and blue, curved-back chairs. To my dismay, the Dragon, draped in a green hanbok, stands at the whiteboard, taking charge of the remedial language learners herself, apparently. She's printing characters: the Korean letters, which I only vaguely recall from Korean school. Getting a failing grade won't be hard—at least one Bae Rule is guaranteed to bite the dust. 

One body then another bang into me from behind, nearly knocking me off my feet. Pixie-hair Sulli and Krystal rush by for the front row.

"Sorry, Suzy!" they chorus.

Facial hair-Harvard Sungwoon, another Presidential Scholar, races in on their heels. The scent of his cologne oversaturates the air and stings my nostrils.

"Think they'll let us accelerate into Level Two if we test again at the end of the week?" he asks. "Nam Joohyuk is in Level Ten, the bastard." He sounds admiring.

Honestly, do they really care what Level they are? I'm rarely into climbing mountains, and definitely not one that doesn't count for anything. I make a beeline in the opposite direction to the back, out of the teacher-calling range. I'm just happy to hear I'm not stuck in class with Wonder Boy.

As I take my seat, Kang steps through the door, straight hair tumbling into his face, his posture slouchy under his finely cut gray shirt. His dark eyes alight on me, cool and cynical. Crap. I pretend to flip through my workbook, hoping he's walked into the wrong classroom. Two rows ahead, a trio of girls coo over albums of themselves in sexy outfits—the glamour shots, which are, apparently, a quintessential Loveboat experience. All the girls are booking appointments.

The seat beside me slides back.

"I'm Kang." His voice is smooth and low, dark chocolate with hints of cherry. If he remembers Sohee and me staring at him (all of him) when the Dragon barged in, he doesn't give any indication.

"Um, I'm Suzy."

"Where you from?" The vulnerable Kang has vanished, too, replaced by this artsy-hot guy with a mocking smile. Even the blotch on his cheek is gone.

"Arizona."

"There are Asian people in Arizona?"

His perspective on my home state is off, but not by much. I can't help a small laugh.

"Where are you from?" I ask.

"Brooklyn." A big-city boy, no surprise.

"You're Joohyuk's roommate, right?"