Loveboat in 서울

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After lunch, I stop by the computer terminal in the lobby. I look up dance studios in Seoul and run across studios focused on ballet, jazz, modern, Korean dancing. If my parents had to choose one, they'd pick ballet for the discipline and focus. Twelve years of training at the barre gave me my foundation and got me into Tisch, but over the past few years, I've branched out—flag corps, jazz with the dance squad. I'm not a purist, I love all styles, love picking up new moves—I'd join all these studios if I could.

But ten minutes later, still no luck. Every studio is out of my price range and I can't ask my parents to pay—they'd tell me to focus on Yonsei. But this is my last hurrah, my farewell to dancing. I need to find a smaller studio, maybe farther out from the city. Maybe something so small they don't even have a website—

"You done yet?" Minsi pokes my shoulder. Her pink tank top shows off her plump arms and her eyes are bright with coral eye shadow—but her expression is stormy. "Electives are starting. I need to get online.

"Sure, sorry." Relinquishing my seat, I head out the front doors into a blast of humidity. Introduction to Korean Medicine is next. I hope it's not a hands-on acupuncture class. I say a prayer as I take the steps down: please no needles.

On the lawn, kids are gathering into three groups. Korean medicine is housed in the big white tent directly opposite. By the pond, a group of kids rain mallets down on barrel-sized drums. Beyond the volleyball net, a line of girls are receiving blue silk fans from a basket held by Choi Seonsaegnim—Teacher Choi. I join the line behind Sulli and stretch my calves and laugh as Krystal pretends to modestly cover her face behind the gold-etched silk. A dance unfolds in my head.

When I reach Choi Seonsaegnim, she hands me a fan. I flip it open with a snap, tip my wrist, and flutter it out of line like a bluebird in flight.

"Cool move," Sulli says.

The fan is snatched from my hand.

Choi Seonsaegnim frowns. "Paen-eun paen daenseu seontaeg gwamog-ibnida."

"Sorry?"

"Only for the fan dancing elective."

"Oh," I stammer. "I didn't realize." The next girl in line taps her foot, waiting for Choi Seonsaegnim, but my feet are glued to the grass.

"Can I switch electives?" I blurt. "I dance. Back home." I've  never gone this long without. "Please"—my voice cracks—"I really want to join a dance elective."

She gives my shoulder a soft squeeze. "Hangul sayong," she chides. Use Korean. "Mainhae, i koseuneun kkwag chassseubnida." She motions me off gently, her kindness worse than if she'd planted her sandal in my face. The universe has conspired to tear dancing from me before I even set foot on UoA's campus. If only Tisch—

But I can't think about Tisch.

I'll just have to find that studio.

I cast a longing gaze at the drum elective. The deep-barreled beats tug at my soul as my feet carry me farther away from both electives, toward Introduction to Korean Medicine. Under the white tent, the humid air is as thick as a blanket. Kang and some guys I met on the airport shuttle and at dinner last night are passing a steel bottle around. Kang hands it to Dohyun Lee, who flicks his dark bangs out of his eyes and takes a pull.

"Is that—" I ask.

"Drinking age is 20 in Korea, but there's an exception for 18-years-old." Kang slouches with his hands in his pocket.

"Really?"

"Yep." He pulls out a chair beside him. "Take a seat."

I drop down, less nervous around him after Hangul. The bottle moves from Dohyun to politician Subin, then Harvard-Sungwoon, making its way around the table. Looks like my chance to break a rule in broad daylight. But I've never even tried alcohol—at Holly Flores's wedding last month, Eomma, who grew up Baptist, whisked both our champagne glasses from under the waiter's bottle. I hadn't even questioned her.