Loveboat in 서울

𝟙𝟙

Club KISS is as terrible as its name. Smoke fills the lobby of middle-aged men who line the walls, eyeing girls on the dance floor. Overhead, a strobe globe shoots ray of light in every direction, while a spotlight illuminates a makeshift stage of black boxes dripping with microphone and amp wires. Girls in skimpy tops crowd it, screaming, waving at a third-rate band who turned out to be a first-timer. A base vibrates my entire skeleton.

"They're awful!" I yell. But I'm not a music snob. If it has a pulse, I'll dance to it, and Sohee and I head-bang on with Sulli, Krystal, and some girls who live down the hallway from us. My socks—donated by small-footed Subin—slide along the floor.

Something happens when I dance. If someone met on the street of Vail, they'd assume I was on the quiet side, studious, hardworking. The side I let most people see. But when I dance, I become music in motion. A goddess. Myself.

Sohee kicks off her own shoe. She grabs my hand, spins me under her arm while I sashay my hips and whoop. I imagine Eomma's jaw dropping, Appa removing his glasses, if they knew all the culture I'm picking up already. I've slayed my first Bae Rule—curfew—and wearing makeup, too.

I tug at my collar, pulling it tight against the back. The AC is cranked high, but will I dare take it off as the night rolls on? Because sometime tonight, another Bae Rule is going down. In style.

Krystal holds out her phone for a selfie. As Sulli crowds in, I sashay out of the way—no social media for Eomma and Appa to stumble across. Opposite me, Sohee dances a sultry circle, scanning, scanning the crowds. The strobe globe throws stars across her pouting lip and enormous faux-lashes that only she could pull off.

"Who are you looking for?" I shout.

"Just looking!"

Then Wonder Boy pushes through the dancers and grabs Sohee's shoulder. The upper half of his yellow shirt is dotted with sweat. His damp hair gleams like onyx. "They've brought in a guy from Cobra Alley. You've got to try this—it's the best in Seoul."

Sohee pulls free, tossing her hair in a silky parachute. "Cobra Alley—no way!"

"What's Cobra Alley?" I ask.

"A disgusting tourist trap," Sohee says. "It's in one of the night markets, farther down south."

I follow Wonder Boy's gaze to a table in the back, where a man in a leather apron pulls a snake from a wooden cage.

A literal, slithering snake.

Well, well. Wonder Boy has some exotic interests.

"What's that for?" I ask as a wave of dancers jostles us sideways.

Wonder Boy smirks. "See for yourself." Grabbing my hand, he pulls me into the crowd of dancing bodies.

His hand over mine is rough, calloused. Big. A boy's hand. But it means nothing; if he weren't hanging on, the crowds would tear us apart. Sure enough, when we reach a thick chopping block on a table, he releases me.

Then I wish he hadn't.

Inches away, three snakes writhe in a mass of scaly coils; green, red-and-black, yellow patterned, the mottled. Dark red blood stains the block, overlaid by new, damp blooms. Just behind them, the thin-faced cobra-minder wipes stubby-nailed hands on his apron.

"As your unofficial chaperone, I have to advise against this." Wonder Boy gives me an infuriatingly superior smile.

"Ha. Whatever." But my stomach clenches. So we're going to eat snake. I've eaten a cooked eel, but never stared my food in the eye. Never seen it slither through the sludge of its comrades' blood. The metallic scent makes me light-headed, as always—I almost faint when I shadowed at the Banner Clinic, when I had to observe a doctor stitch up a gashed knee.