Page 143 of The Charlie Method

THE WEEKEND ARRIVES FASTER THANIANTICIPATE, WHICH IS BOTH Ablessing and a curse. The former because it means I don’t need to toil away in the lab until midnight; I have no experiments to monitor, only final write-ups to complete. The latter because that means we’re one day closer to the end of the semester, and I’m not fully prepared for my midyear capstone review. I can’t wait for the holiday break. I need to clear my brain of all the information I’ve crammed into it this semester. All the stress. All the conflicting thoughts about the two hockey players I’m banging on the nightly.

On Saturday afternoon, my Little talks me into going to a football game, and since Harrison is visiting this weekend, he’s tagging along. It’s the first time I’ve introduced him as “my brother” to anyone, and doing it brings a rush of warmth to my heart.

The stadium is packed, and the air is electric as we find our seats. This is one of the rare years that Briar has made the playoffs, so the fans are buzzing with excitement. We’re all bundled up because it’s bitterly cold for December, and Harrison offers to get us some hot chocolate from concessions.

As he makes his way down our row toward the aisle, I sit on my gloved hands to warm them up with my butt heat. “I can’t believe you’re at a game rooting for Isaac,” I say, grinning at Blake.

“I decided to throw him a bone.”

Ha. Yeah right. I see through the noncommittal response. It’s so obvious she’s into the big, cocky oaf. She can pretend to be unbothered all she wants, but I don’t miss the way she’s scanning the field for any sign of him.

“Can we just admit we like him already?”

“He’s okay.” I see the formation of a smile before she turns her head.

“Are you always like this?”

“Like what?” Blake asks.

“In denial.”

She glares at me.

Isaac must have arranged for these seats, because we’re right by the Briar home bench. I predict a lot of googly eyes being made between Blake and the football player she claims is just “okay” despite the fact that she’s been on a dozen dates with the guy.

Harrison returns holding a cardboard tray with three foam cups with white lids.

“You are a lifesaver,” I tell him, gratefully accepting the cup he hands me.

“Thank you,” Blake says, smiling at him.

He retakes his seat, his gaze drifting toward the field. The players haven’t come out of the tunnel yet, but the home and away benches are crawling with staff members and assistants.

“I haven’t been to a football game in years,” Harrison says, popping the lid of his cup. He got himself a coffee rather than hot chocolate, the telltale aroma wafting toward me. “Probably not since I was a teenager.”

“Do you play any sports, Harrison?” Blake asks. The tip of her nose is red as she sips her hot drink.

“Nope,” he says wryly. “I was the video game kid. My friends and I could go days without leaving our houses or seeing each other. We’d just get online and talk over our headsets for hours on end.”

Blake’s phone vibrates. She checks the screen, then rises from her seat. “Do you mind holding on to this?” she asks me, lifting her hot chocolate. “I’m just going to call my mom back before the game starts. I’ll be right back.”

I take the cup from her, then give her room to squeeze past us toward the aisle. The moment Blake is gone, I feel the waves of tension radiating off Harrison.

“So,” he says, giving me a sidelong look, “have you told them yet?”

I pretend not to know what he means. “Told who what?”

“Your adoptive parents. Have you told them about me yet?”

My parents. Not adoptive. I hate that he always adds that caveat.

A knot forms in my stomach, the guilt churning inside me. “No. Not yet.”

His expression darkens. “I don’t get it, Hae. Why not?”

That’s another thing he’s started doing in the last little while. Referring to me as Hae-Won or Hae. It was sweet the first time he did it, bringing a lump of emotion to my throat, but lately it’s been feeling more…hostile. As if he’s constantly trying to remind me that my roots didn’t originate with my family. That I’m someone different, someone they don’t know.

But whether intended or not, him using my Korean name only makes me feelmorealienated. Not white, not Korean. Different from them, different from him.

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