Page 87 of XOXO

The music he’d queued up earlier transitions into another song as I kiss him back, a bit more aggressively, moving my arms to circle his neck, my legs gripping his waist. His hands tremble as he unbuttons my shirt, while I pull his shirt from his waistband.

When his fingers brush against my rib cage, I gasp, and his eyes immediately flit to mine. “Are you all right?” he asks. “Is this okay?”

This is the farthest we’ve ever gone, and though I’m nervous, the answer is “Yes,” as I reach for him. “Yes.”

We don’t stop until we realize it’s silent in the room, the songs on the queue having run out.

I look to the monitor to see the timer displays 29:00 minutes.

“We should go,” I say, sitting up. My whole face is flushed. He’s no better.

“I could be late,” he says with a groan. “I’ll just be late.”

I edge off the seat and stand. “Idon’t want you to be late.And also...” I blush, “I want more time, for this, for us.”

“Yeah.” He joins me, a crooked smile on his lips. “I do too.”

We each tidy up the other person. He buttons my shirt and I smooth down his hair and put on his cap, flipping it forward so that the bill shadows his eyes.

Outside, the karaoke room owner inspects us closely, but we must pass the test because she doesn’t say anything.

Five minutes later, Jaewoo drops me off outside my dorm.

In my room, Sori’s not back yet. I try to do my history homework, but it’s hard to concentrate, replaying those moments with Jaewoo over and over again.

When Sori does finally show up, she doesn’t say a word to me, sitting at her desk and putting in her earbuds.

I really want to talk to her, to process what happened, but she’s giving off scary vibes. At ten, she leaves her desk and shuts off the light. Facing the wall, she goes to sleep.

Thirty-Five

In the following weeks I pour myself into practicing for the showcase, which includes extra orchestra rehearsals and hours with Sori trying to nail down our collaborative duet. We’ve perfected all the technical aspects of the piece, but when our respective advisors—my orchestra director and her dance instructor—come to critique our performance, both point out the same glaring truth: we’re not in harmony. Which isn’t surprising. It’s difficult to be in harmony when one of us is not speaking to the other.

I’m walking across the quad the Saturday before the showcase, when a familiar voice calls out my name.

I turn. “Mom?” It takes me a moment to register that she’s actually here, on campus. For the three-and-a-half months I’ve been at SAA, she hasn’t visited. I know she’s been busy, but I wish she’d found time to visit at least once.

Still, she’s here now. I walk over, smiling. “When did you arrive? You should have texted me you were coming.”

“Jenny, we need to talk.” My heart drops into my stomach. “Is there some place quiet we can sit?”

“There are tables outside the library.” I lead her to a table that faces the quad, shaded by a large tree. “I usually sit here when I have study hall, especially now that it’s warmer.”

She perches at the very edge of the circular seat.

“Can I get you anything?” I ask. “There’s a coffee vending machine—”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the opportunity to play with the Philharmonic?”

I blanch. Eunbi must have told her. I hadn’t because I was still holding out that the showcase would go so well that I wouldn’tneedthe Philharmonic. I could spend one last month in Seoul, as planned.

Mom watches me, waiting for an answer.

“I didn’t think it was possible,” I lie. “School doesn’t end for another month.”

“Is it because you have a boyfriend?”

I must look startled because she says, “Your halmeoni let it slip by accident.” Standing, she brushes imaginary dirt off her skirt. “I already spoke to your teachers here at SAA, and they said you can take your finals online. And once you turn in your English and history papers, you’ll have met all the requirements for LACHSA. You can leave Seoul as early as next week, in time to audition for the Philharmonic.”

---