Chapter 17
Seventeen
The signup sheet for the mathletes is looking pretty empty, people. Can we get a few more recruits?
TikTok caption by @CassidyandBrianMVH.
The bell dings when we walk into Korea House.
It’s tiny, tastefully decorated, and packed with happy Koreans.
Murals of mountain landscapes painted in broad black strokes line the walls, and vibrant red and blue paper lanterns hang from the ceiling.
Suzy’s told me that the red and blue are traditional welcoming colors in Korea.
Behind the check-in counter are countless photos of guests who have come before, smiling and holding up their chopsticks.
Suzy and I are featured in several. Next to the photos are display cases of hanboks, red ceremonial dresses with bell skirts and gold trim.
One of them is baby-sized, and Mrs. Jeong has told me that Suzy wore it on her first birthday.
The sharp smell of kimchi and the savory scent of barbecued meats waft pleasantly through my nose. My mouth waters. The atmosphere is warm and inviting, the room full of people speaking Korean and a chiming instrumental song playing over the speakers.
Suzy pokes her head out of the red curtain divider in the back that separates the kitchen from the main dining room.
She grins when she sees us. “You came!” She strides across the dining room, wearing a red t-shirt and jeans under a long black apron.
I spy Suzy’s mom weaving her petite body through the tables, chatting with customers and bringing them more banchan, these delightful side dishes they always serve whether you order them or not.
I love it here.
Suzy glances from me to Zeke. “I’ve been bored to death.
” Suzy looks over her shoulder. “I’m taking a break!
” she calls to her mom. Suzy unties her apron and slings it over the back of a chair.
Mrs. Jeong sees us and waves before turning back to take someone’s order.
The clanging of pots and pans and the sound of a sizzling grill tells me that Suzy’s dad is cooking in the back.
We make our way to an open table near the window, Zeke following behind me hesitantly.
I wonder if he’s nervous about the food or about being with Suzy or something else.
I take a seat in a high-backed black chair with a red cushion, and Zeke takes the chair next to mine.
Suzy sits across from me. I don’t even need to scan the menu, but I pick one up so Zeke doesn’t feel awkward.
He studies the menu with a furrowed brow and a serious look. “I can’t even pronounce any of this stuff. And what is a fried pig trotter?”
“Don’t order that,” Suzy says. She and I exchange smiles.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “We’ll order for us all.”
When Suzy’s mom gets a minute to help us, she bustles over. Her thick hair is cut short, and her eyebrows are perfect. I bet she doesn’t even have to get microblading done. She wears a black apron over a collared, pale pink blouse.
“Annyeonghaseyo, Mrs. Jeong,” I say, “hello” in Korean.
Mrs. Jeong smiles. “Callie-shi, it’s Omma-nim, not ‘Mrs. Jeong’, remember? Good to see you. Way too long since you and Soo Yun eat here,” she says in her accent. She turns to Zeke. “You are?”
“This is my friend, Zeke,” I say. “He just moved here, and he’s never tried Korean food.”
She smiles. “Oh, we fix that. You girls want usual?”
I nod, and Suzy grins. “Thanks, Omma!”
She takes our menus and leaves.
“What am I getting into?” Zeke asks.
“Just wait,” I say. I hope he likes it. Have we talked it up too much? What if he’s a down home, meat, potatoes, and gravy kind of guy?
“So.” Suzy turns to me. “Check. These. Out.” Suzy reaches into her purse and pulls out a voter’s badge. It’s green and white—our school colors—and the words “Vote Callie for Queen” are printed across the button in big, bold letters.
I gasp. “I love it! Did you make these?”
Suzy looks pleased. “I did. Do you like them?”
“I love them! We can hand them out in school on Monday.”
Suzy turns to Zeke. “Callie is going to win Homecoming Queen this year and steal the title from that horrible Brielle.”
The conversation in the restaurant swells around us, and a burly Asian man with a mustache laughs loudly across the room.
“We ran into Brielle earlier,” Zeke says. “She’s . . . wow.”
Suzy makes a disgusted sound. “Someone has to take that girl down a few notches. Speaking of that, have you seen this?” Suzy whips out her phone with a look of delight.
I scan the site she’s pulled up. The voting page.
I gasp. “I’m ahead!” Suzy and I squeal.
Hana and Beth have around forty votes each, and Brielle has a hundred and fifteen. My votes seem to be accumulating faster than anyone’s; I’m beating her at a hundred and twenty-five.
My heart soars. “This is working!” Take that, Miss 200K.
Suzy puts her phone away. “So, Zeke, what do you like to do for fun?”
Zeke launches, without shame, into a description of his D&D game, telling Suzy, who shows polite interest, about the campaign he and his brothers are running right now. I watch him with a smile, happy to see him happy. He’s so himself and not ashamed of it.
Suzy nods. “I can see how that could be a fun game.”
“Suzy always says what she thinks, so you know she means that.” I elbow Suzy in the ribs.
She puts on a mock offended face but then shrugs. “Well, she’s not wrong.”
“She’s never shy about saying exactly which movie she wants to watch every Chick-Flick-Friday,” I say. “Speaking of that—"
Mrs. Jeong beams as she sets down the banchan—three kinds of kimchi, pickled sprouts, and gamja jorim, these amazing potato things.
She sets down our usual order—japchae, my favorite glass noodles, stir-fried beef bulgogi, and gochujang fried rice, placing each item on the table carefully and always with two hands.
Suzy has told me this is done in Korea as a sign of respect.
Mrs. Jeong’s smile grows wider as our faces light up. She passes out plates and chopsticks.
“Soo Yun loves Korea House,” Mrs. Jeong says. “Someday she take over business.”
Suzy lets out a rough sigh. “Mom. No. Please.”
Mrs. Jeong winks. “Someday she take over. Enjoy!” She bustles off.
Suzy scowls and scoops herself a generous portion of rice and beef bulgogi. “I’m heading to Princeton, and after that I’m going to be the CEO of a big business. I don’t care what business as long as it’s not a restaurant.”
“Even though she says she wants you to take over,” I say, adding bulgogi to my own plate, “you know she’ll be happy as long as you’re happy.” That’s what I love about Suzy’s mom. She talks about Suzy inheriting the restaurant, but the glitter in her eyes tells me that she’s teasing.
Suzy rolls her eyes, but I think she shouldn’t be so dismissive of the fact that her mom’s love doesn’t come with conditions.
I make my lettuce wrap exactly how I like it. Zeke watches me and carefully copies everything I do. “Make sure you get extra of these potato things,” I say. “They’re the best part. Sweet and salty.”
Zeke stabs one with a chopstick and eats it. “They’re cold.”
Suzy and I exchange another smile. “They’re supposed to be that way,” she says.
Zeke struggles with his chopsticks for a little while longer before I hand him a fork, and he smiles, relieved. We’re quiet for a moment save for the occasional moan that comes out of my mouth whenever I eat delicious food.
“You were saying, Cal?” Suzy says.
“Oh yeah,” I slurp my japchae noodles. “Zeke is coming to our next Chick-Flick-Friday.”
Zeke nearly drops his lettuce wrap, and rice spills down his hand.
Suzy raises an eyebrow at him. But then she shrugs. “Sure. Why not?”
I grin at Zeke, who is stuffing his face. “This food is so good,” he says. “You’re right. The potato things are amazing, and I love the beef . . . what’s it called?”
“Beef bulgogi,” I say.
“Kimchi, though . . .” Zeke shrugs. “What even is it?”
“Fermented cabbage,” Suzy says, eating a huge bite with her chopsticks.
Zeke swallows. “Oh. That’s . . . yum?”
I laugh at his expression and take a bite of kimchi myself. “It grows on you. When you eat everything together, the crunch of kimchi with the meat and rice is really yummy.”
“Let’s take a picture,” Suzy says, wiping her hands on a napkin. She pulls her phone out of her purse, a black bag with gold jangly rings. “I’m going to ask for people to vote for you, too. Keep this momentum going.”
“Smart,” I say.
We lean together, me in the middle, Suzy on my right, and Zeke on my left. Zeke’s shoulder bumps mine, and I catch a whiff of his scent—like pine and cloves. I still can’t name the cologne he uses, and it’s bothering me.
“Hana, dul, set!” Suzy counts to three in Korean. I flash the peace sign like a dork and grin from ear to ear.
After the pic, Zeke leans away, and I find that I miss his presence. Suzy taps away on her phone.
When we’re finished eating, Suzy pulls me into the bathroom, leaving Zeke at the table. I hope he doesn’t feel like he has to pay.
We enter the cramped bathroom with a gold sink, jasmine-scented soap, and a sign above the toilet that says, “Hold for three seconds to flush.”
Suzy immediately whirls on me. “Okay, Cal, what’s going on with you two? Do you like him?”
That was abrupt, even for Suzy. “No! I don’t. We’re barely even friends.”
“You don’t have to be friends to like him.” Suzy folds her arms and leans against the sink.
I shake my head quickly. “I promise. It’s nothing like that. He was alone, and I thought he could use a friend, and then I realized he’s actually pretty cool. That’s all. I thought he could be part of our group.”
Suzy breathes in and out. “If you do like him, you can just tell me.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “It’s not like you and Noah are together anymore.”
Ouch. “You don’t have to rub it in. I’m hoping . . . hoping that . . .”
Suzy’s face turns into a look of pure pity, and I hate it. “Hoping that he’ll dump Brielle and take you back once you win the crown?”
I turn away, my face red.
Suzy puts a hand on my shoulder. “Look, I’m sorry. He doesn’t deserve you, okay? Zeke is cool. I don’t mind hanging out with him.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
“Just . . . be careful, Cal.”
I turn back to my friend.
“He’s looking at you like he wants to be more than friends, and I don’t want you—or him—to get hurt.”
I pause, surprised. She must be wrong. Zeke has told me very explicitly that he doesn’t want any attachments here. “I’ll . . . watch for that.”
We head back to our table and arrive just in time for me to stop Zeke from paying for the whole bill. We split it three ways, but he does not look happy about it.