CHAPTER TWO
JASE
I ’m yawning, my cup of coffee poised halfway to my mouth when I hear the chime on the call. This certainly would not have been my first choice for a time of day to do any kind of tutoring, but when it comes to scheduling, the 14-hour time difference between here and Seoul is inconvenient at best and downright brutal at worst.
Accepting the incoming chat, I hear noise—rustling and mumbling in Korean—before I can see anything. It sounds like someone is being told to go away and once it’s finally quiet the picture pops up. There’s a young man, dressed in a black tee shirt with a black beanie pulled low on his forehead, a few errant strands of dark hair peeking out and obscuring his right eye. He’s looking at something below the screen, like he hasn’t noticed I’m here yet.
“Annyeong, Nikko,” I say, letting him know he has an audience.
“Joesonghabnida seonsaengnim,” he apologizes, nodding his head slightly forward, showing he’s contrite with both his phrasing and actions. Okay, so I’m definitely not picking up any spoiled rich kid vibes like I expected. “I am sorry.”
I start to tell him it’s okay, but when he looks back up, I get my first full view of his face. And it’s, damn , it’s a good face. I’d dare say flawless even. There’s something almost startling about seeing someone in a casual setting who just looks kind of perfect. I wish I’d taken a couple more minutes to at least tame my hair a bit.
“Nothing to worry about.” I give him my best teacher smile, the one that’s supposed to be reassuring, but somehow feels a little wobbly right now. “I’m Jase, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Hello.” He pauses with a look of uncertainty.
Assuming he’s trying to figure out the proper way to address me, I say, “My plan is for us to speak casually, using English unless you need to ask for a word or phrase. So as long as you’re talking to me, there’s no need for honorifics. You can just call me Jase. Is that okay?”
Nikko nods, but it’s obvious this will be a struggle for him. It is with most of my students, as it goes against everything they’ve been taught about the rules and manners of conversation their entire lives. “Thank you. Jase.”
“Of course.” I decide to spare him my thoughts on how Americans don’t place the same importance on a hierarchy of respect that Koreans do and instead figure out how I can be most helpful to him. “Are there specific topics you’d like to practice? Or would you prefer to just talk and let it flow naturally?”
He considers for a moment. “Your students, what is…” Trailing off, he looks down, cheeks faintly pink.
I give him a moment, in case he wants to try again, then prompt, “Are you asking what my other students do?”
“Yes. That.” He fidgets a bit, lacing his fingers together to crack his knuckles.
“It depends on what they need. Some want to practice questions and answers for jobs or college interviews. Others prefer to have conversations that make them follow along and adapt,” I explain, measuring the cadence of my words carefully to give him time to process. I watch him, trying to gauge how much of what I’m saying he’s actually taking in.
“Interviews,” he repeats, tilting his head to the side. “I think we will… talk.”
I take a sip of my coffee, humming in agreement. “Sure. We’ll start there.”
I watch him shift in the chair, and I can’t tell if he’s getting comfortable or if it’s nerves. “Hi, Nikko. How are you today?”
“I am fine. And you?” The response is so automatic, I assume that he’s drawing on basics he learned back in school. I remember Kija saying he’d been learning for a while on his own, but there’s a big difference between memorizing words from an app and trying to talk to another person.
“I’m well, thank you for asking.” My teacher grin returns as I reply. “How long have you been studying English?”
“I study for a year?” The hesitation returns, his dark eyes dipping down to his keyboard.
“About a year? That’s great. Sometimes I work with people who are just starting, so you have an advantage already.” I look at him closely as I speak, still checking to see if I think he’s with me. He’s not giving me any kind of indication that he’s struggling, so I continue. “Have been using an app on your phone?”
“Yes,” he says. “It is good for knowing words.”
“I agree. The language programs are a great way to learn vocabulary and learn how to, like, ask where the bathroom is or how much something costs. But, I think that conversations are the best way to practice. Especially for interviews, since those are a lot of small talk.” I stop for a sip of my coffee because that was probably way too much at one time.
A flicker of confusion crosses his face. “Small talk?”
I chuckle. “I’m sorry, I forgot how American that is. Small talk means... talking about things that don’t necessarily matter much. Like the weather or traffic, stuff you might talk about with strangers while you’re stuck in an elevator or sitting in a waiting room. But I realize that’s also kind of a chatty American habit.”
He seems to consider what I’ve said for a moment. “Are we small talking?”
I’m not sure why that strikes me as so cute. “A little, maybe. I wouldn’t say it’s the same, though, because we’re starting to get to know each other.”
“I do not understand,” he tells me, avoiding my eyes like he doesn’t know if he should admit that or not.
“It’s okay. Normally small talk would be with strangers or people you probably won’t see again. It’s just to be polite and pass the time or fill those awkward silences that happen when a bunch of people who don’t know each other are standing around together.”
“I am not good at that,” he admits. “But I want to.”
“Not everyone is. Some people can talk to anyone about anything. It can be scary to start chatting with someone you don’t know. But it’s a good skill to have.” My mother is one of those never-met-a-stranger types. I’m fine talking when I need to, but I’ve never wanted to learn the intimate details of the lives of every person I encounter like she seems to.
I take another drink as he adjusts his beanie. “Can you tell me a little about yourself, Nikko?”
He looks startled for a moment. “Um.”
“Just whatever you’re comfortable with. I know we just met,“ I say with a joking tone. I think it’s a fairly innocuous inquiry, but I certainly don’t want to sound like someone who just sidled up to a bar and is hoping to score. As attractive as he is, I’m willing to bet he gets hit on all the time.
“I am 22,” he states, then pauses. “I am bad at making food.”
I can’t help but laugh. It’s not what I would have expected him to say, but it’s pretty endearing. “Me, too, Nikko. Me, too.”
There’s a hint of a smile on his lips and that makes me feel like I’m making some progress in helping him relax. “Do you go out to eat a lot? Or order delivery?”
“Some time?” He shrugs one shoulder, drawing my attention to the silver earrings that he’s wearing, jostled with the movement. I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed them yet, but I feel like they suit him somehow. “My... brothers cook.”
“Oh nice! Do you live with them?” I ask, because it seems like a logical next question, but then I wonder if that’s too much.
He nods, though. “Yes. We do.”
“So you share chores? They cook, and you clean up?”
“I am not... allowed? In the kitchen,” he says, then looks to me, checking the words he’s used.
“Not allowed? Uh oh. Did you set something on fire?” I tease, but the pink is back in his cheeks, and I feel bad, even though the embarrassment looks adorable on him. ”Don’t worry if you have. I made my entire dorm evacuate in the middle of the night when I was in college because I tried to microwave ramen but was too tired to get the time right and set it for 30 minutes instead of three.”
Pausing to let him catch up, I make a ‘whoops’ kind of expression. “I fell asleep and the noodles or the package or something went up in flames and set off the fire alarm and the sprinklers, and then everyone was outside in their pajamas.”
Nikko laughs out loud, but quickly covers his mouth like he’s made a mistake. “I am sorry.”
“Oh no, you should totally laugh at me. It was ridiculous. Everyone was mad at me for days because it was so cold out and there was still snow on the ground.” I smile at the memory, but also because Nikko looks more at ease.
There comes a point with every student where I can tell whether we’re going to get along and work successfully together. Sometimes it happens pretty quickly, sometimes it takes a while, and sometimes it never happens at all. But I don’t think it’s ever clicked in the first session before. It makes me look forward to what we’ll be able to accomplish together.
“Okay, so no cooking for you. What are your chores?” I wave an imaginary feather duster around. “Dusting?”
Nikko drops his chin, trying to stifle what sounds like a giggle in the collar of his shirt. When he raises up, he shakes his head ‘no.’ “I am the one who does...” He stops and scowls in frustration. “I put things away.”
“Oh, you’re the organized one? So you make sure everyone’s stuff is where it belongs. Very important.” It makes me want to look over my shoulder and see if there’s anything out of place behind me.
“No. Not all times. When I get... not upset?”
”Anxious, maybe? Nervous?“ I suggest. I know those feelings. I wish I did something as productive as straightening up when the anxiety kicked in, but I mainly just drag Noel on longer walks than she wants to take and end up carrying her back home.
“Yes. I get like that,” he admits. “My brothers have me in their rooms, too.”
“Oh, wow. That’s a good system. They feed you, and you clean their rooms. I could go for a trade like that,” I say, chuckling. Seriously, how do I arrange something like this?
“Clothes. Um, closet?” Nikko clarifies.
“Just their closets? So the rest of the space is a mess?”
He gives me a half-smile. “They can do that.”
“They can take care of that, huh? Yeah, that sounds fair.” I’m grinning again. I feel like I’m starting to get little glimpses of his personality and I’m relieved that he’s not terrible like I thought he might be.
I’m not sure how or why this has worked out the way it has, but I’m happy about it. I can’t deny the money is a perk, but it’s also nice to have an older student again who I can talk and joke with more than the young ones I work with. I think I’ll have a good time with his sessions, and that makes the idea of getting up super early seem less awful.
Glancing at the clock, I realize there’s not really enough time for a whole new topic, but I want to know more, so I ask him something anyway. “What do you like to do for fun when you’re not rearranging everyone’s closets?”
Nikko attempts a frown, like he’s annoyed, but he can’t seem to quite make it happen. It makes me want to tease him more. “I am busy. But when I am not I like…” He seems totally lost for the first time, like he’s trying to recall how to say what he wants to say and just can’t do it.
“You can always ask for the words if you need them,” I tell him. “I look things up all the time, too, because I’ve forgotten or mixed them up.”
“Shi?”
“Poems? Poetry?” I supply. “Do you like to read poetry? Or write poems?”
“Yes. Both?”
“I like poetry, too.” I make a mental note to find some simple poems we can work through together. Just as I’m about to try to find out who his favorite poets are, his attention is drawn away from the computer by someone offscreen.
I can’t hear what’s being said, but I still look away to give whatever sense of privacy that I can.
When he turns back to me, he apologizes. “I am sorry. I have to go.”
“No worries. It was nice to meet you, Nikko. I look forward to talking to you again.”
“You, too. Jase.” He gives me a short bow. “I will speak to you soon.”
The call disconnects and I stare at my screen, finishing off my now-cold coffee, trying to figure out how I feel about our time together. The conversation was pleasant; he seemed nice. Polite. Maybe a little shy. I’m trying to ignore the fact that he’s extremely attractive, but it’s difficult to do after having spent the last 30-ish minutes gazing at him.
I close the laptop and stand, rousing Noel from where she’s still sleeping beside my desk in one of her many beds. I’m not excited about the long day ahead of me, but I realize that I did mean it when I said I was looking forward to talking to him again.