16 #2
“Professor Kim is not my sort of person,” he said.
“I saw him at a family friend’s wedding years ago, and no doubt he’ll bring it up.
Out of all the boring people I met that night, I remember him because he talked nonstop.
He’s going to tell us how important his people are.
He argued that marriage was significant for breeding.
Breeding. Like we’re horses. That said, the wife is fairly normal.
” Peter laughed. “How in the world did I become the head of one of the hardest-to-get-into hagwons in Seoul? Life is fucking bizarre.”
Ginny laughed and returned to her desk. “I’m going to Busan this weekend,” she reminded them.
“Jealous,” Peter said.
After the successful pilot year, they had received six hundred–plus applicants from over fourteen international schools in South Korea for the upcoming year. In the pilot year, they’d had about half that number from eight international schools.
The Eagle Academy/Fortress Seoul admissions committee, comprised of Tom and Clara Song, Peter, Mido, and three consultants, whittled down the 612 applicants to 180 high school juniors in the full-tuition paying group and twenty in the tuition-free group to make up two hundred EA/FS finalists.
Lion hand-numbered two hundred Ping-Pong balls—one for each finalist—with a permanent marker and put the balls into two containers—one small and one large.
In a rented school auditorium, EA/FS invited every finalist to witness the drawing, but no one could announce the results publicly.
In the first drawing, Lion blindfolded Peter’s mother, Renee, and she chose ten tuition-free students from the twenty candidates, and on the second drawing, he blindfolded Tom and Clara, and they took turns selecting forty students out of the 180.
Each finalist was qualified; however, there was room for only fifty students.
The results were random. No one was allowed to know who paid tuition and who did not.
The committee established a standard floor for admissions based on the best grades, practice test scores, extracurricular activities, and draft essays, then randomized the final acceptances in public, so no one could complain about favoritism.
Lion had given interviews to two major newspapers, and two scholars had written editorials arguing against any kind of private college consulting for students even if 20 percent of them paid nothing.
Three other scholars had written editorials arguing that since the system was deeply broken, some effort toward helping qualified poor students was better than nothing.
Tom Song, who’d now been a hagwon owner in Seoul for almost two decades, was quoted in one of the politically moderate newspapers saying, “Life is absolutely unfair; however, Koreans educated in America could help native Koreans navigate a complex American system.”
Lion added in the same interview, “The EA/FS system is attempting to be less unfair in a category of unfair things.” The published hagwon fees were below market rate and not onerous, so the articles had the unintended effect of making even more people seek out Eagle Academy/Fortress Seoul.
Professor Kim’s son Sung was one of the 180 tuition-paying finalists; however, his Ping-Pong ball, number 87, was not selected, and consequently he would be unable to attend Fortress Seoul.
Ginny got up from her desk and stood close to Mido.
“They’re here,” she whispered dramatically, pointing to the glass-walled conference room where Professor Kim, his wife Dr. Gu, and Sung waited.
“They brought the kid? Why did they do that?” Peter shook his head.
Mido turned inconspicuously to check. The boy wore a navy flannel coat and a rep tie. Thick bangs almost covered his round eyes. He sat in the conference chair, staring up at the thin strip of molding between the ceiling and the wall.
“Poor bastard. Hasn’t he been through enough?” Peter exhaled. He was wearing a black Arsenal jersey, jeans, and black canvas high-tops.
“Let me grab a jacket from my office. I don’t want to hear about what I wore from my father.”
“Oh, your mother called this morning,” Ginny said. “I forgot.”
“I know. She called again between my morning meetings.”
“Oh?” Mido looked concerned.
“She’s fine that we passed on them. We’ve passed on a lot of people in her orbit. I’m so fucking glad Lion made us do that public lottery with the Ping-Pong ball thing.”
“I just wish parents could accept the ball’s results,” Ginny said.
“Seriously. Mom said the wife is nice and to be polite. To her anyway. The husband is hopeless,” Peter said.
“I’ll be nice. To both of them,” Mido said, and Peter stuck out his tongue.
When Peter and Mido walked into the room, the family stood up to bow.
Peter and Mido bowed back and gestured for them to sit down.
They smiled at the boy. Right away, Professor Kim summarized the contents of his son’s file, stressing Sung’s exceptional achievements.
Peter continued to nod and smile. Mido was impressed by his calm demeanor.
“You see, it would actually be a feather in Fortress’s cap to have him,” the father said. “It’s likely that he’ll get into the very best universities in the world, and then you can include his acceptances in your results,” he pointed out. “I know how these things work.”
The mother smiled shyly, glancing now and then in the direction of their son, whose eyes were shaded by the curtain of his long dark bangs. She appeared gentle and concerned.
“Sung is a remarkable young man,” Peter said. “I’m confident he’ll get into a great school. There’s no reason why he would not.”
“Exactly, and your hagwon could take the credit for his acceptances. We’re handing you an easy win,” Professor Kim said in English.
The boy’s hands were folded. He looked miserable, and Mido wanted to deliver him from this terrible awkwardness.
“Sung, we’re very sorry that we don’t have space. The good news is that you’ve already worked so hard, and frankly, I don’t think you need us. I don’t say that to just anyone.” Mido smiled and looked carefully into his hooded eyes.
The mother smiled at her, appearing grateful.
“We understand it’s more and more difficult to get into an American university now, especially schools like Harvard and Stanford, and we want to make sure that our Sung has everything he needs, especially when he has worked so hard already,” the mother said.
“We don’t think the guidance counselor at his school understands the process nearly as well as you do. ”
“Both of you were present at the lottery, and unfortunately, we cannot change our admissions policy. All fifty students have been selected,” Peter said. He didn’t want to repeat Lion’s “Standardize and Randomize” speech, which he had studied and felt ready to deliver.
“Our founder, Lion Han, returned to Orange County right after the drawing; however, you are welcome to contact him. We can set up that call for you if you like.”
This was something he hated to do. Yet the Lion option was always there if Peter and Mido needed backup.
Lion was good at this, somehow giving terrible news with grace and light.
If they didn’t want to talk to Lion, Tom Song could be much tougher.
Worst-case scenario, his wife, Clara, would be available for cleanup.
“I was told that you grew up in Sydney. May I ask which school you went to?” Dr. Gu addressed Mido, wanting to find a personal connection.
Often she knew someone who had gone to a school in Australia, because she had gotten a master’s in public health in Sydney, and elite overseas Koreans could be a small group.
“I started at the University of Sydney, but I haven’t finished my degree,” Mido said.
“You finished it in the United States, then?” Professor Kim said.
“No. I don’t have a college degree. I studied education for a year at Sydney, thinking that I might go into theater—”
Astonished, Sung spoke up. “You don’t have a university degree?”
“No. I don’t.” Mido smiled.
“Oh!” the boy said, and laughed.
“See, you don’t want to learn from a person like me,” she said with a smile, hoping this might make his parents feel better about his not getting in.
Dr. Gu looked perplexed. “We were told that you teach the consultants. That you specialize in testing and essays.”
“I think Mido might be one of the best in the world at what she does,” Peter said. “Here she can’t teach formally because she doesn’t have a degree, but she is overseeing our program, and obviously the results speak for themselves.”
“Are you going to finish your degree?” Sung asked her.
“Yes, I think I will.”
“Won’t you be too old for college?” Sung asked. His mother seemed chagrined, but Mido laughed.
“Yes, I will be older, but that’s okay. I might even go after I have a child.”
“Nice,” Sung said, nodding. “Will you teach here? After you get your degree?”