was most certainly due to Sujin that Miho possessed this misinformation in the first place.
“Apparently you need to understand some things,” I heard her say to Miho in a bossy voice as I went into my room and banged the door shut.
* * *
—
SO HERE WE ARE, Sujin, Miho, and I, sitting together at the back of a rattling “express” bus with our bags piled high. Even downtown Cheongju—let alone the back hills, where my family is from—will not know what to make of the likes of us: a freshly upbeat Sujin, hiding behind supersize black sunglasses and a violently colorful scarf; ethereal Miho cocooned in an emerald-colored faux-fur coat; and apprehensive, mousy me. The only thing cheerful about me is my hair. I dyed it fuchsia ten days ago, in a fit of panic after buying the bus tickets home. The roots are already showing in an intentionally cool way (I hope). Manager Kwon loved the idea of my going pink and offered to do the initial bleach himself—he always pushes us to experiment with colors in our own hair, the more maniacal the better. He says customers are happier entrusting their hair to people with imagination. I know it will fade by next week, but for now it makes me happy, as if I have set off a signal to the world. Already, I have noticed how people react with great caution to someone with fuchsia hair, even if that person is mute.
Mercifully, the bus is half empty—most of the filial legions transited days ago to the provinces—and the driver estimates the travel time to be just under three hours.
Sujin and Miho are bickering about whether Sujin should visit the Loring Center and Miss Loring’s grave with Miho or not. Sujin has not been back since she left.
“I don’t understand, I thought you liked Miss Loring,” says Miho, looking hurt.
“You are so delusional,” says Sujin, looking at me wildly. “You can ask Ara. Did I like anyone at the Loring Center? Especially the white woman? I can’t believe you thought that for a single minute!”
I pat her back and write She hated everyone on my notepad. Sujin passes it to Miho.
“But Miss Loring was so nice! She left all of her money to all of us, remember? All of our school supplies, art supplies, our clothes—that was all her. You have to appreciate that?” Miho looks aghast at Sujin, who sticks out her lip, aggrieved.
“She liked you because you were talented and pretty,” says Sujin. “I never used the art room. She only liked kids who were special in some way because it made her feel good about looking after us. Like Yunmi in the grade below us. Miss Loring liked her because she was so beautiful and she could sing. She got her some music scholarship.” Sujin shrugged and amended, “It’s not that she disliked the rest of us, she just…Oh, whatever, you wouldn’t understand. And besides, I totally admit that I caused a lot of trouble, so it’s just natural she didn’t like me.”
“You just said it’s not that she didn’t like you,” says Miho.
“Oh shut up,” says Sujin.
Miho frowns and shifts savagely in her seat, jostling the pile of bags next to her. The topmost bag, which is hers, falls to the floor with a thud.
“Shit,” hisses Miho, staring at it with a stricken face.
We look at her.
“It was my present for your parents,” she says wretchedly, hopping down and pulling it up onto her lap. Unzipping it, she pulls out a large black box, which has the Joye department store logo etched in spidery, designer font.
“What was it?” whispers Sujin.
I had told both of them in vain that they shouldn’t buy gifts for my parents—they would be utterly wasted. But they had both ignored me—Sujin had brought a large green tea fresh cream cake from the new bakery in Shinyoung Plaza, where people lined up around the block. “At least you’ll like it even if your parents don’t,” Sujin had said when I wrote in exasperation that my parents didn’t eat Western desserts and they would have no earthly way of knowing