the right, avoiding the ball instead of blocking it.
Miyoung jerked back as another ball almost hit her in the face. And she found herself annoyed at the prospect of being one of the first pairs out.
She could practically hear Yena’s voice. No daughter of mine would lose at a human sports game. Especially one as insipid as dodgeball.
“You have to keep your eyes open. Pay attention to who has a ball,” she growled through gritted teeth.
“They’re moving too fast.”
“Left!” she snapped. He scooted over, barely batting away the ball.
Miyoung felt the beginnings of a headache, and each time she dodged a ball Jihoon failed to block, her stomach rolled. At first, she thought it was anger, until the nausea climbed into her throat.
“Are you okay?” Jihoon asked, glancing back at her.
“Of course.” She took deep breaths to slow her rapid pulse. She normally never got sick. Her bead bumped against her leg, like it sought to remind her that all was not normal.
“You don’t seem like you’re okay.”
“Watch it!” She pulled him to the side and narrowly avoided a ball. “Will you pay attention to the game?”
“Is this because of what you did the other night? How you fought that—”
“Would you shut up?” Miyoung’s annoyance made her headache swell toward a crescendo.
“It’s just that you didn’t seem well after that either.”
“Well, I’m fine now. You don’t have to think of me.”
“I wish,” Jihoon said with a laugh.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Miyoung asked before she could stop herself.
“I don’t consider myself a really curious guy, but I can’t stop thinking of you.” At Miyoung’s glare he quickly continued. “Not like that. I just mean, the stories my halmeoni told me were true. It’s a bit surreal. I can’t seem to stop thinking about it, and then I had this weird dream.”
“What dream?” She snapped back to attention, glaring at him so intently he leaned away.
Before Jihoon could answer, the teacher blew his whistle and told them to trade places. Miyoung was now the guard and Jihoon held on to her shoulders. Instead of running around trying to avoid the balls, Miyoung batted them away effortlessly, her eyes never leaving Jihoon.
“What dream?” she asked again.
“We were in the forest together, hiding from . . . your mother?” He ended it like a question, as if asking for approval.
The coincidence in details couldn’t be ignored. This confirmed one of her fears. He’d touched the bead, and it had temporarily connected them. This was a problem. What else had he seen in her head?
She closed her eyes against the full-blown migraine pounding at her temples. The pressure was so great she thought her eyes would pop out of her skull.
“I don’t mean to pry,” Jihoon said, even as his eyes searched her face. He took a step closer, and she held out a hand to stop him. Except her headache threw off her depth perception, and she caught him in the sternum, throwing him back so hard he slid a meter across the floor on his butt.
“No fighting!” The gym teacher blew a whistle and the game play stopped. “Jihoon, you hurt?”
Jihoon shook his head as he stood.
“You’re new, right?” the gym teacher asked, approaching Miyoung.
“Yes,” she mumbled, seething at the attention as dozens of eyes stared at her.
“Already causing trouble, Transfer,” the gym teacher said. “I’m going to have to call your mother.”
* * *
• • •
Waiting for Yena was hell. This was a record for Miyoung, getting sent to the vice principal on her first day of school. She was standing outside of the teachers’ office waiting for her mother. If that impending arrival wasn’t enough, she was in the perfect location for kids to ogle as they walked past.
They sent furtive glances at her as they made their way back to the classrooms. Miyoung kept still. She knew the best reaction was no reaction.
Parts of conversations drifted over. She heard the words violent and freak. This was not a good start to a new school. And she was good at gauging that. She’d been in a dozen schools, and each had proven to be the same. Kids, no matter where they lived, just wanted to fit in. And that meant ridiculing anything and anyone that didn’t. Fitting in was practically against Miyoung’s genetic makeup. No matter how much she’d tried to match a mold, she always popped back out. A fox peg trying to fit into a human-shaped hole.
So she’d stopped trying, choosing instead to keep a low profile. If