shoulders, he stretched out like he had not a care in the world, draping his arm across the back of the seat in a leisurely sprawl. “So what do you usually do after school?” He gave a cheeky grin that he knew would deepen his dimples.
She didn’t answer and slid her eyes toward his hand, almost touching her shoulder. He retracted his arm for fear she’d rip it off.
“I usually go to the PC room,” he said. “Do you play L-o-L?”
Miyoung stared out the window, ignoring him.
That just made Jihoon more determined to get a reaction out of her. “One of my favorite champions is Ahri.” Jihoon chuckled. “If you played, you’d get the joke.” He leaned in and said in a stage whisper, “She’s a gumiho.”
Miyoung glared at him. Jihoon grinned. She continued to glower, unmoved by his best weapon. His smile wavered. “Do you really not do anything for fun? Sports? Knitting? Ancient tea ceremonies?”
“I don’t do things for fun,” she said.
“Why?”
“Why do you care?”
Jihoon shrugged. “Because it looks like you could use a friend.”
“I don’t need friends,” Miyoung muttered.
“Everyone needs friends,” Jihoon countered, despite the frown Miyoung gave him.
“Fine, I watch TV, read, eat.” She ticked off her fingers for each thing.
“So things you can do at home.”
“Things I can do alone,” Miyoung clarified, then turned firmly back toward the window.
Jihoon let her end the conversation this time. He figured a smart man knew when to stop poking at a sleeping bear. Or, in this case, a sleeping fox.
* * *
• • •
At dinner, Jihoon stirred his galbi-jjim, thick hunks of beef and potatoes swirled in a gooey brown sauce both savory and sweet. He plucked up a roasted chestnut, then let it plop back down into a pile of carrots. Dubu sat beside him, her tail thumping hopefully against the floor, but she knew better than to outright beg. At least not in front of Halmeoni. Unfortunately for the dog, tonight Jihoon was too distracted to sneak her a bite.
He glanced furtively at his halmeoni, then back at his food.
He did this three times before she said, “Ahn Jihoon, if you keep staring at me, I’m going to think you did something wrong.”
“No, I didn’t. Lately,” he added with a wry grin.
“I found this in your laundry,” Halmeoni said, pulling out the bright yellow bujeok. “You’re supposed to keep it on you at all times.”
Jihoon frowned at it, remembering the night in the forest. How that dokkaebi had used a talisman against Miyoung. Slowly he picked up the paper. “Halmeoni, I have a question about those fables you used to tell me.”
“Yes?” Halmeoni set her chopsticks down and folded her hands in front of her to show he had her full attention.
“Do you know what made gumiho bad?”
“Where did this come from?” Halmeoni sat back, like someone settling in for a particularly interesting conversation. They sat on the floor at the low table in the living room. Halmeoni’s back was to the sofa so she could lean against it.
Jihoon sat cross-legged opposite her, thinking through his words. “Just curious. I remember there was a story about a fox spirit that was good. She helped a monk find enlightenment. I wonder what made the fox turn bad.”
“It’s not as simple as you’re implying.” Halmeoni’s tone became didactic. “A fox is an animal just like you and me. She does not choose evil or good upon coming into this world.”
Jihoon nodded along. His halmeoni liked to take a circuitous route to get to her points, but he always loved hearing her stories.
“According to some earlier stories, the gumiho was, at first, a benevolent creature.”
“Then?” Jihoon prompted, unable to help himself.
“Then, as humans tend to, we needed someone to blame for our problems.” Halmeoni said this like she was apologizing for a great misdeed. “Men fell in love with gumiho because they were beautiful. Then they blamed their adultery on the creatures instead of accepting their own mistakes. Maybe it happened often enough that it became normal to say gumiho lured men into cheating on their wives. And the gumiho was given a label of evil she didn’t deserve. When you’re constantly treated as a pariah and labeled bad, you might begin living up to that expectation.”
Jihoon frowned into his rice. Was this true of Miyoung as well? She wasn’t a bad person as far as he could tell. After all, she’d saved his life. And he’d seen firsthand how cruelly people reacted to her mere presence. Could the