“I wasn’t going to do anything to her,” Miyoung said as they walked. For some reason she needed him to know that. She needed him to believe it.
“What makes you think I was afraid for Somin? She has a fierce right hook and she’s the ace in this school. Never lost a fight.”
Miyoung snorted out a derisive laugh. “A human girl could never take me.”
“But when you’re here, aren’t you supposed to be just a ‘human girl,’ too?”
Miyoung’s eyes darted to take in the hallway, searching for anyone who might be close enough to hear, but it was empty.
“Be careful how you speak to me,” she said through gritted teeth. “If we weren’t in school, you wouldn’t be standing right now.”
“I never thought I’d be so grateful to be in school,” Jihoon muttered, pushing open a door.
“Where are you going?”
“I told Somin and Changwan we were going to the soccer field.”
“I thought that was a lie to get me to leave your friends alone.”
“I don’t like to lie if I don’t have to,” Jihoon said.
“You said I wanted to see the fields,” she pointed out. “That was a lie.”
“Well, now it’s only a half lie.” Jihoon pulled her outside.
Her muscles clenched beneath his touch. Never had someone so casually touched her like Jihoon did. Not even her mother. Her skin was too sensitive from her gnawing hunger, and it made tingles race up her arm.
Pulling free, she took a few steps toward the field below where a dozen boys and girls ran across the grass in a game of soccer. “How do they have enough time to eat and play?”
“They don’t. They usually skip lunch so they’ll have enough time for a game.”
“Why would they do that for something so trivial?”
“To them it’s not.” Jihoon shrugged as he watched the game, too. “When something’s important to you, you’re willing to give up a lot for it. This is the only time they have to play.”
“I don’t understand why kids go through so much effort for such things,” Miyoung said. “What will it help them gain?”
“It’s not to gain anything.” Jihoon laughed. “It’s just for fun. Sometimes you need to stop thinking so hard about what you get out of life and have fun.”
“Fun is a human luxury,” Miyoung muttered, trying to hide her resentment. She hated that she envied these kids whose only worry was whether they’d have enough time for a game of soccer.
“You’re part human, too.” Jihoon’s words were quiet, but they struck deep.
Not because he reminded her she was part human, but because he reminded her that part of her was not.
“I didn’t realize we could come out here for lunch,” Miyoung said. It was a good place to get away from the suffocating crowd of the cafeteria.
“It’s getting cold,” Jihoon said, glancing at the blazing sun overhead.
“That doesn’t affect me,” Miyoung said with a shrug.
“Really?” Jihoon asked, fascination too clear in his voice. She wasn’t used to someone being so blatantly interested in her.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, unable to keep the frustration out of her voice.
“Standing here?”
She sucked in a breath, holding it before she said something she’d regret. “Why do you insist on acting out this charade of fake friendship?”
Jihoon’s brows knit. “It’s not fake. We are friends.”
“I don’t make a good friend.”
Jihoon let out a chuckle. “Well, I’m okay with having a bad friend. So I guess we’re agreed.” He walked back inside, and she held in a scream of frustration.
“What does that even mean?” she called after him.
He didn’t look back and just lifted a hand in a friendly wave as the bell rang for class.
13
MIYOUNG’S DAYS SLOWLY became routine. She was a fan of order. It ensured that there were no unforeseen variables. If she knew what each day would bring, she could better control her world.
However, it felt strange to have a routine while a ticking time bomb sat in her pocket. The yeowu guseul was a heavy reminder that her days were not completely normal.
Jihoon, on the other hand, was completely random. He never did anything consistently. He liked to goof off in class or sleep, but never with any rhyme or reason. More often than not, he’d be in the computer lab instead of class because he went there to play games.
Jihoon had an odd skill for getting away with doing as little work as possible and staying in the teachers’ good graces. Probably because he had a wickedly boyish