“Ya! Are you guys hiding from me? I was waiting in the cafeteria for you,” Changwan said, his arms crossed as he stood in the doorway.
“Changwan-ah, since you’re here, you can help us clean,” Jihoon said, reminding Miyoung of the graffiti.
“You don’t have to,” she said, embarrassed by the harsh red words.
“Of course we will.” Somin scowled at the block letters sprawled over the concrete. “Only cowards do things like this.”
Changwan nodded and accepted one of the mops. No questions, no pitying eyes. Just acceptance and a willingness to help. It was strange for Miyoung to feel that kind of automatic support.
The three friends exchanged taunts and laughter as they cleaned, claiming there were multiple spots missed or that someone was slacking off.
Strange that something that could have been another dagger to her confidence instead turned into something so nice.
They did this for her. They were happily cleaning to erase the cruel words directed at her.
She wondered if it could have always been so easy to have friends. And regret sat heavy on her heart for all the time she’d wasted being alone.
27
SUNDAY WAS THE full moon. The house sounded strangely quiet as Miyoung moved through her room, pulling on jeans and a sweater.
She felt oddly calm. No matter what, things would be settled tonight. Yena would be home before night fell, and Miyoung would tell her the truth.
If she was careful how she worded it, conveniently kept out any mention of shamans and talismans, her mother would find a way to fix it.
And then she’d find a way to tell Yena she wanted to stay here, permanently. A true home. With real friends.
Her phone rang and Nara’s number lit the screen. Miyoung hesitated a second before answering. “I don’t imagine you’re calling just to say hello.”
“It’s the full moon tonight.” Nara sounded tense.
“I’ve heard rumors about that.”
“If you want to do something—”
“I’m telling my mother. I don’t need your shaman rituals to solve this.”
“Shaman what?” At the crack of Yena’s voice, Miyoung spun, dropping her phone with a clatter.
Yena watched Miyoung calmly from the doorway as if she’d asked about the weather. But Miyoung saw her mother’s clenched fists, nails digging divots into her skin.
“I can explain.” But could she? It seemed so hard to gather her thoughts in the face of her mother’s fury.
“I trust you to do what I ask.”
“I do.”
Yena’s eyes flared. “I also expect you to tell me the truth.”
She walked to Miyoung’s desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out papers, letting them scatter to the floor before yanking the next drawer out. A search, like Miyoung was suspected of a crime.
“I’ve told you never to talk to shamans.” More papers scattered to the floor, joined by notebooks and pens. “They are enemies of our kind. They only seek to hurt us or worse.”
“Mother.”
Yena halted her with a glare.
“I don’t explain all of my rules because there are things in this world that are hard to explain, even to people like us.” Yena pulled out the last drawer and let the contents fall, then dropped the wooden drawer as well.
“But everything I do is for you. Everything.” Yena pulled Miyoung’s school blazer off the back of her desk chair and emptied out the pockets. The talisman fluttered to the ground, like a yellow flag marking Miyoung’s guilt. Yena picked it up between her thumb and forefinger, her face contorting with disgust. “And this is how you choose to treat my trust.”
“Please!” Miyoung begged.
It didn’t matter; her mother’s face had closed. With slow, deliberate motions, Yena tore the talisman in half. A spark speared through the golden paper. Miyoung watched the power of the talisman break free and scatter in the air.
Not even a second passed before the shadows rose, bleeding onto the walls.
“What has gotten into you?” Yena said as the shadows behind her stretched and congealed, becoming menacing shapes.
“I’m sorry,” Miyoung stuttered, blinking so hard white lights burst behind her lids.
“Tell me,” Yena said as the looming shapes rose above her, arms reaching out to embrace her.
“Mother!” Miyoung shouted. But the demons moved right through her mother, and Yena didn’t bat an eye.
Miyoung wanted to sob. She’d made a complete mess of her life and had only pretended everything could be righted. After all, lying was Miyoung’s best skill, and it turned out she’d finally learned how to lie to herself.
“I’m sorry,” Miyoung said, and she didn’t know whether she was apologizing to her mother or to the ghostly faces of her