Hiding Pandora (4 page)

“We can do this the Korean way,” he says. “I’m okay with moving slow.”

I grin. “But you already told me that you have a crush on me. So, it doesn’t make sense to call you my friend.”

“What was the word again?” he asks.

“
Sseom lada,
” I answer.

“We are
sseom lada
,” he says.

“Technically, you’d be my
sseomnam
and I’d be your
sseomnyeo
,” I explain.

“You’re my see-om-yo.”

“
Sseomnyeo
,” I correct. “I did think of a better way to describe
sseom lada
.
Lada
means to ride. Or go with the flow. So, that’s what we’re doing.”

“I like that,” he says. “Going with the flow.”

“Me, too.”

Maybe, just maybe, New Haven Academy won’t be so bad.

Saturday, September 7

American boys.

I wake up to my cell phone vibrating on the table beside my bed. I look at the screen to see that I’m getting a call from a blocked number. I instantly know that it’s my dad calling. He always calls at random times from blocked numbers. I have no way of ever getting hold of him.

I grab the phone and answer it quickly.

“
Annyeong
,” I answer.

“Are you alone?” he asks.

He can’t talk to me if I’m around other people, so he always asks. I don’t answer the phone if other people are around.

“
Ne
,” I answer, saying yes in Korean. “I’m in my dorm room.”

“Good,” he says. “You should be using English all the time so you’re in the habit.”

I roll my eyes.

I know that he means well, but it’s frustrating. I miss my dad and I want to talk to him like a normal teenager talks to their parent. Unfortunately, we are anything but normal.

“I know,
Appa
,” I say, sighing. “I’m trying, it’s just really hard. It seemed so easy when I was at CIA headquarters, but being around people my own age is different. I don’t understand a lot of what they’re saying. This one guy called me hot and he had to explain...”

My dad cuts me off. “Who called you hot?”

“Umm, a friend,” I answer. “Anyway, it was embarrassing having to ask what
hot
meant.”

“And how did this boy explain what hot was?”

“He said hot was another way to say sexy,” I answer. “But I’m thinking that people don’t use the word sexy in the way that it’s meant to be used. Because I know sexy means sex appeal, and I don’t think he meant
that
.”

“Right,” Dad says, clearly not happy.

“American boys are very promiscuous,” I say. “They like to talk about sex a lot.”

He groans. “What kind of school did I send you to?”

“I made a friend,” I say, changing the subject.

“That’s good. What’s her name?” he asks.

“Him,” I correct. “His name is Winston.”

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Dad says. “I’ll get you a new identity and move you out of there. You can do homeschooling.”

“
Appa
, no,” I say. “I like it here. I don’t want to leave.”

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m being over-protective, I know. I just know how American teenage boys are. I used to be one.”

“Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself,” I say. “There was this one boy who put his arm around me and I put him on the floor in two seconds flat. I didn’t take jujitsu all those years for nothing.”

“Why was this boy touching you?”

“I don’t know,” I answer. “He said he had a thing for Asian girls.”

I hear him sigh through the phone. “Are you sure you don’t want to be homeschooled? Maybe if you’re in a CIA safe spot, we could see each other more.”

“I’m almost twenty. I’m not a kid anymore. I can take care of myself.”

“You’re seventeen,” he says, reminding me of my American age.

“Right. I keep forgetting.”

“Maybe we can do something for your birthday in September,” he says. “Eighteen is kind of a big deal in America. You’ll officially be an adult.”

“I won’t feel like an adult until January, when I turn twenty in Korea,” I say.

I haven’t celebrated my “birthday” since my
eomma
died when I was five. I’m not sure how I feel about celebrating it without her.

“I know you’re used to how things are in South Korea, but you are an American,” he says, almost sadly. “I wish things had been different, Layla. I wish I were there with you right now. I’d make sure those American boys don’t lay a hand on you.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t let them put a hand on me,” I say. “Well, except Winston. He’s my
sseomnam
. He held my hand last night.”

“What is
sseomnam
again?” he asks.

“A boy who isn’t your boyfriend, but more than a friend.”

“Layla,” he says, and I can literally hear his disappointment through the phone. “You just got there. You don’t know this boy.”

“Yeah, I do. His name is Winston Graham,” I say. “His dad is the senator of Massachusetts.”

I hear my dad typing something, then he groans. “Really? A democrat?”

“You know that I know nothing about American politics, right?”

“Maybe you should find a nice Korean guy,” Dad says.

I laugh. “I like Korean guys. But I also like Winston. He’s cute. He has blond hair and honey colored eyes, which is
so cool
.”

“You’re just like your mom,” he says. “She told me the reason she fell in love with me is because I have green eyes.”

“I’m sure it was more than just your green eyes.”

He sighs. “I miss you, Layla.”

“I miss you too,
Appa
.”

“I promise you, this will all be over soon,” he says. “I’m so close.”

“I know,” I say.

He always says it’ll be over soon. He’s been saying it since I was five. I don’t believe him anymore.

“I have to go.”

“Okay,” I say. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

The line goes dead, and I sigh, looking at the black screen on my phone.

I really do hope this is over soon. I’m ready to have a normal life.

After getting off the phone with my dad, I can’t go back to sleep, so I get up and decide to get ready for the day. I head to the bathroom to get a shower, and am surprised when I see Zoe standing at the sink brushing her teeth, wearing nothing but a towel.

“Sorry,” I say, and turn my head away.

“It’s okay,” she says, after taking her toothbrush out of her mouth. “Go ahead and do what you need to do. I’m almost done.”

“Thanks,” I say.

She spits into the sink, then turns to me. “I’m Zoe.”

“Lee... uh, I’m Pandora.”

Zoe doesn’t notice my slip up. “I am so hungover. I don’t know why I drank so much last night.”

I don’t know how to respond to her, so I don’t.

“We don’t get many new seniors,” she says.

“Yeah, I’m the only one this year.”

She looks at me, like she’s waiting for me to say something else. I stay quiet because I’m not sure what she wants me to say.

“Why are you here?” she finally asks.

“For school,” I answer.

Duh.

“I mean, why transfer here for your senior year?” she asks.

“Oh. Well, my dad thought it would be good for me to spend some time on the east coast. I’m from California, and I’ve never really been around people not from there,” I say, telling her my cover story.

“Hmm,” she says, almost sounding disappointed, then drops her towel.

I turn my head again, not wanting to see her naked.

“So, are you Chinese?” she asks, as she is putting on her clothes.

“Korean,” I answer. “Well, half-Korean. My dad is white.”

“Interesting,” she says. “Asians are ugly, but you’re kind of cute. Must be the
white
side of you. Your eyes aren’t all squinty like them.”

I look up at her, no longer caring if she’s wearing clothes or not.
“Ssabal!”

“She what?” she asks.

I force myself to take a breath and calm down.

“I said screw you,” I say, translating my Korean.

Her mouth falls open.

“Saying all Asians are ugly is like saying all white people are ugly, or all black people are ugly,” I say. “You are a close-minded, racist. And you need to get away from me right now before I hurt you.”

She just looks at me, not moving.

“I’m serious.”

She looks at me, then quickly grabs her clothes and runs out of the bathroom towards her room. I guess I looked scary.

Gah, what an idiot. This was not how I wanted to start my day.

10 a.m.

Blend.

When I get out of the shower, I have a text from Winston on my phone.

Winston:
I’m bored. Want to hang out?

Me:
네.

Winston:
I know enough Hangul to know that that says “Ne.” Are you saying “no”?

Me:
I’m saying yes... YES, I want to hang out.

Winston:
Good. What time should I come?

Me:
Now.

Winston:
Be there in ten :)

I quickly get dressed. Just as I’m putting on my shoes, there is a knock on the door. This time, I don’t reach for my gun. I know that it’s Winston. I’ve only been here for one day, but I already feel safe.

When I open the door, Winston is standing there in a pair of skinny jeans. He looks good in them, but I still think they’re weird.

“How can you wear those things?” I ask him, pointing at his legs.

“Jeans?” he asks.

“Skinny jeans,” I clarify.

“You were wearing skinny jeans the first time we met,” Winston says.

“Agent Kim
made
me wear them,” I say, then walk over to my closet. I open it up and show him the jeans inside. “She says if I want to blend in, I should wear what other American teenagers wear.” I point to my mini skirt. “Clearly, I didn’t listen. I only wore them because she was there when I got dressed to come here.”

“I like your skirts,” he says.

“Well, I don’t dislike your jeans. I just think they’re uncomfortable.”

He shrugs. “They’re not.”

“Huh,” I say, then grab my purse. “So what are we doing today?”

Just because I feel safe here doesn’t mean I’m going to leave my gun in my dorm room. Agent Kim told me to keep it with me at all times, and I plan on doing that, for sure. I will do whatever it takes to protect myself, if needed.

“Do you want to go off campus?” he asks.

I hesitate. “Don’t you have to have your parent’s permission to go off campus?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “My parents set it up so I can leave campus anytime as long as I’m back by curfew. I can get special permission to stay out over night or over weekend.”

“The thing is... my
appa
didn’t approve it for me. The CIA doesn’t want to me to leave here,” I say. “Because, you know, it’s safe here.”

“Well, I guess we can hang out here.”

“No,” I say. “I can just sneak off campus.”

He considers what I’m saying. “We’d better not. I don’t want you to be unsafe.”

“I’ll be safe,” I insist. “The terrorist group has no idea that I’m here. Last time they saw me, I was in Seoul, pretending to be Lee Suel Ri. They are looking for Lee Suel Ri and Layla Scott. They’re not looking for Pandora Hart. And they’re definitely not going to be looking in Massachusetts.”

“Layla Scott?” he asks.

“Oh,” I say. “I don’t think I should’ve told you that. But that’s my real name, or my birth name, whatever.”

“I like it,” he says. “Layla fits you.”

“My mom named me Layla,” I tell him. “I like it, even though it doesn’t feel like my real name. I’ve always known it’s Layla, even when I lived in Korea. But Layla seems more like a fantasy, like, who I would’ve been if things were different. Nobody in Korea knew Layla, the American. They knew Lee Suel Ri, the girl with a white
appa
and a Korean
eomma
.”

“Did you stay with your real family there?” he asks.

“No, I couldn’t.” I shake my head. “My fake parents were from Australia. They were hired by the CIA to play the role of my parents. I have family in Korea, but I haven’t seen them since I was five. They probably think I’m dead.”

“Was that weird? Living with strangers, pretending they’re your family.”

“Not really. It felt normal,” I say. “I only get to see my real
appa
a few times a year because of safety reasons. In a weird way, my fake parents felt like family. I mean, they were never really
eomma
and
appa
, but I miss them.”

“Will you ever see them again?”

I shake my head. “No. Unfortunately, they were killed.”

“So this terrorist group—”

I cut him off. “No.”

“No?”

“I’m not talking about them. Period,” I say, then walk towards my door. “Can we go now? I really, really want to leave campus.”

“Sure,” he says, not pushing the subject any further.

Thirty minutes later, we are off campus. I hid in the back of his car, and thankfully, the guard didn’t noticed me back there. Winston pulls into a gas station not too far from campus and I get into the front seat with him.

“Your car is nice,” I tell him, looking around. It looks really expensive. He did tell me his family was rich, so the car probably is expensive.

If Winston was Korean, he wouldn’t have given me a second glance. For one, I’m not rich like him. I don’t know how much money my
appa
has, but I highly doubt he’s nearly as rich as Winston’s family. Also, I am half-white. Marrying somebody who is a different race is considered taboo. While some would overlook the fact that I’m mixed, many wouldn’t.

Not that I plan on getting married anytime soon. I want to get an education first. I want to go to a good school in Korea, and hopefully get a good job. Unless I’m stuck in America long term. In that case, I’m not sure what I’m going to do.

“What are you thinking about?” Winston asks me.

“Just that if you were Korean, you wouldn’t be friends with me,” I answer.

“Why not?”

“Well, social status,” I answer. “Also, I’m not fully Korean, but I’m also not fully American. I’m a mix. So, finding a guy whose family would accept me would be next to impossible.”