Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
E
ach time I stepped foot on campus, I marveled at how different its picturesque scenery was from the hustle and bustle of Manhattan. The abundance of oak, maple, and ginkgo trees lining the main pathway made for an idyllic campus setting. Some of the green leaves had dulled, turning a soft yellow, and the mingling of orange, red, and brown would soon follow.
I zipped up my jacket. Fall had officially arrived.
Heading to class early gave me time to refamiliarize myself with and appreciate the campus setting: the inscriptions in Latin on the Corinthian columns of the library; the bas-relief carvings of Athena, Demeter, and Zeus in the central fountain; and the weather-worn pale green copper roofs of the oldest brick buildings that had made me fall in love with the school the first time around. Seeing them now as a super senior (the super-est in all of Carlthorpe history, probably) filled me with a complicated mix of pride, humility, and shame. I liked being back on campus, but also hated it. As classes approached the end of the second week, I had
settled into the idea that there were nearly fifteen more weeks remaining of this temporary life diversion, and then I could go back to the way things were.
Fifteen more weeks of my overly excitable roommate.
Fifteen more weeks of homework and studying.
Fifteen more weeks of circumnavigating Jake Cho.
You can do this.
I found a seat near Ethan, who had arrived just before me. “Is this taken?” I asked.
He smiled. “It’s all yours. Saving these other ones.” To his right, he had his sweatshirt in the next spot and a flannel button-down two seats over.
“Do you normally disrobe this much for the sake of your friends?” I looked at the shirt draped over a wooden seat and back to his short-sleeved black tee. “Aren’t you cold?”
He laughed. “Yes and yes. I’m lucky I wore enough layers today but they better show up soon or I might get hypothermia. And you’re lucky I have only two friends in this class other than you. It could have gotten ugly. There’s not much clothing left.” Ethan’s brown, sparkling eyes crinkled on the outer edges, giving him a more mature look. But older in, like, a twenty-six-year-old way.
He pulled an extra-large energy drink from the side pocket of his backpack, along with an individually wrapped cinnamon roll. “Want a bite?”
Ah, to have the metabolism of my younger self. “No thank you, appreciate the offer. I just had a big breakfast.” It was a bowl of overnight oats plus a handful of blueberries. Because that was what thirty-two-year-old women ate who
were well past the energy drink and store-bought iced pastry days.
If he had offered me a travel cup of coffee, I would have accepted. Beth didn’t have a coffee machine, and in New York I had always gotten my caffeine fix from the breakfast truck stationed outside my apartment in the mornings. Oscar knew my order: iced coffee, two pumps of chocolate syrup, with enough 2% milk till it turned beige. Never once did Oscar judge me for my coffee, which was essentially coffee-flavored chocolate milk. He had it ready for me every day at eight thirty Monday through Friday, rain or shine, sleet or snow. Oscar was more reliable than the mailman. When I told him I was moving away for a few months, he teared up, wished me well, and offered me a free blueberry muffin as a parting gift.
It suddenly occurred to me that Oscar was one of the few people I’d spoken to candidly about my departure. I hadn’t even come clean to my editor yet. Or to my parents. Why had I confided in this man I barely knew, but not in those people closer to me? What did that say about them? And . . . what did that say about me?
I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone. Missed messages from Mia.
Have you thought about doing college activities? I’m looking on the Student Life webpage and they have pickleball. YOU MUST DO PICKLEBALL
NO PICKLEBALL
Broomball? Inner tube water polo?
NO and NO
Well think about your options. You’ve been given a second chance. We’re hoping you won’t get a third lol
She added:
Give it a good ol’ college try. Har har. Okay I’ll shut up now
I sent her an eyeroll emoji and put my phone away.
Out the classroom window, you could see the grassy central lawn, where dozens of college kids sat in small groups on blankets, eating, lounging, and conducting outdoor seminars, just as students had when I was an undergrad. It was a strange feeling to be back at campus now, seeing firsthand how different college was in some ways, and how entirely unchanged it was in others.
“Hey.” The smooth tenor voice coming from the aisle caused me to freeze. I knew who it was without looking up.
“Oh God,” I accidentally muttered aloud.
“Miss Lee, can you meet with me after class today, if you’re free?”
Chin still tucked and looking down at my backpack, I bobbed my head and avoided direct eye contact, focusing
more on steadying my breathing rather than watching Jake whisk himself away.
Inhale. Hold. Long exhale.
Ethan joked, “Hey, teacher’s pet! After you meet with the TA, come by the Commons so we can grab an early lunch with the rest of the group. We’re going to talk about the first group assignment.”
I looked up to see Jake sprinting to the front of the classroom. As he set up the computer and projected the first slide on the pull-down screen, I studied his pensive face, his swift movements, his confident stature while he logged in to the class portal. What did he want to talk to me about, and why had he singled me out the way he did?
Well, I could think of reasons. Like asking me why I was a student in his class.
Why I hadn’t tried to communicate with him after all these years.
Why I had reentered and disrupted his orbit and why he’d come crashing into mine.
You know, just a few off-the-cuff thoughts flooding my brain.
Ethan jumped to his feet, abruptly breaking my Jake-induced trance. His hand shot up, signaling to two people who had just walked through the back doors to join him. After putting his flannel shirt back on, he took his backpack off the neighboring seat.
I asked, “Oooh. Am I about to meet the people you’re willing to strip for?”
He chuckled. “Yes! Finally, you get to meet your group project buds.” He reached out, grabbed the hand of the guy walking toward him, and pulled his friend in for a hug, like he hadn’t seen him in ages. I pictured Jake and me doing this after class and laughed out loud.
“Sorry, was just thinking about something stupid.” Remembering I had to stick with the dumb name I’d given Ethan, I added, “I’m Lil, Ethan’s new friend.”
“I’m Princeton. Princeton Li.” He shook my hand and noted my surprise. “My parents named me after their alma mater. Naming a kid after an Ivy League school to fulfill their own dreams and then getting waitlisted there isn’t all too great for the ol’ self-esteem, I have to admit. And Li is spelled L-I, like Long Island.” He said that last part with an exaggerated New York accent.
“I’m sorry, can we actually go back to the Princeton thing? I’m still needing to process that. That’s on your birth certificate and everything?” I asked.
He laughed at my reaction. “It’s okay, I’m surprisingly fine with it now. I’ve been going by PJ too, because people get all weird about saying Princeton over and over. Either works.”
“What’s the ‘J’ stand for? Johns Hopkins?” I joked.
“Jing actually,” he sassed back. “Thank God it’s not Johns Hopkins . . . I’ll save that for my own children.”
I chuckled. “Your first and last name sounds like a fancy adverb. Princetonly. He handled his numerous social engagements in a
princetonly
fashion.”
He laughed. PJ was such a good sport.
“I’m Grace.” The girl next to him squeezed my hand and offered a firmer handshake than PJ’s.
Ethan noted, “They’re in ASA with me. And we promise not to keep trying to recruit you, although the more Asians, the merrier.”
PJ groaned at Ethan’s comment, which made me grin.
Grace asked, “Are you a transfer?”
I had toyed with the idea of acting like I’d transferred to Carlthorpe from somewhere else as a viable cover story, but I didn’t want to add any more complexity to my life, seeing as how I had to go by Lil now because I couldn’t think on my feet. How did pathological liars make stuff up so well and stay committed?
“It’s a long story, but I used to go here, and now I’m back.”
PJ said, “Oh, so you transferred out and returned.”
Not at all. But I didn’t want to explain myself. Luckily, I didn’t have to, because while we were chatting, the professor had entered the room.
“Let’s get settled so we can start on time, class!” Doc huffed as he made his way to the podium.
I had to admit, the first CS classes about making code easy to understand were interesting, and I couldn’t wait to learn more. I loved how the professor was such a passionate teacher and gave interesting, real-world examples. Time flew by, and it wasn’t until he checked his watch and said, “Oops, I’ve gone over, sorry about that. Class dismissed!” that I realized the hour-long class had ended. That’s how good of a professor he was.
Ethan packed up quickly. “See you at the Commons, we’ll
be in the back corner table working on this week’s problem set. If the TA gives you any tips or cheats, you have to tell us, okay?”
The room dispersed, and I checked how I looked in selfie-mode on my phone before rising to my feet. I’d seen better days, but I looked presentable at least. Trudging toward the door, I thought about how there was no way to avoid my past while taking classes here again, and I knew it had potential to get messy. But Jake Cho as my TA . . . really? This was the universe giving me two middle fingers. One for Jake. One for Cho.
He was waiting for me right outside the auditorium.
To my surprise, he offered a wide smile when we made eye contact. Like, the corners of his mouth pulled up to his sparkling eyes, making my heart squeeze a little.
“My God, it really
is
you,” he breathed.
“Yeah.” My cheeks surged with heat from both anger and embarrassment.
We stood still, not knowing how to physically greet each other. A handshake would be awkward between two people who had seen each other naked. No hug—it would be too familiar and intimate.
And that left nothing, so we did that. Nothing. It was a huge relief.
He said, “I have so many questions. Wanna walk next door to the Commons and grab a coffee?”
“That seems fine,” I answered. Our walking strides started out at different paces but after a few seconds he walked in sync with me.
Jake held open the door to the café. “I noticed your name when the class roster was published, but I never in a million years thought it would actually be you. I assumed it was another Lily Lee, but then I saw you with my own eyes.” He gulped. “So . . . you’re back at Carlthorpe? Is this for a new book project or something for your series?”
Wow, he’d revealed so much in just a few sentences. He’d kept track of me and my career this whole time?
I paused before passing through the entryway. What was the point in chitchatting like this? Surely this was as painful for him as it was for me. Why not be like two coworkers who accidentally hooked up at a holiday party and then had to see each other at work the next day?
Let’s not do this, Jake.
“It’s a really
long
story. You might need to cancel classes for the week to hear the abridged version,” I replied.
He smiled. “I have time.” He got himself a black coffee and added a packet of sugar. “You still drink that coffee-flavored chocolate milk?”
He still remembered?
“I like my coffee that way.” It was how I coped with not having two Cokes every day in college, and I never shook the habit.
Jake smirked. “It’s very gross and endearing, which makes it memorable.”
I couldn’t resist a little dig. “And I see you’re still keeping up with the latest shorts fashion?”
He stuck his right foot out. “This pair I’m wearing was on sale at REI. It has so many pockets that I lose everything in them.”
“It’s like the game Memory? Always opening and closing all the pockets?”
“Exactly.” When the conversation drifted to awkward silence, he asked again, “So . . . you’re here . . . because?”
I stared at the menu on the wall and took a while to order my drink. It gave me time to think about my answer.
It’s none of your business
, I wanted to say, but the truth was, it
was
his business once I landed on his class roster. But until I could switch out of his CS course and into another STEM class, I was stuck with Jake as my TA. My goal at the moment was to end this conversation as soon as possible without seeming rude, and never talk to him again. And ideally also score a free iced coffee if I played this right.
The barista called out “Lila!” before I could respond to Jake. She placed my iced coffee on the counter. I took it and walked to the checkout line.
“Let me get it,” he said, fumbling for his wallet for a few seconds too long.
“It’s okay, I’ll pay.”
The clerk keyed in the codes for our drinks and I swiped my temporary ID.
BUZZ.
A giant X appeared on the card swiper. I swiped again, and was denied a second time.
She swiveled the monitor so I could see why the ID was rejected. “Photo expired.” Pointing to the image on the screen, she commented, “You need to get another ID picture at the registrar.”
Jake looked over my shoulder. “Oh wow, that’s from over ten years ago.”
It was a color photo from my senior year, when I had thick bangs, a smattering of forehead acne from said thick bangs, and a pre-Invisalign smile. At least I looked happy. Like someone who didn’t know she would have to repeat college.
I couldn’t even play this off. I was mortified, and I had no cash on hand.
Jake skirted around me and, with one quick move, swiped his card, and shoved his ID in his pocket. The monitor flashed with his TA credentials and a gorgeous photo of Jake 2.0 appeared. Strong jaw. Mischievous, borderline naughty smile. And God, that hair.
He grabbed both of our drinks before I could say anything. I followed him as the checkout clerk called out to me, “Don’t forget to get a new picture, or this will keep happening to you.”
Trust me, lady, I’m getting this fixed right away. The last thing I needed was my senior year cherub, pimply face haunting me every time I used my dining points.
“Don’t feel bad. When I became a PhD student, they used my old undergrad photo for a while. Apparently the ID picture expires after a certain number of years, like a driver’s license or passport. Needless to say, my picture wasn’t nearly as flattering as yours.” He was saying this to be nice, because he was not only cute in college, like he was now, but he was also one of those insanely photogenic people. He had angular
features that weren’t too sharp. Unlike me, where over time, my baby face had not only disappeared, but my jawline also never appeared. I had thought for so many years that when the baby fat on my cheeks melted away, my chin and jawline would reveal themselves. Ta-da! Well, no such luck.
Jake found a bistro table with two chairs situated near the front window. “Do you have time to sit? Only for five minutes, I know you’re busy with your book stuff.” For him to think I was here for research was certainly better than me explaining my actual situation, so I left it alone and didn’t correct him.
To avoid staring into Jake’s eyes, I took in the Commons surroundings as I drank my caffeinated chocolate milk. The Carlthorpe Commons was new, meaning it had been built over the last ten years, like the CS building. “This wasn’t always here, right? What did it replace?”
“Yeah, it’s newish. It replaced the old student center, remember that brick building that looked like a prison? This new complex is so much nicer: it’s where most of the clubs meet now. You can book rooms using an online reservation system and there’s plenty of space.” I glanced at him while he took a long sip. His proximity sent chills down my spine, which I wasn’t expecting at all after so many years. Meetings like this needed to be avoided at all costs.
One minute had passed. Just four more to go. Then it was adios, Jake.
He fidgeted with the coffee cup sleeve and stared intensely at the QR code on his drink. “I don’t even know where to
start, I actually rehearsed this last night and this morning, in case you said yes to meeting with me.” He took a deep breath in and then spoke really fast. “I’m sorry about how we left things. How
I
left things. It’s been over a decade and I . . . I’m just hoping that you can find a way to forgive me. And I know an iced coffee doesn’t cut it, but it’s a start, and I’m prepared to grovel and apologize and do whatever I can to get you to not hate me.”
My fingers tingled, then went numb. I had no idea how to respond to this unexpected apology. My brain went blank and I couldn’t think of anything to say. How was I supposed to answer after so many years of ignoring his calls and emails?
“J-just know that I’ve had a lot of time to think about everything between us and I feel like a total asshole. So if you can’t find it in your heart to forgive me, I’d love to be able to have a cordial TA and student relationship. Again, I know that’s a lot to ask. I’m rambling. I’m sorry.”
The long, weighty pause that followed made me feel like my next words should really count.
“Okay.”
“Okay, meaning . . . you’re okay with forgiving me? Or okay to being genial this semester?”
“I don’t know,” I mumbled. This was a lot to take in, and he finally took notice.
“I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. But thanks, Lily, for letting me speak my piece. I know I just sprung a lot on you.” He offered an apologetic smile. “I’m glad to see you’re
doing well. After graduation I was so lost. I actually became an Uber driver using my friend’s mom’s minivan, if you can believe it.”
His changing the subject was a relief. I let out a long breath while he continued. “For a while I made decent money too, but it got weird when people booked me to drop off large courier deliveries around town. At one point I was pretty sure I was transporting human organs or something, because the customer kept texting me and checking the whereabouts of the time-sensitive delivery of an Igloo container. That’s when I decided to get a more stable job in data mining and data science.”
“That’s quite a jump, from organ delivery to data analysis. It’s a hot field though,” I noted. “Data analysis, not the organ transportation. How’d you even do that?”
“I started out at the bottom. First for a small start-up company, which used AI predictive language to help dudes write breakup letters or texts to their girlfriends so they would sound more loving and heartfelt. I wish I were joking.”
My jaw fell. I didn’t want to be interested in his past, but I couldn’t help being intrigued by this. “That’s despicable . . . but fascinating. So, like, a guy would pay for a service to help them craft these letters so they weren’t so asshole-y?”
He nodded. “I worked on the apologetic language autocompletion. It’s not my proudest professional moment. Breaking up that way would be shitty.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
Speaking of that, are we really talking about breakups right now?
My face must’ve read murderous because he changed the subject again. “After a few months I moved on to a junior data analyst role at a mattress company.”
“Customer data? Or product data?”
His eyes widened. “I didn’t expect you to be such a numbers nerd. Usually when I say I worked at a mattress company people make sleeping and snoring jokes.”
I shrugged. “I’m a well-rounded nerd, thank you very much, I’m both a qualitative and quant type. And I always love bed talk.”
As soon as I said it, I blushed.
Jake’s cheeks reddened but he didn’t look away. His dark brown eyes glinted as he smirked at my comment.
I cleared my throat. “So anyway, a mattress company. I would say tell me more about the business, but you’re right, that actually sounds boring.”
He leaned forward. “Well, hear me out. All of their mattresses were custom and used smart technology. So you could set preferences on firmness, base positions, temperature controls, you name it.”
“That still sounds boring.”
His eyes twinkled as he leaned forward, signaling there was more to come. “I knew everything about the customer. Sleeping habits, duration of rest, and even when they were having sex.”
I nearly spat out my coffee. “You mean, how many times?”
He cocked his head. “Yes. And think about the type of data a mattress company could collect other than frequency.”
“Duration?”
He raised a suggestive eyebrow.
“Um . . . vigor?”
His mouth pressed tight. “I shot up the ranks at that company because I was the best sex analyst around.”
From the first moment I laid my eyes on Jake, long ago when we both grabbed a bag of cuttlefish chips at an ASA meeting, I’d been attracted to him. He was charming and boyishly handsome, and knew how to make me laugh, which was by far one of the most attractive features in a man. But as soon as he said “sex analyst,” something inside me flicked the “on” switch, and just like that, he almost reeled me back in.
No, Lily. No.
He continued. “I learned a lot about security and privacy then, which is why I never put anything on the internet.”
Well, this explained why he was essentially a ghost online.
“That’s where I learned SQL and taught myself how to code. But I learned in an unstructured environment, where I had to do everything myself. I was good at what I did, but it was all homegrown. I knew that with proper instruction and guidance, I could do so much more.”
“You want to dream big and be the best sex analyst in the universe,” I said dryly, managing to keep a straight face.
He put the lid back on his drink. “Something like that. I’m good at it! I want to be the very best, and I want to teach the next generation of sex analysts.”
I hated to admit it, but it felt good to joke around like in the old days. And for a fleeting moment, I’d forgotten why
we’d broken up in the first place. Forgotten why I hadn’t contacted him for all these years. But then I remembered he was my TA, and scooted back farther into my seat.
He tore a corner off his napkin and wadded it into a tiny ball. “There’s also a selfish reason I’m back in school. I’m tired of working in the real world. All of my friends are married and having kids, or really far into their careers, and I felt like I was drifting. Not in an aimless, confused way. But I wanted to accomplish something and claim it as mine.” He sighed. “Even with a PhD though, I still don’t think I know what to do until I retire.”
Did everyone our age feel like they weren’t quite where they were supposed to be? I could definitely relate. “It’s weird how you graduate and then they thrust you into the real world without any practical skills. And then before you know it, you’re thirty-something, or older even, and wonder where all the time went. Wondering if you were doing what you were put on this Earth to do. Learning skills and hoping you’re getting paid what you’re worth.”
He nodded. “That’s why I was so happy to see that you became an author after vaulting to the top of the corporate ladder. I don’t remember you taking English or journalism classes. And you definitely weren’t a staff writer nerd for the college paper like I was.”
He failed to mention he quit the paper after two semesters as he continued. “It’s impressive, everything you’re doing. Makes me think that it’s okay to not just do one thing in life. Or that it’s okay to try new things long after you graduate.” His lips quirked up as he took a sip from his cup.
I sighed. “The career rat race is mostly just a rusty, squeaky old hamster wheel going nowhere.”
He responded, “Truth.”
Being an adult was hard, and you didn’t get many chances to try different paths once you were on one. Sometimes changing meant giving something up, or being penalized by having to start at the bottom again. And as years passed, these trade-offs became less appealing, not to mention it was much harder to change direction after you turned thirty. I knew about this firsthand.
I assured him, “You might think it’s cowardly to duck out of the never-ending corporate slog and try something new, but I think you’re brave with your career change.”
“Well, I think you’re brave too.”
My gaze traveled the room for any onlookers, to make sure no one was getting the wrong idea. Not that there was anything between us. Not anymore at least.
Most of the tables were occupied with clusters of students who were on their phones, not only ignoring Jake and me, but also disregarding one another. Over in the far back corner, I made eye contact with Ethan.
Oh no. I’d forgotten about him. Them. My CS group.
Icy cold prickles flooded my body, making me involuntarily shiver as a sense of guilt swept over me. I couldn’t tell from Ethan’s expression how he was reading this situation. Was it clear we were just TA and pupil, and nothing more? Was there anything to misconstrue? In any case, I needed to end my conversation immediately with Jake. It would be a bad idea to keep things too friendly and familiar between
us. The last thing I needed to do was to kick up rumors and draw attention to myself.
I scooted back my chair and rose to my feet. “Thanks for the coffee and the walk down memory lane. I need to meet up with my group to work on the next assignment.”
His smile fell. “Oh, I was hoping we could—” Jake saw me nervously glance over at Ethan’s table. “Well, maybe another time. It was really nice seeing you again. If you need any help on the homework let me know. And if your group has questions about using VS Code on the SEASnet Windows Server, you can text me. Or stop by my office hours tomorrow. Room 1001011.”
Right, I forgot about the binary code.
He texted his contact info and we pushed our chairs under the table. After saying our quick goodbyes, we parted ways.
I nearly tripped over my own feet as I rushed over to Ethan’s table. “So sorry I’m late. I met up with Jake . . . er . . . Jacob. I knew him from a long time ago, we go way back. It’s wild seeing him here at Carlthorpe. Anyway, what’d I miss?” I spoke with too much enthusiasm, a sign I was hiding something, or flat-out lying.
Calm the eff down, Lily.
“We were just building the executable from the program,” Grace said, smiling at me. “Except PJ, he was watching YouTube.”
“Hey! I was browsing videos to see if anyone had posted content about this assignment or something similar, thank you very much. I’m sad to report that we’re on our own for this one.” He slammed his laptop shut and groaned.
Grace sighed. “Not every class is going to have a teacher’s
edition textbook or video with answers.” She rolled her eyes. “Can we just get this done so I can have the weekend free?”
Ethan cleared a section of the table so I could sit. “Have you had a chance to look at the assignment? It’s harder than I thought it would be.”
I flipped open my laptop, skimmed the syllabus, and clicked the link to the homework. “Looks like he’s a stickler on the requirements. We can’t include any extra files or misspell anything in our final deliverable. Yes, I understand what he’s looking for.”
PJ’s eyes widened. “Wow, well, I’m glad you’re with us. I think I’m in over my head.”
We spent the next hour going over the assignment and making sure we were all meticulous and on the same page. The four of us worked really well together and each of us added something to the conversation. Although as far as comprehension went, I had the strongest affinity for the materials covered in the lesson, probably because one of the many hats I’d worn at my last corporate job was working as a liaison between the product and dev teams. One of the programmers had written their mantra on their department hallway: “We write slick, tight code!” It rang vaguely offensive to a few people at the company so they had to take it down, but I knew what they meant. And this class was all about simplicity, efficiency, and attention to detail. These were three things that I valued highly, especially in a work setting. The class material clicked with me, more than any coursework had in the past.
Ethan closed his laptop. “Homework done. Weekend free. This is amazing.”
Grace asked me, “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
I shrugged. “Sure, fire away.”
She prompted, “So . . . are you getting a post-bac degree? I’m not saying you’re old but—”
PJ sniggered while playing a mobile shooter game on his phone. “Wow, that’s a rude question. And you kind of just did.”
Ethan said unconvincingly, “Age is just a number, Grace.”
Honestly, you’d think I was fifty-two and not thirty-two by the way they were talking. I was only ten years older, maybe eleven. When I was at my last company, I’d worked with interns and recent college grads every day and would like to think I could still carry myself in a nongeriatric fashion. They’d invited me to lunch and happy hours sometimes, which was the ultimate nod of approval, right?
Grace held up her hand to PJ’s face, signaling for him to shut his trap. “Let me explain where I’m going with this, without your mansplaining.”
PJ mimed that he was zipping his mouth, and he and Grace laughed together. Clearly they had a good relationship, and she could put him in his place when needed.
“Maybe you’re right and my words came out wrong, let me try again with adding context. I went to Seoul International Prep, one of the expat schools in Korea where most of the teachers are from the States. I was born in Florida but moved to Seoul when I was four. I see myself as equally Korean and American, and I wanted to know if I should call
you Lil or sunbae or unnie.” She shot a look at PJ. “My question comes from a place of respect, not insult.”
I’d been around Korean American people my entire life, mostly peers and elders, and I’d never been in such an awkward position where my being the oldest in a group would need clarity around honorific titles. Just as she didn’t know whether to call me “older sister” or her “senior,” I didn’t know if calling all of them hubae, my junior, was appropriate now that this hierarchy issue had come up.
Mia was going to laugh her ass off when I told her about this. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me.
“Well, I’m open to whatever you’d want, but I personally like to think of myself as a peer. And I know I’ve been pretty quiet about my reasons for being in the class, and I can share my long story another time, maybe over lunch soon? I promise it’s innocuous, and not because I murdered someone at my last school and transferred here.”
We continued to joke around, my answer seeming to placate the three of them. And it bought me some time to think about what parts of my background I was willing to offer up to people I didn’t know well. The more people who knew about my circumstances, the riskier it was.
Grace said, “I’ll call you Lil then!”
I let out a small groan. “Actually, could you all please call me Lily? That’s also another part of the story that I’ll explain later.”
She smiled. “I’m okay with that. Are you taking classes in the college or in the School of Professional Studies?”
“Just college. I have the CS class with all of you, the statistics course I’ve been auditing is in the college program too, and so is my Building a Global Audience and Influencer Culture elective sociology class.” It wasn’t as rigorous for me as my other coursework, and I figured I could keep it as a buffer in case the dean was wrong again about my degree completion requirements.
Grace asked, “Why are you auditing the stats class?”
I bit my lip and looked at Ethan. How forthcoming could I be with these new classmates? “I’m hoping someone drops out so I can enroll. It’s a course that covers things I already know from my last corporate job—surveys and data analysis—so it would probably be an easy A.” What I left out was that I would drop out of CS if I got into stats. No need to alarm anyone.
PJ threw his phone on the table. “My battery died.” He looked at Ethan. “So I guess we meet up for the next assignment next week? Same time, same place?”
Ethan stacked our trash on his tray. “Yes, unless you have something better to do.”
As I got up from the table, my knees cracked loudly, like the first kernel exploding inside a microwave bag of popcorn. They never did that in my twenties. I was officially “snap-crackle-pop joints” years old.
When someone’s stomach growls, people usually pretend they don’t hear, and these new friends of mine extended the same courtesy with my cracking knees. Not only did my buddies have quiet joints, but all three also had sky-high
metabolisms. Ethan and PJ had each inhaled two slices of pizza and a jumbo Coke, leaving only a few bites of crust, while Grace ate a full burrito with sour cream and guacamole, then washed it all down with a strawberry lemonade.
Outside, I waved to them. “I’ll see you in class.” Ethan and PJ went to the library, Grace headed to the gym, and I walked to the registrar to take a new photo and get a new ID.
On my way home, I snapped a picture of my new badge and sent it to Mia. It was so bad I knew she’d get a kick out of it. It was like they took my cringy old senior year ID photo and used age progression software to add ten prison years. As I turned the key for the front door, my phone buzzed.
Mia.
Hottest 32 yo undergrad student on campus!
Mia again.
Eat your heart out, Jake Cho
Yes, eat your heart out, Jacob.