Christina Farley - Gilded

Not here.

Here I’m drowning. My IB courses, which are like the international version of my Advanced Placement courses in the States, are sending me into caffeine addiction. I never thought I’d actually admit to missing AP classes. Going to the museum instead of doing my usual three hours of homework last night only made things worse.

“So spill about the nightmare,” Michelle says.

“Nightmares,” I correct her, and press my finger on the scanner to deduct money from my account. “One: I had to wear a hanbok that made me look like a pink flamingo. Two: my grandfather proclaimed his abhorrence for me. Well, his face did, at least. Three: Marc was there. And four: I lost my lucky arrow.”

“ Abhorrence ! Great SAT word.” Michelle stops to add it into her cell phone.

I roll my eyes. This is the kind of obsession I deal with every day at this school. Where it’s cool to have a vocab app on your phone. Most of the students here have been attending night school, called hagwon , since they were in elementary school, all in preparation for the dreaded SAT. I’m convinced I’ve landed on a different planet.

I head to our usual table by the windows.

“Where are you going?” Michelle pokes me with her chopsticks. “Remember? NHS lunch meeting today?”

I groan. Why did she have to be so responsible? I can’t believe she even roped me into National Honor Society. Not only do I so not belong there, but I don’t have time for it. I can barely keep up with my studies since we moved to Seoul. Dad said it would all even out as I acclimated. Right. He isn’t enrolled at an international school, where every student is Harvard-bound. Everyone except me.

Besides, eating in the Biology room always makes me feel a little queasy.

“We’d better hurry or we’ll be late.”

She’s right. Mrs. Freeman’s classroom is on the other side of the campus on the third floor.

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll go.”

We breeze out of the deli through the automatic glass doors and into the crowded hallway. Seoul Foreign School isn’t much different from my high school back in L.A. except it’s four stories tall and the designers of the school must have been obsessed with glass and chrome. We’re crossing one of the catwalks where either side is walled in with glass when Michelle freezes.

“Wait. Did you say Marc was there?”

I decide to skirt the topic of Marc. Just thinking of him makes my hands sweat.

“Which reminds me”—I continue walking—“I’m dropping out of NHS.”

Her eyes pop out. You’d think I was about to commit a crime or something.

“Let’s face it,” I continue. “I’d never have qualified here. I was lucky to be nominated back in L.A. Don’t flip; I’m staying in until after the ski trip.”

“Give it one more month,” Michelle says as we enter Mrs. Freeman’s room. I nearly gag as I breathe in the shock-awful smell. “You’ve got to give yourself more time to get used to things here. NHS is our ticket to do something meaningful with our lives. Besides, it gets you service hours for IB.”

I shift the pile of food in my hands, thinking about her words. Michelle is into believing we all have a purpose. She’s already spearheaded two food drives for the tsunami victims and personally delivered a truckload of school supplies to an orphanage in the Philippines. I’m just not sure how I fit into all that. I’m not sure how I fit into anything right now.

My thoughts scatter as I spot Marc laughing with Kumar at one of the tables. With his rumpled brown hair and tight black T-shirt, Marc looks even hotter than last night. Yep. I need to quit. Too much time with this boy will only make me want to be with him more. Besides, Dad is dealing with too much to have another ulcer over me dating a non-Korean.

“What’s Marc doing here?” I whisper to Michelle.

“Apparently Mrs. Freeman has been recruiting.”

That explains why the room is so packed. Marc’s gaze finds me. A lazy grin passes across his face, and I know, I just know he’s remembering me in that dress. Somehow I break eye contact.

“Right.” I take a deep breath and move to leave. “This sounds like the perfect day to quit.”

“Please don’t.” Michelle latches on to me. Then, noticing Marc, she whispers, “I could arrange a private tutor for you. As in Marc. He’s off-the-charts smart.”

I give her my cringe look. “Don’t even think about it. He’s cute, but dating isn’t an option for me. Speaking of which, how did your call with Charlie go this morning? You need to tell me all about it.”

Her face drops, and I bite my lip, instantly regretting my words. They had promised to stay together no matter what, but since she moved to Seoul, he hasn’t been good about keeping in touch.

“He must have forgotten or fallen asleep.” She checks her Skype account on her phone and shrugs. “The time difference is tricky.”

“Yeah.” I nod, trying to be upbeat, but deep down I decide Charlie has just entered my black list. “That has to be it. Michigan is like fourteen hours difference. I bet he’ll call tonight.”

She presses her lips together and stares at her phone.

“Listen,” I say, feeling awful for her. “I’ll stay today and cheer you up.”

Meanwhile, Min breezes past us, her Calvin Kleins showing off long, perfect legs—the complete opposite of mine. She slides onto the stool next to Marc and passes him a juice, batting her eyelashes at him. I think I actually hate her.

“Perfect.” Michelle beams and blows me a two-finger kiss. “Ciao!”

She clips away to the far table next to Lily and all the gross science experiment stuff. She knows I can’t stand eating near that formaldehyde smell. But once she sits, I realize there’s only one stool left in the entire room. And it’s directly across from Marc.

The little devil.

If I had opened a fortune cookie this morning, it would have said: “You are destined for eternal punishment.” Or something awful like that.

“Jae Hwa!” Mrs. Freeman says, brightening as I edge to the table. “I was worried you wouldn’t come. I had you on my list to help hand out flyers for the ski trip. Has your dad given you permission to go?”

I don’t bother telling her he’s too busy even to notice when I’m home or not. “Yes.”

“Great,” Mrs. Freeman says, and passes me the agenda. “Then we’ll start planning.”

Marc tilts his stool so far back, I’m actually worried for his safety. “Hey, Fighter Girl. Good job last night. And that dress. Wow. It was very—pink.”

“Pink?” Min pipes in. “I can’t even imagine you in such a color. You seem more inclined to dark, drab shades.”

I glare at her, thinking thoughts that would get me a first-class ticket to the principal’s office.

“Actually, it wasn’t that bad,” Marc says. “You really nailed that performance.”

Did Marc just give me a compliment? My face feels as if it’s turning as red as kimchi. I can slice through a stack of boards, but when it comes to compliments, I’m useless. I duck my head and pretend I’m searching through my backpack.

“Ignoring me now?” Marc grins, showing off that adorable dimple. “Hey, did you notice anything odd going on during the performance last night?”

I think about the wind and that weird guy who called me his princess and took my arrow. But there’s no way I’m going to let Marc think I’m crazy.

“No.” I flip my hair over my shoulder and try to channel a composed, mature me. “Why?”

“Just wondering.” It looks as if he’s about to say something more but instead he rubs his chin, apparently in deep thought. I notice he’s wearing a gold ring. Why is it that even a gold ring looks sexy on him?