Sori shakes me awake an hour and a half later and I see that we’ve pulled into a rest stop. Half of the students have already disembarked, and there’s no sign of Gi Taek and Angela.
“We have thirty minutes,” Sori says. “Hurry up, I have to pee.”
I quickly stand, letting Sori haul me off the bus.
Students from all the buses are making their way into a large single-story building, with cars and tourist buses parked outside it. Outside the rest stop, there’s a few food carts—one selling hot dogs, slathered in batter and fried, another selling manju, custard-filled walnut pastries in the shape of husks of corn. There’s also a coffee cart and several vending machines.
Inside the rest stop a food court offers a variety of ramyeon and udon to traditional Korean fare like bibimbap and hot soup dishes that you can order and pick up at different service counters. There’s also a fairly large convenience store. I spot Gi Taek and Angela inside, loading up on snacks and bottled drinks.
“Hey,” Sori says, “are you going to the bathroom?”
“No, I went before we left. Also my bladder isn’t as tiny as yours.”
She rolls her eyes and leaves in pursuit of the restrooms.
Most of the students are in the convenience store, with a few ordering hot meals at the counter. I’m still full from the gimbap, so I head outside in search of that coffee cart.
A few of the other people at the rest stop have the same idea because the line is long. Luckily, it moves pretty fast, and in about five minutes I’m at the front. I order a latte and reach for my wallet.
Which isn’t on me, but where I left it, in my backpack on the bus. I don’t have to look behind me to know that the amount of people has doubled from when I first got in line. Right after, a Japanese tour bus arrived at the rest stop, letting out a lot of caffeine-dependent adults.
The vendor looks at me pityingly.
“I’ll pay for her.”
I almost have whiplash, with how fast my head turns.
Jaewoo casually leans against the counter. He hands over a credit card. “I’m paying you back,” he says, “for all that food you bought me in LA.”
“Oh, is that what’s happening?” I say, glad that my voice comes out normal, teasing, “Then I’d like to visit a few more stalls.”
He’s come. He’s here.
And he looks so good. He’s wearing a light-blue button-up shirt, his hair swept back from his face, and slick aviators.
“Student,” the vendor says, “your coffee?”
I turn to accept, blushing furiously.
Jaewoo and I leave the line, heading in the general direction of the buses. I’m suddenly overcome with a feeling of awkwardness. How am I supposed to act around him? The last time we were alone, we made out for half an hour on a swing set.
Of course right now we’re not exactly alone. Our classmates are within sight, most chatting outside the rest stop, a few running around in an effort to get their muscles loosened before we have to get back on the bus for another two hours.
“So,” I say, trying to act casual. “You’re going on the field trip?”
He doesn’t appear to have brought anything with him, a duffel or a backpack.
“Yeah, I was worried we wouldn’t make it. We just flew back from Japan this morning.”
“Do you do . . . promotions in Japan . . . often?”
A cry goes up behind us.
Outside the restroom, I spot Nathaniel surrounded by the group of Japanese tourists. He appears unfazed, throwing up peace signs and posing for selfies.
“Yeah,” Jaewoo answers. “Jenny.” He turns to me, a slight smile on his face. “I wanted to ask you—”
“There you are.” Sori practically barrels into me. “I was looking all over for you. I was sure I’d find you outside one of the food stands.”
“Ha, very funny.”
“Oh, Jaewoo,” she says, as if she’d just noticed he was standing right next to me. “I didn’t think you’d show up.”
“My manager dropped me off.”
“That’s nice. Well, Jenny and I have to be getting onto the bus. See ya!” She grabs my arm and pulls me away.
“Wait,” I start.
“Act natural.” Sori pinches my arm. “Look behind my left shoulder, what do you see?”
I follow her gaze despite being super annoyed with her. I haven’t seen Jaewoo in a few weeks. You’d think she’d let me have a moment alone with him. What was he about to ask me? “I see Jaewoo.”
“Oh my God, Jenny. Look farther.” Concentrating, I look beyond Jaewoo to where Jina and her friends are grouped together outside the rest stop. Jina has her phone out and it’s angled in our direction.
“Is she . . . ?”
“She could be taking photos, I don’t know. But you have to be more careful.”
I feel a chill run down my back. The idea that while Jaewoo and I were talking someone was watching us, taking photos of us, is disturbing, especially if the person is Jina, who for sure has only malicious intentions.
“Do you think she got any incriminating photos?”
“I don’t think so. You two weren’t standing that close. Plus I walked into the shot, and Jina wouldn’t dare post a photo with me in it. She might target me at school, but if she posted a picture, my mother would get involved, and . . . even Jina doesn’t want to piss off the CEO of Joah.”
I take Sori’s arm, squeezing. “I’m so glad you’re on my team,” I tell her. “You’re like my ace in the hole,” I add, in English.
“I have no idea what you’re saying. Speak Korean.” But then she adds in her cute accented English, “But, yes, I am ace.”
A few minutes later, Jina and her friends board the bus, whispering to each other as they pass by me, then Gi Taek and Angela, followed by Nathaniel and Jaewoo. The rest of our class is already on board, and at the sight of them, a cheer goes up. Nathaniel bows, and Jaewoo’s eyes scan the bus, as if in search of me. I sit lower in my seat. Can he be more obvious? Eventually they take seats in the front row, across from our homeroom teacher.
I wanted Jaewoo to come on this field trip, but now I’m not so sure. I thought leaving Seoul would give us opportunities to be together, but with so many of our classmates joining us, I think it might make things harder to keep whatever we have a secret.
Still, this is my first time outside of Seoul, my first time in the Korean countryside, and soon my excitement takes over and I push my worries to the back of my mind.
The landscape changes the farther we travel from the city. Beautiful swathes of farmland stretch for acres across a hilly terrain broken up by trees and country dirt roads. Farmers plant spring crops in the fields, shading their eyes with their gloved hands as they pause in their work to watch the train of buses rumble by.
An hour and half later we reach our destination. A sign that says National Park sits at the entrance of a large camping ground.
I’m surprised to see ten or so buses are already parked outside the campgrounds. It’s not just SAA that has their annual field trip at this time and location, but other high schools as well.
I’m slow to disembark, mostly because Sori takes her sweet time and she’s in the aisle seat. We’re the last off the bus, accepting our duffels from the driver, plus a shirt from one of the class monitors. Apparently we’re supposed to wear them during the trip so that our chaperones can keep track of us among the many other students present. Already kids are streaming through the entrance to the camping grounds, which is a nature reserve park with a dozen or so buildings and natural and historical sites.
A large map outside the grounds has a key with all the sites listed in Korean, Japanese, Chinese, and English. Besides the cabins, there’s a restaurant, a museum, a recreational facility, a park services building, and a café. There’s also a convenience store, because this is Korea.
The map also features drawings of a few landmarks. In the middle of the map is a bamboo forest and at the top right corner a blue oblong shape with cartoon reeds and frogs is marked with the words Pond of Tranquility.
“Let’s go to the cabin,” Sori says. She’d been studying the map alongside me, probably eyeing the hiking trails. “Floor space is limited. We need to stake our claim.”
I’m not exactly sure what she means until we’re standing outside our assigned cabin, which is more a one-story house built in the traditional Korean structure—or hanok—with a winged rooftop and sliding wood-paneled paper doors, than the log cabins of my childhood.
Similar to how our bus was grouped, our homeroom is combined with Angela and Gi Taek’s homeroom, so the twelve girls of their class are rooming with the twelve girls of ours. Which means twenty-four girls on the floor of a single—albeit long—room.
“This has to be a fire hazard,” I say.
From cabinets on the wall, we each pull out a bedroll and go about “staking our claim” to floor space.
Jina and her friends have already taken the spots closest to the door, presumably to make it easier for them to sneak out at night.
Sori on the other hand beelines for the window. Unfortunately for her, so does another girl. They eye each other before both diving for the same spot. It’s like an episode of Animal Kingdom. I would have teased Sori if Angela and I hadn’t joined in when we saw the girl’s friends backing her up.
When the dust settles, Sori’s by the window with me next to her and Angela horizontal right above our heads. The other girls are at our feet, where they belong. Muahaha.
“Jenny.” Gi Taek calls me over from where he’s standing by the doorway.
At his appearance, a few of the girls scream and cover their chests, though we’re literally all wearing the same outfits we wore on the bus, with none of us having changed into our T-shirts yet. Gi Taek just rolls his eyes.
I head over. “What’s up?”
“We have to sign up for activities. Wanna come with?”
I look over to where Sori is unpacking her duffel with Angela as an attentive audience, explaining each item as she pulls it out.
“Is that a humidifier?”
“Don’t ask.”
I follow Gi Taek out of the hanok into the small courtyard, then out onto a short, dirt path. According to the map, the students are all staying in the Folk Village, which is a replica of houses from the early Joseon period, separated by low stone walls.
“Boys are known to jump the walls at night to visit their girlfriends,” Gi Taek explains, like he’s a tour guide to Korean high-school life. Which I guess he kind of is.
The Folk Village is right next to the central area of the camp where the museum and the parks services building is located, as well as the convenience store and a fairly large outdoor stage.
The majority of the students are congregated here, and now I see why we were all given matching shirts. If it weren’t for the bright-red shirts that are printed with SAA, we’d likely get lost amidst the students from all the different high schools.
A girl in a turquoise and magenta shirt walks by with SPAHS, for Seoul Performing Arts High School, printed on the back. Another boy’s shirt reads: Yongsan Music School. The theme seems pretty straightforward.
Gi Taek leads me to the activity table and picks up a clipboard with a sign-up sheet. After reading it, he hands it over and I flip through the pages. Besides checking in with our homeroom teacher at night and in the morning, we’re pretty much free to do whatever we feel like. A few of the activities have a cap on how many people can go, like white-water rafting and cave exploring. But others, like a two-hour hike to a Buddhist temple, have an unlimited number of spaces.
There’s also a sign-up sheet for a talent show, which will take place during the only mandatory activity, a barbecue dinner for all of the visiting schools.
Gi Taek puts his name down on the sheet for the talent show, with “Dancing” beneath the talent category.
“What about you?” he asks. “Any activities catch your eye?”
“The hike to the Buddhist temple seems pretty cool.”
I hand Gi Taek back the sheet. As he’s browsing, I let my gaze roam my surroundings. Most of the activities don’t start for another hour, so most of the students are either unpacking in their cabins or heading out in groups to explore the nearby sites.
Outside the convenience store, I spot Jaewoo standing with Nathaniel and a few other boys from our class.
I glance around but when I don’t see any sign of Jina, I start walking in his direction. I’ll just ask him what activity he planned on joining. That’s casual enough, right?
I almost make it before two girls dart in front of me. They’re from another school, their T-shirts a flattering midnight-blue color.
“Oppa!” one says, and I narrow my eyes. I doubt she knows him well enough to call him oppa, a familiar term to address older male relatives or friends. “When I found out SAA would be on this field trip,” she continues, “I was so excited. I’m such a big fan of yours. I’m a member of the Kiss and Hug Club.”
All my annoyance and jealousy deflates.
She’s a fan.
And I was about to do something embarrassing, like telling her to back off.
“Thank you,” he says, then smiles.
I can practically sense the girl’s heart stop, only to start beating again, faster, because I’ve felt that same way, when he’s given me that very same smile.
I slowly back up, then turn around, sighing heavily. What if I go this whole field trip and the only time I talk to Jaewoo is at the rest stop?
“Jenny?”
I turn.
A boy stands behind me. At first I don’t immediately place his face. Then I remember. Ian. I met him the first morning I ever spent in Seoul. He gave me his phone number, but with school and Jaewoo, I never got around to texting him.
What is he doing here?
