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“These ghosts, they’ve always followed you. The ones who were too bitter to move on. You’re their unfinished business. I’m sorry I never told you. I thought it would be too big a burden.”

Miyoung’s hand shook, and she balled it into a fist. She knew Nara spoke the truth, that she had kept this from Miyoung to protect her.

“These ghosts are my problem,” Miyoung said. “They’re my burden.”

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I wonder,” Nara said, “why you can’t seem to trust anyone. Is it your mother?”

“My mother cares about me. I’m all she has.”

“She forces you to be alone because she doesn’t trust the world. But she had hundreds of years to make that choice. Did you really have a choice at all?” Nara’s sad eyes entreated Miyoung. But if Miyoung admitted the truths in Nara’s observations, she’d be giving up on the facade of control she’d worked so hard to build.

“I like being alone,” Miyoung said. But she heard the lie in her voice. No matter how good she was at lying to others, she could never master the skill of lying to herself.

23

JIHOON HALF EXPECTEDMiyoung to be absent again at school the next morning. When he saw her dark hair curtained around her slumped form, he couldn’t hold back the smile of relief.

Other kids sat in small whispering groups, their eyes tracking to Miyoung. He sighed and hoped the rumors of their “relationship troubles” would die down soon. It was taking everyone longer than normal to get over this gossip.

A shuffle of activity by the back door of the classroom drew his attention to Baek Hana.

She was hunched over, cradling a heavy object in her arms. Her friends rushed over, speaking in hurried whispers. One pulled out her phone and positioned herself in the corner, a prime viewing spot.

Hana homed in on her target with a leer.

Miyoung sat with her head down, scribbling notes, oblivious.

Jihoon sprinted down the row as Hana held up a large jar, goo already dripping. Jihoon grabbed Miyoung, cradling her under his body. Mung bean paste slid cold down his back, into his collar, down his shirt.

“Ya!” Hana yelled. “What’s your problem, Ahn Jihoon?”

The room was silent in the aftermath, kids staring at the spectacle.

Hana still held the jar, unpoured mung bean paste sitting in the bottom. Jihoon yanked it away in case she got any ideas. “Get out of here before I call the teacher.”

“Why are you protecting her?” Hana asked. “Is she really your yeo-chin?”

“Yeah, she’s my girlfriend. So lay off.”

The room paused, like no one knew how to react. It was the first time Jihoon had ever made the claim aloud.

Miyoung stood up suddenly. The force banged her chair against the desk behind her. She glared at Jihoon, her eyes dark, unreadable. Then she swung past him and out of the room.

24

MIYOUNG SHIVERED ASan early winter wind swept into her jacket. She sat on the steps beside the sports field, watching the kids who braved the cold to play soccer. The cold was a weirdly effective tool against the ghosts that still swung in and out of her peripheral vision. Like it slowed them down. She shoved her hand into her pocket and wrapped her fist around the talisman she’d bought from Junu. It helped ease the incessant buzzing in her ears.

She didn’t even glance up as Jihoon sat. He pulled out a banana milk and held it toward her.

Miyoung looked at it with a frown, feeling a sense of déjà vu from when he offered her a pair of headphones.

“I have two. It’s a waste if you don’t drink one,” Jihoon said.

She tried to reject it, but he wrapped her hands around the banana milk, holding them cupped between his. The warmth of his palms seeped into her cold skin.