“Jae?” Marc answers.
I let out a long breath just hearing his voice. “Yeah, it’s me. You okay? Did your parents flip?”
“I survived the gauntlet. You?”
“Yeah, the works. I called to make sure you were okay.”
He’s silent for a moment. “I’m good. You?”
“Not so much.”
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out like you wanted.”
“Tell me about it. I’m sorry about—” Where do I even begin? “Everything.”
“Don’t be. I’d do it all again,” he says.
“I’m leaving the country. It’s the only chance I’ve got left. So I guess this is good-bye.”
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
I close my eyes to push back the tears that really, really want to spill out. I can’t listen to what he has to say, because he’s become the best friend I’ve ever had and I can’t say good-bye to that. I grab my wallet and bow case, glancing around the room one last time. “Good-bye, Marc.”
“Wait!”
I hang up before he says another word. He calls back, but I ignore the ring and set my phone to silent mode. Then, clutching my bow case, I crack open my door, peeking into the living room. Dad’s bedroom door is closed, but I can hear him talking on his cell phone.
Now or never.
Tiptoeing, I head to the closet where we keep the safe, hoping Dad doesn’t open his door and find me rummaging for my passport. He’s never going to give me the combination to the safe in the future after this stunt. But why worry about the future if there probably isn’t going to be one?
I am sneaking across the room with my blue USA passport in hand to the entryway when I hear Dad’s bedroom door creak. I scurry back across the living room but only make it to the kitchen.
“Jae,” Dad says, and I notice his face looks worn and years older. “I know this has been a rough night, but I thought I’d order us some food.”
“Um—I’m not really in the mood,” I say, and then grab a box of cereal and a towel. I try to ignore the flash of disappointment that crosses his eyes or how his head hangs as he sags onto the couch. “I’ll just eat some of this after I clean my bow.”
Quickly, I close my door and toss the cereal box and towel on the bed, hoping he’ll buy my lame excuse. If I can keep Dad from following me until after I’ve gotten on the train, then he’ll be forced to take the next one and always be one step behind me. The last thing I need is for him to catch up with me and keep me from leaving the country.
I haven’t used the balcony escape route since the night I went to see Good Enough. I slip out the window, my nerves on edge, imagining Haemosu lounging against the railing with that awful grin on his face. But he isn’t, and I let out a sigh of relief.
Sneaking across the balcony is pure torture. At every creak I stop and stare at the sliding glass doors that lead to our living room. I’m half expecting Dad to slide it open and storm out. He’s going to be off-the-charts mad when he finds out I’ve run away. I want to think it serves him right for not believing me, but even still, a twinge of guilt slides around my stomach and up into my chest.
Once I reach the other end of our balcony, I know I still have two more balconies to cross. I adjust my bow so it won’t throw me off balance and take a deep breath. Then I swing over the railing and around the thin privacy wall—nine floors of distance stretching below me—and onto Mrs. Jung’s balcony.
But this is the first time I’ve been carrying a backpack and my bow case. Their weight throws me off balance. I tumble onto Mrs. Jung’s balcony and land on one of her potted plants, knocking it over. The clay pot shatters beneath me.
I freeze on the concrete floor and look into Mrs. Jung’s apartment; she never closes her sliding glass doors. “Mwuh?” she says, getting up from her mat where she watches her TV. “Who is there?”
I scramble to my feet and lean against the divider, my breath coming out heavy. I wait in the shadows, hoping she won’t come out onto the balcony. Laughter erupts from the TV. She picks up her phone. Great. She’s calling the police. I check my watch. I have only forty minutes until my train is supposed to leave. There isn’t time to go back to my room and wait.
It’s too high to jump, but if I get closer to the ground I could. I swing my legs over the railing and crouch down, my face pressed against the bars. I lower one leg and try to touch the balcony railing below. It’s just out of my reach.
Mrs. Jung comes closer, squinting through the screen door at the broken pot. I tighten my bow case against my back.
The balcony light flicks on. Holding on to the bars on Mrs. Jung’s balcony, I propel myself down into the balcony below, my heart racing. I land safely.
This has to be Mr. Chung’s apartment, because his yip-yap dog is there barking and pawing at the sliding glass doors. I can hear people talking behind the divider on the next balcony. The one that has access to the fire escape stairs.
There’s only one thing to do. Once again I leap over the balcony railing and in one swift motion swing myself down onto the seventh floor; but this time my balance is off-kilter, and I miss the balcony. Midair, I claw for the railing, and at the last minute my fingers wrap around its cold surface.
Dangling over the edge, I pull myself up to standing on the thin outer edge of the balcony. My pulse thuds in my ears. I can hear my neighbors talking to each other above. The police will arrive at any moment. I glance below me. Six floors. Can I jump that far?
Crap no.
I notice a building with a flat roof two balconies away. I shimmy myself along the outer edge of the balconies until I’m directly over the building. I toss my backpack down first and then strap my bow to my back. Taking a deep breath, I jump onto its roof, landing hard on my knee and rolling across its surface. Sirens cut the air. I don’t have much time. I leap to the ground. Finally feeling the concrete sidewalk sends a thrill through my body despite my throbbing knee. I need it.
I snatch up my backpack and limp straight to the subway station. My left leg aches from where I landed on it, but I ignore the pain. My senses are on full alert. Now that I know Haemosu’s appearances aren’t limited to the daylight hours, I can only hope I make it there without being kidnapped. Even though it only takes me fifteen minutes to get to Seoul Station, by the time I reach the ticket counter, I only have twenty minutes left to board.
I show the ticket attendant my passport while scanning the crowd for Haemosu’s face. Still no sign of him.
“Is there a ticket reserved for me?” I ask, drumming my fingers on the counter. Moments later I have a ticket in hand. Grandfather came through again. On the big electronic screen to my right, words pop up in red: LAST CALL: BUSAN.
I hurry past the groups huddled on plastic benches and head toward the turnstiles. The Korean fast-food vendors are pulling metal shades over their shop fronts, closing up for the night.
As I scurry down the concrete steps to the train platform, an icy gust whooshes across my face and blows my hat away. I turn to run after it, but I stop short. Marc, standing there in jeans and boots and with that mischievous grin, is holding my hat.
CHAPTER 34
“Looking for this?” Marc is holding up my hat.
I falter. “How—how did you know I’d be here?”
“Your grandfather.” He steps closer, wary. “That’s what I wanted to tell you on the phone. He asked me to accompany you to Busan. Said you needed someone mature and responsible to help you get there.”
I lift my eyebrows. “Mature and responsible? I think Grandfather has grown senile.”
I can’t deny that I was hoping he didn’t want me to leave. That he was here to tell me he loved me. I say, “What about the museum and your parents being furious?”