Gilded (13 page)

Michelle’s eyes flick over to our left. “So when are you going to make your move?”

I follow her gaze to the Dragon Plaza. It’s a mammoth ski house, designed similarly to our hostel but with a whole lot more stone, glass, and peaks.

Michelle nudges me. “Not the lodge.
Him.
”

The “him” she is talking about is Marc, leaning against one of the lodge’s massive white pillars and hanging out with the high school guys.

He came. But what unnerves me is that he isn’t laughing and joking with his buddies. He’s looking at me, hands jammed in his pockets, and his black ski jacket flaps open to reveal a gray sweater underneath.

A thrill shoots through me.

“Are you just going to stand there?” Michelle asks.

I’ve somehow gotten myself into such a wreck that I know if I talk to him I’ll make a complete fool of myself. I scuttle ahead of the girls, now giggling at my back, doing my best not to look at Marc as I pass by. Silently I remind myself over and over that I don’t have time for a relationship. Somehow I’m going to get back to L.A. and leave all this behind. No hard good-byes. No heartaches.

When I enter the ski rental shop the bell dings, signaling my arrival. It’s warm in here from the kerosene heating lamps scattered around the room. The smell of it, mixed with leather and worn boots, makes me a little dizzy. I head to the counter and order my ski boots as Michelle sidles up next to me.

“Where’s Lily?” I ask.

“Talking with Kumar,” Michelle narrows her eyes. “You’re in denial. You like him.”

“I thought you were a peace activist, not a matchmaker.” I pick up my skis and head to the bench to change boots.

When Michelle sits next to me, I find myself bristling even before she opens her mouth.

“I can’t deal with boys,” I explain. “Things are too complicated right now.”

“I’m sorry.” She fumbles with her boot clip. “I know I need to stop trying to control everyone’s lives and putting everyone in neat, perfect boxes. I just want you to be happy. You’ve seemed so—”

“Stressed?”

“Yeah.” She gives me a half smile. “Plus, with my love life now a complete failure, I needed to—I don’t even know how to explain this.”

“You want mine to be a success.”

“Yeah.” Michelle wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. “I know. It’s lame. But if I can be a matchmaker, then I don’t have to think about my love life.”

“I’m sorry about Charlie.”

“Tell me about it.” She bends down to redo her straps, but I think she’s just trying to hide her tears. “I miss him. It was the hardest thing ever to leave him when we moved to Seoul. But I thought we were strong enough that nothing could tear us apart. I was so stupid.”

“Is the pain worth it?” I ask.

She hesitates. “I don’t know.” Then she clasps my hand and smiles at the ceiling. “Yeah, it is.”

After I’ve jammed my feet into my ski boots, the two of us wobble outside into the sun. Komo would flip if she knew I was out here on such a clear, sunny day. But all that seems so far away. I suck in a gulp of mountain air and feel as if I’ve finally escaped it all.

I clip on my skis. It’s been a long time since I’ve skied. I glide
forward, wobble, and fall onto my side. Okay, so maybe it’s been longer than I remembered.

Michelle and Lily laugh from behind as I brush off snow and pull my hat back into place. I join in their laughter and manage to stand up just as Marc skis over. He swooshes like a pro as snow sweeps in a wave in his wake. I absolutely can’t let him see me teeter-totter. So I lean on my ski pole and try to act all nonchalant by whipping out a quick wave and a casual nod.

“Hey.” He lifts his ski goggles to his forehead. “I see you decided to come after all. Don’t forget you’ve got hot chocolate duty with me tonight.”

Michelle and Lily casually glide away to the lift, which it doesn’t look like I’ll be attempting for some time. I notice a sly grin on Michelle’s face. I want to scream obscenities at her.
No!
I want to scream at their backs.
Don’t leave me here. Alone. With him!

But I can’t. I have to pretend I’m completely fine hanging out with Hotness here.

“You want to go down some routes together?”

As in the bunny slopes? Sure. That’d be a blast, Mr. Ski Goggles. “No, I think Michelle, Lily, and I are teaming up.”

“Really? Looks like they’re getting on the lift.”

And so they are. Craptastic. I try to run after them, but my skis cross, and I face plant into the snow. I cringe, not from the blast of cold that hits my face, but from my idiotic fall. At least the snow will have cooled my raging bonfire cheeks.

I lift my head and see a black-gloved hand reaching out. Any dignity I had five seconds ago vanished with that dive. I grab his
hand and let him help me up, but then my boot snaps out of the ski and I fall into Marc’s arms.

He steadies me. My face smashes into his chest. He’s so close, and I don’t pull away as fast as I should. But then, he doesn’t either. I press my hands against him to steady myself and feel his chest under my palm. My legs are Jell-O.

“You need to unsnap your ski,” he says. “You’re tangled.”

His face is close to mine, and I notice he’s got a slight dimple on his chin, too. He’d be at the perfect height to lean down and kiss me. The noise around me blurs, and all I can focus on is his lips and breath and presence.

Then I remember my aunt’s words about Haemosu’s jealousy. Would he hurt Marc?

I jerk back so fast, I stumble again. This time I must have turned the right way, because the ski sets me free and I can now wobble around like a normal person.

His eyebrows cock up. “Maybe I could give you a lesson.”

Tempting. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be hanging out at the Black Diamonds, so don’t let me slow you down.”

Some kids by the lodge call out Marc’s name. It’s Ryan and gorgeous Min of the Long Legs. Marc looks at me as if for some positive sign to stay, but I turn back to my skis and ignore him. He glides away, and somehow I manage my way, alone, to the ski lift.

Dad would’ve been pleased, and I should feel victorious with that sense of euphoria from overcoming temptation. I don’t. My heart is like the inside of a bamboo stalk: hollow. The ski lift jerks and I slide off the bench, but the cold metal bar keeps me
clamped in place. Wind rushes across my hot cheeks, and I close my eyes.

I almost kissed Marc. Out of the blue. In front of everyone. What had I been thinking? What must Marc think of me? My face burns as I remember how close our lips came to touching.

Pine tree forests spread below. They look soft and mossy, and I reach down my hands as if to brush my fingertips across the tips of them. I spot the sprawling Dragon Plaza below and the little black dots of the skiers. Wait a sec. Why does that other ski lift beside me deposit skiers off at intervals like a conveyer belt? Mine sure doesn’t. It just keeps going and going and freaking going. My heart sinks.

I’m such a moron! This lift doesn’t go to the beginner slopes. I’m headed directly for the black diamonds. I may be a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, but I’m definitely not a black belt in skiing.

The station to get off is fast approaching, and another thought hits me. I don’t know how to get off this thing! I search through my memories. I come up with nothing. Knowing my luck, I’ll break a bone by falling off the lift. I’ll be the laughingstock of the entire eleventh grade.

I brace myself as the bar lifts. The ski patroller standing there waves his arm, saying something I can only guess is “Get off, you idiot!”

I push myself and slide down the little incline. It takes me a few moments to realize I did it. But my elation is short-lived as my eyes take in the slope labeled
Rainbow Run
in front of me.

Cliff would be the more appropriate word.

People pay money to leap off of that?
I wonder how they can
allow condoned suicide. It can’t be legal. Two skiers skim up to the edge of The Cliff, adjust their goggles, and disappear.

I glance around for another slope down, but I don’t see any other way.

The Cliff it is. I suppose if I can wear a pink
hanbok
in front of a thousand people, I can leap off a cliff, too. I swish to the edge, and my heart squeezes so tight that my arms grow numb. And then my legs. And my brain.

No. I can’t get scared over some stupid cliff. I’m better than that. I ease onto my bum—it’s the only way—and as soon as I sit, snow seeps through my jeans and I wish I’d opted for snow pants. I focus on slithering down, my skis straight in front, and keeping my back against the ground. Inch by inch I grow closer to the bottom, which is all I can think about. Getting to the bottom. I’m at the edge, out of skiers’ range, but I know any minute someone could come barreling into me.

I’m halfway down and nearly to the path below (which thankfully looks more like a ski run than my current suicide mission) when I hear someone calling my name above. I glance up. It’s Marc and Gorgeous-Perfect-Body Min floating past in the lift. And they’ve spotted Wet-Butt Me. I wonder when this day of complete embarrassment will end. She snuggles in closer to Marc and points my way, a gloating smile on her face. My chest tightens, and I’m not sure if it has to do with the snuggling or my current situation. Probably both.

There’s no way I’m letting him see me going down on my bottom. I jerk to a wobbly standing position and focus forward, but not before I see Marc’s look of shock as he spots me.

There’s only one thing to do to save my image. I dig my poles into the soft snow and push.

I ski straight down the last bit of The Cliff. My hair snaps across my face. The cold lashes against my cheeks. My nerves are totally fried. It’s what I suppose flying might feel like, and oddly, I love it. The danger, the thrill, and the complete uncertainty of not knowing which bones I’ll break this time.

I expect to flip head over heels when I hit the bottom. I bend my knees to take the impact and tuck my poles under my arms. I land on both skis, but I’ve got a huge problem. I’m flying in a bullet-straight path down the mountain. How do I stop? Do I cross my skis? Or plant my poles in somewhere and hold on?

There’s a patch of trees to my left with clumps of bushes covered in snow. Possible landing gear, I decide. I tilt my body to the left and aim for the bushes.

I miss. A tree comes at me. I swerve to the right and then another quick left. It’s like the scene in
Return of the Jedi
where Princess Leia is trying to escape the storm trooper on her speeder. Only I don’t have Jedi reflexes.

I crash. And it’s not in the bushes. I hit a rock that sends me tumbling and rolling until I smash into a pine tree. The forest whirls around me in blurry stars. My hand and ankle scream in agony. I lie flat in the snow, willing my body to ignore the pain like I do in Tae Kwon Do class. The ringing in my ears dulls, and I can think.

I’ve broken something.

No
. I sit up and groan. I’ve broken two things: my wrist and ankle. Or maybe my ankle is just sprained. I want to hit something. I’m that angry about this stupid accident.

The wind tinkles a thousand chimes around me, and the trees waver like a mirage. I rub my eyes, wondering when the shock of the fall will fade away.

It doesn’t. It only intensifies. Heat pricks my skin, burning as hot as my screaming wrist and ankle. I push against the trunk of the tree to stand, and its sticky sap clings to my hand.

A movement catches my eye through the shimmering forest. I peer up to find a man standing there, his maroon robes swirling around him in the pulsating light. The same man who stole my arrow that night at the museum.

Haemosu.

I take in a sharp breath and lean against the tree for support. I know I should be freaking out; I know it’s
him
, and he’s got me trapped with my wrist and ankle probably broken. But for some reason I find myself spellbound.

“
Annyeong haseyo,
my princess,” Haemosu says, a smile lighting his eyes, as warm as honey. “You are even more beautiful than I remembered.” His hair is pulled back in a topknot that accentuates his high cheekbones. He has the air of a king.

Warmth drenches over me, and it’s as if nothing could be more perfect than this moment. Somewhere deep in the back of my brain I remember how Komo said that my best chance to defeat Haemosu is in our world. How convenient for him that we meet when I’m practically crippled.

“You speak English?”

He chuckles. “Just one of my talents, dearest.”

“Nice bow,” I say, noticing his horn bow. “Hunting?” I wonder what kind of marksman he is. And if he’s here to kill me.

“Ah, I knew you would like the bow. Do you wish to try it?”

“I’ll pass.” Why do I get the feeling he’s trying to impress me? He hardly seems like the evil villain Grandfather makes him out to be. Maybe Grandfather and Komo are wrong about Haemosu. “I should be going.”

I try to shuffle backward, using the tree for support. I grit my teeth, determined for him not to notice I’m injured.

“But I have been waiting so long for you.” He reaches out his hand. I stare at his fingers, remembering Komo’s warning not to touch him.