Page 28 of Somewhere Only We Know
“You’ve never had one before?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No. I guess I’m proving to be a boring Hong Kong resident.”
But instead of showing disdain, Lucky’s face cracked wide open into a smile, and the surprise of it made my breath catch in my throat. “I’ve never tried it, either. But I’ve always wanted to.”
Even when she pretended to be “normal,” Lucky had a star quality. The kind of quality that made people’s breaths catch in their throats.Don’t let her charm you, Jack. Stay focused.
When the food arrived—porcelain bowls full of steaming porridge topped with our marinated eggs—I no longer had Lucky’s attention. Her eyes locked onto her bowl like a tractor beam. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see the food get absorbed into her face.
And while she only had eyes for her food, I slid my phone out of my pocket. Under the table, I turned on the camera. When she dipped the long plastic chopsticks into the rice, lifting the bowl up to her face, I dragged the phone up toward the edge of the table, ever so slowly. And at just the perfect angle, I took a quick shot of her as she moved the bowl from her face. The light was still perfect, falling sharply on her features, dissecting half her face into shadow.
If she stuck around, this could be a story about a K-pop star escaping the confines of her life. Doing what she wanted. Like eating a localbreakfast in a tiny restaurant tucked away on the busy streets of Sheung Wan.
I put my phone away before she could catch me in the act. But she still wasn’t paying any attention to me, instead gazing worshipfully at the congee. “My God.” Her voice hit this low register that sent a jolt through my entire body. But then she held her spoon up in the air and exclaimed, “You are sooooo deeeeeeelicious!” She sang the words—expertly and clear as a bell. Obviously, she was joking around, singing to a bowl of porridge. But the caliber of her voice… It was like watching Serena Williams play tennis when you never watched tennis. One look at her playing against normal human beings and you knew you were witnessing something special.
I don’t know why I was surprised. Maybe because I always thought of K-pop stars as manufactured performers rather than actual singers. But sitting in front of me, serenading a bowl of porridge, was a true vocalist.
“You have a nice voice. No wonder you’re in that choir,” I said while glancing down at my food.
There was a beat of silence on the other side of the table as I poked my porcelain spoon into the hot and gelatinous porridge. “Thanks,” she said quietly, her effervescence suddenly bottled up again.
I worried that I might have scared her off. But when I looked up she was shoveling more food in her mouth, her eyes closed blissfully.
“Fern, youlovecongee,” I said with a laugh, breaking my boiled egg apart with my chopsticks.
“Bless this food and bless you for bringing me here,” she murmured as she wiped daintily at her lips with a tiny, thin paper napkin. Her face was flushed from the warmth of the food, or maybe it was fromthe pure joy of enjoying a quiet meal, undisturbed. I wondered how far-reaching her celebrity-life limitations were.
“It’s good,” I said between mouthfuls. And it was. Charlie had been trying to get me to wake up early enough for breakfast congee for months, but this was the first time I’d done it. The right motivation was all it took, apparently.
“What do you like about being in choir?” I asked her.
She took another bite before answering me. Her expression was incredibly composed even as she chewed. She was trying to figure out what to say. “It’s… a way to share music with an audience.”
“Is it music you feel passionately about, though?”
I thought the question might make her choke on her food, being as direct as it was. But she only frowned slightly. “You seem to have an opinion about church music.”
If “church music” was subbing for K-pop in this conversation, then yeah, I had an opinion. “It doesn’t seem personal. It’s music that’s… for everyone.”
Her eyes lit up. “Music for everyone. You say that like it’s a bad thing. But I find it to be a very cool thing. People are so divided in the world, you know? It’s a miracle to offer something that so many can all agree to like.”
I blinked. I’d never thought of pop music that way. “That’s… so insightful.”
“Wow, don’t look so surprised,” she said with a snort, back to goofy Lucky again.
When every morsel of congee and egg was devoured, Lucky reclined in her seat and lolled her head back. “That was the best breakfast I’ve had in months.” The strangeness of the words landed with a thudbetween us. We both seemed to avoid looking at them, neither of us willing to acknowledge the weirdness of their shapes. I politely ate my porridge, taking the occasional sip of tea.
Suddenly she bent forward, sliding her elbows across the table until her cheek rested on her right palm. “So, what’syourstory?” she asked.
Her proximity made me choke on my food. Without moving her torso, her left hand snaked over to my cup of tea and pushed it closer to me. I took a big swig of it and it scalded my throat. When I recovered, I placed it down on the table with a gentle rap. “My story?”
“Yeah, how old are you?”
Koreans always got down to business—age first. Where did we stand in the hierarchy of seniors versus juniors? “How old do you think I am?” The teasing words came out of my mouth so swiftly, like some practiced creep.
Lucky was not amused. “Who cares what Ithink? What’s the truth?”
Hm. She wasn’t one for beating around the bush. “I’m eighteen. I graduated last June.”
