Shiny Broken Pieces Read Online Free Page A

moms and dads—lugging boxes inside. A father teases his daughter about the rocks he claims she filled the boxes with. “Dad!” She giggles, her eyes lighting up with love and laughter. The word dad thuds inside me like an anchor, and I think of Mr. Lucas, even though I shouldn’t associate that word with him. My dad. A flush of embarrassment zips through me when I think of the email I sent him this summer and thevoice mails I left on his phone that went unanswered. I won’t make that mistake again. I can’t even remember why I tried to talk to him.
    I hear a giggle again and see one of the younger Korean girls point in my direction. I stare right back at her until she walks up the school stairs. I look left and right for Jayhe, but he’s still MIA. I wonder if Sei-Jin’s here already, if her aunt dropped her off early like she usually does. Her texts popped up on Jayhe’s phone this summer, and I know he didn’t respond. I checked. I feel bad for a second, but I have to look out for myself, even with him.
    I’m afraid to ask him about the exact details of their breakup. What did he tell her? How did she react? How did they leave it? He probably let her down easy, with his usual diplomatic touch. But did he mention my name? Deep down, I don’t really want the answers to those questions. I shouldn’t want to know. I shouldn’t care. It doesn’t matter. But it does.
    His cheeks are rosy when he comes back down, and there’s a bit of light sweat running down the side of his face. The old June would think it’s gross, but I kind of think it’s sexy. Everything about him is sexy—the depths of his eyes, the charcoal on his calloused fingers from his hours of drawing, the way he says my name—especially when he’s annoyed.
    â€œThere’s only a small box left.” Jayhe sets it on the curb. “You got it?”
    â€œYeah.” I want to be in two places at the same time: here on this curb with him and upstairs in my new single, unpacking.
    Jayhe’s phone rings and for a tiny second, the paranoid placein my heart and brain thinks it’s Sei-Jin. He speaks in a flurry of Korean, but I hear the words restaurant , grandmother , and busy . I’ve learned more Korean from hanging out with him these past few months than my mom taught me in all of my sixteen years. He would cup his hand under my chin and make me speak the words back to him—wouldn’t kiss me till I got them just right. I always had to ask him in Korean— kiss-jwo . No Korean, no kissing. The thought makes me smile.
    He hangs up. “I left your stuff in the foyer,” he says. “They wouldn’t let me upstairs. Something about no boys on the girls’ dorm floor even on move-in day.” The irritation must show on my face, because he touches my cheek and grins. “Parent volunteers are taking it up.” His hands wander to my waist. “I’m really glad you got a single this year.”
    â€œMe, too,” I whisper, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Gigi got a single this year because of her injuries, and that means I get one, too, by default. It’ll finally give me and Jayhe some space. Part of me thrills at the idea of sneaking him past the RAs and anyone else who’s watching, at the chance of getting caught, at the possibility of people knowing that a boy wants me. That Jayhe wants me.
    I grab the last box, the one with my teakettle, and my rolling bag. I give him one more kiss and head around to the front of the building.
    Ten minutes later, keys in hand from the front desk, I’m ready to make myself at home. I take the elevator up to my new floor—twelve—where only the senior girls live. But when I finally get up to my room, the door is wide open—and someoneelse’s stuff is sprawled all over it. Well, most of it. A pink frilly comforter covers one of the beds, ballerina posters hang on the wall,