Somewhere Only We Know(11)

That dive bar was cool, thank you very much. But Charlie was all about the girls. It would be sleazy, except he managed to have this eager charm when flirting. Plus he looked like the bad boy who’d pick you up on his scooter to whisk you away from your strict parents.

I was texting back when someone knocked into me. It was a girl, staggering her way down the aisle. Okay, Drunko. I went back to texting when I heard a loud moan behind me and then, “Baegopa jughaeso!” I looked up from my phone in recognition. It was Korean for, “I’m so hungry I could die!”

When I glanced behind me, I saw the drunk girl in a seat with her head resting against the window, her eyes fluttering shut.

Why did she look so familiar?

I took in the green cap and long hair, her face in shadow. Oh, she was the girl who was on the elevator at the hotel. When I looked down at her feet, the hotel slippers confirmed it.

The girl on the elevator who seriously didn’t want me to talk to her as she practically absorbed herself into the walls.

So, despite my curiosity, I turned away. Didn’t wanna be a creep when this penthouse snob had clearly wanted to be left alone.

But she kept mumbling things. In both English and Korean. Was she American?

Other people on the bus started looking at her, but no one did anything.

I looked straight ahead. Don’t get involved in this, Jack. She doesn’t need your help.

One by one people left the bus and the girl stayed. When I finally turned around to look at her again, she was passed the eff out, her mouth slightly agape.

Because I couldn’t get a good look at her face, it wasn’t clear how old she was, but she looked around my age or younger.

And she was Korean American. Maybe. It was irrational, but I felt some kind of obligation to take care of my own people in Hong Kong. This wasn’t at all what I had in mind for celebrating tonight. I could almost hear Charlie, a miniature devil on my shoulder, egging me on. She’s cuuuuuute, he said in a squeaky voice.

I got up and walked over to her, the jerky movements of the bus making me sway. “Um … hey.”

She didn’t move a muscle. The brim of her cap hid her face.

“Excuse me.” I paused. “Miss.” Well, that was the first time I’d ever called anyone “Miss.”

Again, no movement or acknowledgment of my presence. I leaned in toward the girl and poked her gently in the shoulder. Nothing. I nudged her slightly harder. Her head shifted on the window.

“Ya,” I said loudly, hoping the informal Korean would jolt her. It was kind of rude, but desperate measures. I saw her lips twitch, registering something. Then she murmured, “Baegopa.” She was still talking about being hungry.

My Korean sucked so I spoke English. “If you get up, you can eat.” My gaze stayed on her mouth, which was undeniably pretty. Her lips were stained pink, as if they had had lipstick on them earlier. The top lip more pillowy than the bottom.

Whoa, stop looking at a drunk girl’s lips.

I slipped into the seat next to her, hoping to find her phone on her and maybe call someone to get her. As I eyed her coat pockets, she fell into me.

The falling was slow. Luxuriant. Her jacket slid against my blazer as her shoulder hit my arm. Her head landed on my shoulder gently and a small sigh escaped her. Her long hair fanned over my arm. Silky black strands touched my bare knuckles.

Wow.

Snap out of it, Jack. I gently moved her head off my shoulder and was about to push her to her side of the seat when she woke up.

“Hi.” Her sleepy eyes looked at mine. Straight into mine.

It was the first time I had a good look at her face and I had to clear my throat from the unexpected electricity of it. “Hi. Hi, there. You fell asleep and I was trying to wake you up.”

She blinked and looked around. “Where am I?”

“The bus. In … uh, Hong Kong?” I had no idea how out of it she was.

Her eyes registered the seats, the windows, the city, and then me. “Oh. Oh. Wuh-oh.” She started laughing. “Goodness, I’m in trouble.” The expression was so old-fashioned and odd that it made me pause. Was she American?

“Do you need help getting back somewhere?” I asked, being careful not to cross from friendly to overly enthusiastic.

She shook her head. “No, I’m okay. Like, okeydokey!” She held up her fingers in the “OK” symbol over her eye. Something about the movement was familiar. Then she laughed hysterically and I felt a gnawing sense of obligation, again.

“Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure,” she said with a hiccup. Oh boy. A hiccup. Like a freaking drunk cartoon mouse. The bus stopped and she got up so suddenly that I fell over into the aisle, on my butt. “Here’s my stop!” she exclaimed, holding her index finger up in the air.

She staggered along the aisle in those ridiculous slippers and I scrambled up after her.

I tugged on her arm before she stepped down into the narrow stairs. “I’m going to help you. These stairs are steep.”

She shrugged. “No problem.” She sounded like a cowboy. Vowels dragged out, overly pronounced. I couldn’t help smiling. Was she making fun of me?

We made it down the stairs, barely, and the driver didn’t even glance at us as we fell out into the street. I looked around. We landed in the middle of all the bars, where I had been planning on meeting Charlie.