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“I’m finally riding this elevator!”
As Ae-jeong pressed the button, the heavy doors slid open.
“Let’s go in, Jiyu.”
They stepped into the lift, which was about half the size of the large central elevator, and the doors closed. The buttons on the wall were arranged from top to bottom: PH, 16, 15, and finally L for the lobby. Ae-jeong pressed the PH button without hesitation. However, it didn't light up.
“What? Is it broken?”
As she pressed the button repeatedly, the doors suddenly opened again. It was Mike, the concierge manager, dressed in a neat uniform. With a flustered expression, he gestured for them to step out.
[This elevator is for penthouse residents only. If you have a destination, please use the central elevator.]
Flustered, Ae-jeong stammered in English with a heavy Korean accent.
“Uh… Jiyu, no, Olivia and Hunter, play date in Hunter penthouse!”
Mike’s gaze dropped to Jiyu, who was half-hidden, clutching the hem of Ae-jeong’s skirt, before shifting back up. He spoke curtly in a cold voice.
[You must go through the verification process via the intercom, so please step out first.]
With a firm expression, Mike blocked the closing elevator door with one hand and gestured outward with the other. Ae-jeong yanked Jiyu’s hand away and grumbled in Korean.
“This guy is only unkind to the people living on the first floor. Is he discriminating because we rent? Or is he looking down on Asians just because he thinks he's some kind of white person.”
Jiyu glanced up at Mike’s face. Perhaps sensing the nuance of the unfamiliar foreign language, he frowned deeply and began to walk.
[Follow me.]
They followed Mike and stood before the concierge desk. Just as he was about to pick up the intercom to call the penthouse, a resident approached to ask if there were any grocery deliveries.
Glancing sideways at Ae-jeong, Mike calmly set down the intercom and turned toward the resident. Ae-jeong was not the type to just stand by and watch. She tapped the desk with her knuckles.
“Excuse me! I am here first!”
The concierge manager didn't even look at her, simply raising his index finger as if telling her to wait. Ae-jeong’s face turned bright red; she opened her mouth to snap back, but soon let out a sigh mixed with resignation and anger.
She had learned to suppress her temper, knowing that in this country, screaming and throwing a fit when things didn't go her way wouldn't get her the desired result—instead, she might even be sued. Besides, she experienced this level of discrimination often, so it was nothing new.
“Jiyu, be glad you’re half-white. It would have been better if your hair were a brighter blonde.”
She fiddled with Jiyu’s shimmering ash-brown hair before letting go, clicking her tongue again in irritation.
Ae-jeong was half-right and half-wrong. Racial discrimination existed openly. However, Mike, whom she assumed was white, was strictly speaking Hispanic, and he was not free from discrimination himself.
His commanding tone was a result of a crude level of English that lacked sophisticated euphemisms. His rushed, aggressive attitude was a habit carried over from Korea.
Unaware that these things made her appear rude, she regarded most unkindness as racial discrimination.
Only after handing over the stored grocery boxes with a pleasant smile and cracking a few light jokes did Mike pick up the intercom again with a sullen expression. He then gestured with his chin toward Jiyu.
[Name?]
As Jiyu lowered her eyes and stealthily hid behind Ae-jeong’s skirt, Ae-jeong answered for her.
[Olivia Parker.]
After politely informing Hunter via the intercom that a guest had arrived in the lobby for their play date, Mike hung up and nodded.
[You may go up now.]
Without so much as a thank you, Ae-jeong turned around, grabbed Jiyu’s wrist, and walked toward the penthouse elevator. The clicking sound of her high heels echoed through the lobby like a protest.
Once inside the private elevator, she pressed the PH button, and this time, it lit up.
“Oh, it’s finally moving!”
Because Ae-jeong was gripping her hand too tightly, Jiyu looked up to say it hurt, but she fell silent, intimidated by her mother’s anxious and solemn aura. The hand enveloping hers was drenched in sweat.
When they stopped at the top floor, the doors slid open. There was another door in front of the automatic ones. Taking a deep breath, Ae-jeong threw the door open without hesitation.
Thus, led by Ae-jeong’s hand, Jiyu took her first step into the Hamilton residence.
The elevator connected to a spacious entrance corridor called the gallery. In the center, a marble bust in the Neoclassical style sat atop a round antique table. A classic crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling cast a soft light over the bust.
On the walls, decorated with wood wainscoting molding, hung large oil paintings in classic gilt frames. One painting, depicting a scene from the American Revolutionary War, featured a man in a dark navy military frock coat as the protagonist.
As Ae-jeong looked around, her gaze stopped at that painting.
“Huh? I feel like I’ve seen that man somewhere. Where was it?”
Jiyu also looked up at the painting. Letting go of her hand, Ae-jeong rummaged through her bag and pulled out a banknote from her wallet.
“Oh my, Jiyu! Look at this, he looks exactly like the gentleman on the ten-dollar bill, right?”
She fluttered the ten-dollar bill in front of Jiyu's eyes. Jiyu nodded half-heartedly.
“Wow, they said it was an incredible family that appears in history textbooks, and I guess it’s true. This seems like the richest house I’ve ever been to in my life.”
As Ae-jeong approached to get a closer look, expressing her admiration, a presence was heard from the right corridor. The sound of a relatively light person running—patter-patter—followed by the calm footsteps of an adult.
[Hunter Hamilton! How many times have I told you not to play with balls in the hallway? Put it down this instant!]
Ae-jeong quickly stuffed the bill back into her bag and lifted Jiyu’s chin. Then, as if telling her to imitate, she curled the corners of her mouth up high like a witch.
Whenever she smiled like that with her bright red lips, Jiyu found her mother a little scary.
“Smile, Jiyu!”
Doing as she was told, Jiyu pulled up the corners of her mouth and watched the corridor. For some reason, her heart began to flutter.
‘What if a terrible monster jumps out from there?’
Having read a picture book called Where the Wild Things Are a few days prior, Jiyu suddenly felt a surge of fear. As she tried to hide behind Ae-jeong’s skirt as usual, Ae-jeong noticed and grabbed the skirt, pushing Jiyu forward.
The footsteps grew closer, and instead of a horned monster, a boy with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes came tumbling out of the corridor. Jiyu’s mouth dropped open.
It was a face she had seen at preschool. So his name was Hunter. He was the tallest boy at Kensington Preschool. He was also the outlaw of the playground.
If anyone collided with Hunter as he ran around creating a whirlwind, they would be knocked flat on the ground, so the other children tended to avoid him.
Upon spotting Jiyu, Hunter’s blue eyes flashed, and he threw a neon yellow ball toward her with all his might. A beat later, he shouted:
[Catch!]
As Jiyu stood there blinking blankly, the hard tennis ball flew straight into the center of her forehead. Jiyu’s neck snapped back, and she fell in slow motion, her white dress fluttering.
Ae-jeong let out a blood-curdling scream. With a clink sound, Jiyu’s head hit the marble floor.
The day she first met Hunter H. Hamilton.
The record-breakingly short play date ended with Jiyu being rushed to the emergency room, unconscious from a concussion.
✾ ✾ ✾
Thursday morning of the first week of September. It was the first day of school at Aster School.
Jiyu yawned, standing before Ae-jeong and wiggling her toes. The navy socks that reached up to her knees were hot and itchy.
Ae-jeong attached a large navy ribbon to one side of Jiyu’s hair. Jiyu was wearing her school uniform—a plaid dress with red, white, and green lines crossing over a navy background. It was a classic grosgrain ribbon.
In an environment where everyone wore the same uniform, hair accessories were the only means of expressing individuality; thus, the girls at the private schools of the Upper East Side all wore large ribbons in their hair without exception.
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