The two have an exchange in rapid Korean. Soyou turns to me. “Go to Namsan, then. We are going to Lotte.”
“We have to stick together as a team,” I remind them.
“The team is going to Lotte.” And we do. At Lotte, the skies open, and since none of us remembered to bring an umbrella, we get drenched. Chaeyoung’s expensive Dior blouse grows completely see-through. A few men who walk by make some remarks that turn her cheeks scarlet.
“I need to go and buy a new shirt,” she tells us.
“We don’t have time.” Soyou wants to move on to the next clue.
“The department store is right here.” Chaeyoung points down the metro tunnel toward a swarm of people near an entrance of a shopping complex.
“Just buy one here.” Soyou gestures toward a nearby vendor who is selling a selection of cheap mall clothes.
Chaeyoung visibly shudders. The thought of putting something on her body that is not designer is obviously one of the more horrible concepts in her life. “No. I can’t.”
“We don’t have time,” Soyou repeats. “Bong is good at these games. He’s going to win if we don’t move.”
“Chaeyoung needs to change so she isn’t being catcalled for the next hour,” I point out.
“Of course you support her. All you rich girls stay together. Five hundred thousand won is a joke to you. You get envelopes during Chuseok worth twice that, but I don’t. I buy my shoes down here in these mall shops.” She kicks out her black pump, the one with the scratched heels that she colors in with marker.
“We know you do, but I’m not wearing a ten-thousand-won shirt. It will have mixed content and I don’t wear anything but natural fibers. You know this.” Chaeyoung is adamant, and in a rare, but maybe displaced, display of spine, she starts walking toward the department store.
Soyou refuses to budge. I bury my face in my hands. If I support Soyou in this useless endeavor, Chaeyoung will be forced to walk around looking nearly nude on top. If I support Chaeyoung, Soyou will feel like she’s being ganged up on by two spoiled rich girls. In the end, I decide Chaeyoung’s modesty is more important. We got the Lotte Tower and the Starfield clues wrong; we aren’t going to win anyway.
“Come on, Chaeyoung. What do you want to buy? Is there a Dior boutique inside the Lotte department store?”
“Yes.” Gratitude shines in her eyes.
I can only return a tight smile because Soyou is feeling like an outsider right now, which I know sucks. There’s not much traffic in the Dior boutique and a helpful saleslady quickly finds a replacement blouse for Chaeyoung. Along with the shirt, Chaeyoung selects three umbrellas and offers one to Soyou.
Soyou’s nose flares. She’s offended. “I can afford my own. Even I have that kind of money.”
Before Chaeyoung or I can stop her, Soyou whips out her wallet. Her face pales when the clerk rings up the umbrellas, which are twice the amount of the gift certificate that Bujang-nim is offering. Her pride prevents her from backing down and I watch in dismay as Soyou’s credit card is declined.
Chaeyoung silently puts her credit card on the counter, and the saleslady takes it, but before the transaction can be completed, Soyou curses. “Keep the damned umbrella. I don’t want it.”
She whirls on her heel and nearly runs out of the store.
“I was trying to be kind.” Chaeyoung’s lower lip trembles.
“Yeah, I know.” What a fucked-up situation.
We have two more clues, and while I know the answers thanks to Yujun’s impromptu lesson, which he gave me weeks ago, I keep my mouth shut. Soyou is in a dark mood; Chaeyoung is pouting. No one feels like talking. Chaeyoun’s lower lip is starting to get rubbed raw by the chain of her necklace, which she keeps chewing on, while Soyou’s face is so hard it rivals a rock. We make two more stops and return to Bujang-nim, but Bong’s team is there before us, full of smiles.
“You won,” Soyou says flatly. Her straight, shiny hair lies in wet clumps around her neck. Her blouse is sticking to her arms and stomach. Some of the black marker on the toes of her shoes has been worn away by the rain. There are dirt stains on the cuffs of her black slacks.
She crumples the card in her fist and whips it at her screen. It bounces off harmlessly, which seems to enrage her even more. She turns to Bong and interrogates him in swift Korean. I hear “Lotte,” and then she turns and glares at me.
“It was Namsan, wasn’t it.” Soyou could be speaking French and I’d still understand this exchange. Her anger is writ large all over her body.
Bong glances down at Soyou’s fisted hands and nods slowly.
Soyou’s jaw works, as if she’s swallowing screams of frustration. Chaeyoung senses a pending eruption. “Let’s go to the bathroom,” she suggests quietly.
When Soyou doesn’t move, Chaeyoung grabs the other girl’s arm and drags her away. I know I’m supposed to sit here and wait for them to come out, but I’m tired of being left out. I’m tired of them gossiping about me. At least have the decency not to be so obvious.
I march after them and slam the door open. The two women jump about a foot in the air.
“Why hide in here to talk about me behind my back? Speak in Korean.”
“You understood us fine at the restaurant,” Soyou shoots back.
“Then you shouldn’t talk about me at all.”
“Or you’ll run to tell your mama, just like you told her about this stupid team-building idea?”
“That did not come from me.”
“Don’t lie.”
I can continue to deny it, but she’s never going to believe me. “Believe what you want.”
There’s a knock at the door. “We’re leaving. Are you ready?” It’s time for our hweshik. This sounds as fun as getting my wisdom teeth pulled. I wonder if I will get fired if I don’t go. That might be the best possible outcome.
None of us want to go, but Soyou, ever ambitious, swallows her anger and her pride and leads us out of the bathroom. Downstairs, a row of taxis awaits. They fill up one by one. When it’s my turn, I climb inside, sliding over to make room for the other two. Chaeyoung bends down but her phone rings. Soyou’s text alert pings as well. I check my phone but there’s nothing. Chaeyoung leans over. “We will meet you there.” She says something to the cabdriver and then slams the door shut. I blink in surprise as the car begins to move, leaving Soyou and Chaeyoung at the curb.
Ten minutes later, the driver drops me off in front of a barbecue place. I don’t see anyone familiar, but maybe it’s because I’m early. Since it’s a seat-yourself type of place, I plant myself at one of the long tables and wait. And wait and wait and wait. After thirty minutes, I pull out my phone and wonder whom I should text. It strikes me as odd that the name of the restaurant wasn’t sent to the group chat when all the others have been posted there.