When Jiyu did not answer, Hunter sneered.
“You should exercise more, Ju Parker. Stop stumbling around like some weakling.”
Any hesitation she had felt about thanking him for helping her vanished completely.
“Let go.”
Regaining what composure she could, she shook off his hand.
“Tch. And here I was helping you.”
Hunter clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, then spun around and started running again. He pushed off the ground with powerful strides, quickly closing the distance between himself and the others. Before long, his back disappeared behind the dense trees lining the path.
Jiyu turned around and limped back on her sprained ankle. She needed to return to the base camp, where the first-aid kit was kept, clean the dirt from her wounds, and cover them with bandages.
A few steps later, her eyes met Sienna’s.
Sienna stood there, staring intently at her.
Her brows drew together as she narrowed her eyes and looked Jiyu up and down. Then she gave a slight shake of her head and smirked.
As though telling herself there was no possible way.
“You okay, Olivia?”
Sienna asked as she started running again and passed her.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks, Sienna.”
Jiyu answered quickly, but Sienna did not look back. She merely continued on, growing farther and farther away.
Jiyu sighed and bit her lip.
I should have just chosen volleyball.
At the next physical education class, it seemed as though every sixth-grade girl at Aster School had collectively succumbed to the lingering autumn heat.
Sienna and the rest of the popular girls kept collapsing dramatically along Central Park’s bridle path like delicate young ladies overcome by exhaustion.
Hunter Hamilton, leading the Alton School pack, passed them without so much as a glance.
***
Wearing an ivory satin dress that fell to her knees, Jiyu stood in front of the mirror.
The golden sash tied around her waist matched her gleaming Mary Jane shoes perfectly.
“Put on the gloves too.”
Aejeong handed her a pair of white satin gloves. Then, gazing proudly into the mirror, she smoothed Jiyu’s hair.
For the first time in a while, she had put her skills to use. She had loosely braided the hair on both sides of Jiyu’s head like floral crowns, secured them at the back with a thin ribbon, and left the rest to fall naturally down her back.
Recently, whenever the popular girls at Aster School had a spare moment, they spent it endlessly discussing which dresses and shoes they planned to wear to Cotillion Class.
Cotillion Class was a program in which children between the ages of eleven and thirteen dressed in suits and gowns and learned formal dances such as the waltz and foxtrot, along with manners and social etiquette.
It was one of the last surviving remnants of the era of debutante balls, quietly preserved among a very small circle of elite families.
Naturally, it was not a class anyone could join simply because they wished to.
There was no publicly available information about it. Without the right connections, one could not even obtain the application forms, and enrollment required a recommendation from a current member.
A “recommendation” was the most effective safeguard the upper class had devised to keep its world narrow and closed.
“I’m so glad Hunter’s mother wrote your recommendation letter. Otherwise, you might not have gotten in. I suppose when you live next to rich people, even the crumbs that fall your way are enormous.”
Aejeong giggled as she gave Jiyu’s outfit one final inspection, then gently nudged her shoulder.
“Now, let’s go.”
Jiyu let out a sigh heavy enough to sink into the floor.
She did not want to attend Cotillion Class.
She hated the dress, which looked like something a six-year-old flower girl might wear at a wedding, and she had no desire to dance the waltz—or anything else—with boys who spent their days running around and shrieking like animals in a zoo.
But there was no overcoming Aejeong’s stubbornness.
Wearing an expression of resignation, Jiyu dragged her feet as she followed her out. Then a thought occurred to her.
“Is Hunter going too?”
“Of course. I heard his family has attended for generations. With that fiery temper of his, he threw an enormous fit and said he would not go. Lauren had a terrible time with him.”
Learning that she was not the only one being dragged there against her will made Jiyu feel slightly better.
She smirked.
Hunter Hamilton dancing the waltz with girls.
That might actually be worth seeing.
Screech, screech.
With every reluctant step toward Park Avenue, the soles of her shoes scraped against the concrete pavement with an unpleasant grating sound.
“Jiyu, are you crawling? We’re going to be late at this rate! Walk faster.”
Aejeong, several steps ahead, turned around with an impatient expression and urged her on.
Jiyu snapped back.
“My feet hurt! I told you I hate these shoes.”
“What?”
Aejeong hurried back at once and crouched in front of her.
The glossy Mary Janes were far too stiff. Since Aejeong had bought them a size too large, reasoning that expensive shoes ought to last for years, Jiyu’s feet slid forward with every step.
Whenever her toes struck the front, the tightly buckled straps dug painfully into her ankles.
“Mom, get up! What are you doing?”
Embarrassed by the passersby beginning to stare, Jiyu pushed at Aejeong’s shoulder.
Aejeong ignored her and unfastened the ankle strap. She examined Jiyu’s reddened toes and chafed ankle, then clicked her tongue.
“Tch. You don’t even have blisters yet. This much is nothing, so endure it a little longer. Pretty shoes are supposed to be uncomfortable.”
“I want to go home. My feet hurt too much to dance.”
Jiyu persisted stubbornly.
Lately, she had begun talking back to Aejeong more often. Her own opinions were becoming stronger.
“What nonsense! Children these days have less patience than a speck of bird droppings on the pavement. When Mom was young, once we bought a pair of shoes, we wore them for at least three years, until the soles were completely worn through. New shoes are supposed to give you blisters. The blisters burst, calluses form, and then they stop hurting.”
Aejeong had grown up an orphan without ever knowing her parents, enduring hardship after hardship. To her, this did not even qualify as discomfort.
‘Who on earth did she inherit this weakness from?’
Aejeong grumbled inwardly.
Jiyu was fortunate to have been born to decent parents and raised in comfort. Had she been born an orphan like Aejeong, she would have been perfectly suited to starve to death.
Aejeong gently rubbed her reddened toes.
Unlike Aejeong’s feet at the same age, Jiyu’s were soft, without a single callus anywhere.
‘Feet as delicate as a rich girl’s, yet she complains even when she is given proper shoes.’
A bitter smile touched Aejeong’s lips, mingling irritation with pride.
She had no intention of passing down to Jiyu a life spent struggling desperately for survival like some tenacious fighter.
The stench of poverty that rose like a nightmare whenever she closed her eyes.
The endless hunger that nothing could satisfy.
The humiliation born of ignorance.
The despair that clung like a leech.
Jiyu should live without ever knowing any of it.
An elegant, refined young lady from a wealthy family.
That was how Aejeong intended to raise her only daughter.
“Listen to me. This is all for your own good. Hurry up and put your shoes back on.”
Aejeong scolded her.
With her lips jutting out in an exaggerated pout, Jiyu began walking again, the heels of her shoes scraping harshly against the concrete.
The Cotillion Class was held every other week in Whitmore Hall, located on the upper floor of a grand landmark building on Park Avenue and Eighty-Fourth Street.
The moment Jiyu entered the building, her steps grew as heavy as lead.
Partly because her feet hurt.
Mostly because of her chronic shyness around strangers, which she had still not managed to overcome.
Her best friend Chloe had wanted to attend as well, but there was no one who could write her a recommendation letter. She had not even been able to obtain the application forms.
Unable to accept that, Jiyu had once asked Aejeong whether she could ask Lauren to recommend Chloe too.
Aejeong had stared at her in disbelief and ignored the question entirely.
She would have to enter a room where the popular kids were undoubtedly already gathered in their usual groups.
Alone.
And on top of that, she would have to dance with boys she did not know.
Her courage shrank.
Whatever slight curiosity she had once felt about Cotillion Class was completely overwhelmed by her familiar aversion to unfamiliar places.
“Mom, I really don’t want to go. My stomach hurts a little too…”
Standing in front of the doors to Whitmore Hall, Jiyu clutched her stomach and pleaded with an intentionally pitiful expression.
Aejeong glared at her and launched into a rapid-fire tirade.
“Again? Again, Jiyu Parker? You’ve been spoiled rotten! Do you have any idea how pathetically I had to ingratiate myself with Hunter’s mother for months just to get you in here? When you marry into a rich family someday, you had better remember that it was all thanks to me!”
Jiyu glanced around in embarrassment.
Aejeong’s exceptionally loud voice reverberated beneath the lobby’s high ceiling, making Jiyu’s sensitive eardrums ring.
She was terrified that someone nearby might understand Korean.
She felt ashamed of Aejeong for saying such shamelessly outdated things.
And every time that shame arose, guilt followed close behind, tormenting her for feeling embarrassed by her own mother.
Jiyu knew how fiercely Aejeong loved her.
She loved her mother too.
But sometimes Aejeong’s relentless, one-sided determination left her unable to breathe.
There were moments when Jiyu wanted to shout back in defiance, but she never found the courage.
Because she knew her mother would be shocked.
And hurt.
With her usual boldness, Aejeong flung open the doors to Whitmore Hall, which were decorated with classical relief carvings.
They were five minutes late, but the class had not yet begun. The hall was filled with a din sharp enough to pierce the ears.
Aejeong seized Jiyu by the wrist and strode inside.
When Jiyu tried to hide behind her as she had when she was younger, Aejeong pulled her out and pushed her forward.
“Hurry up and find a seat!”
Jiyu hunched her shoulders and nervously swept her gaze around the room.