Whitmore Hall was spacious enough to accommodate two and a half regulation-size tennis courts.
Suspended from the soaring double-height ceiling, enormous crystal chandeliers cast iridescent light into every corner of the hall. Massive Colonial-style marble columns anchored its four corners, while the walls and ceiling were elegantly adorned with decorative boiserie panels.
In such a grand, classical setting, it was easy to imagine a ballroom filled with nobles in magnificent gowns and tailcoats. Yet the gentlemen and ladies gathered here were only twelve years old—thirteen at most.
A theater-style mezzanine balcony occupied one wall, forming a VIP gallery that overlooked the entire dance floor. At present, the narrow space was crowded with parents from Upper East Side private schools who had come to observe their children’s first Cotillion Class.
They wore Loro Piana rather than elaborate gowns and held cell phones instead of fans. Otherwise, they seemed little different from the society ladies of two hundred years ago, gathering in small groups and half-concealing their mouths behind their fans as they watched their children make their debut.
Nearly a hundred children occupied the chairs arranged in a ‘U’ shape around the edges of the hall. Girls in dresses and white satin gloves sat beside boys in formal suits, the pairs assigned at random.
Jiyu’s gaze traveled from the far left to the far right. There were no empty seats.
Unsure what to do, she hesitated and turned around, only to find that Aejeong had already gone up to the balcony.
Her skin prickled beneath the stares directed at the latecomer lingering by the entrance. Heat spread from the tips of her ears across her cheeks.
‘Should I just run away?’
At that moment, the elderly gentleman leaning against the grand piano onstage, deep in conversation with the pianist, noticed her and pointed to the right.
“Go and sit at that end.”
He then instructed the assistant facilitator standing below the stage to bring another chair.
Jiyu breathed a sigh of relief and looked where the old man had indicated. At the very end of the right side of the U, Rex and Hunter were seated beside each other. While every other pair consisted of a boy and a girl, those two alone had been paired boy with boy.
Lowering her head, Jiyu hurried across the space in front of the stage. Before she reached them, however, the elderly gentleman issued another instruction through the microphone.
“Mr. Hamilton. Stand and yield your seat to the lady.”
She flinched to a halt and looked up.
Hunter rose slowly, his face a picture of irritation and boredom. As he pushed his chair back, its legs scraped across the polished marble floor with a harsh, grating sound.
Their eyes met.
His clear blue gaze swept over Jiyu in her formal attire. Looking at her with that habitual slant to his eyes, Hunter stepped aside and stood beside the chair.
‘Of all people, it had to be Hunter…’
Jiyu avoided his gaze and bit her lip.
The hierarchy drilled into her since childhood, repeated so relentlessly that it had become instinct, made her fidget with unease. She could not remember ever seeing Hunter surrender anything that belonged to him. Nor had anyone ever dared force him to do so.
The very idea of him giving up his seat and waiting on an insignificant ‘Ju Parker’ like her was almost inconceivable.
‘What if he uses this against me later, when we’re alone, and starts picking on me?’
A sigh escaped her before she could stop it.
She wanted to say that she would stand in Hunter’s place until the extra chair arrived. But with countless eyes watching her, the words lodged in her throat and refused to come out.
Hunter wore a deep navy blazer with pale blue trousers, his tie knotted neatly at his collar. Seeing him dressed so formally felt strangely unfamiliar.
Usually, he wore a short-sleeved T-shirt bearing the school crest beneath an unbuttoned dress shirt. He left every button undone so he could shrug it off whenever he pleased, and his tie hung so loosely against his chest that he could pull it over his head in one motion.
His uniform blazer was often crumpled in his tennis bag among spare gym clothes, and she had never seen him wear it except for official school functions or yearbook photographs.
At some point, the boys who followed him had begun imitating the ‘Hunter look.’ The trend spread almost overnight. Hunter’s influence was largely responsible for the sixth graders at Alton School looking considerably more disheveled in uniform than the students in any other grade.
When Jiyu continued to hesitate, glancing around nervously, Hunter frowned and jerked his chin toward the empty chair beside him.
Hurry up and sit down.
Reluctantly, she forced her stiff legs to move.
Just then, the elderly gentleman spoke into the microphone once more.
“Mr. Hamilton, stand behind the chair, hold the backrest, and gently push it in when the lady sits.”
Every head turned toward them at once.
Jiyu froze midway through sitting, caught in an awkward half-crouch. Her face drained of color before flushing scarlet. Overcome with embarrassment, she squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, but the children were still staring.
A silent scream filled her head.
Then Hunter shoved the chair forward from behind.
Its edge struck the backs of her knees. Jiyu stumbled, flinging out her arms in an absurd attempt to regain her balance, before dropping heavily into the seat. A few children giggled.
Before she could recover, Rex bumped her shoulder with his.
“Hi, Liv.”
The shove sent Jiyu tilting sideways. She straightened herself and shot Rex a sidelong glare.
He swept back the wavy brown hair falling to his jaw and grinned mischievously. His mismatched eyes—one deep green, the other pale brown—sparkled like pieces of sea glass washed ashore by midsummer waves.
Jiyu stared at him blankly for a moment.
Rex was far prettier than any of the children considered beautiful at Aster School. When he was younger, anyone could easily have mistaken him for a girl.
Recently, however, he had grown much taller. His shoulders had broadened, and the contours of his face had sharpened. He no longer possessed the same delicate, childlike air, which Jiyu found faintly disappointing.
“Hi, Rex.”
Back in lower school, Jiyu had become close to Rex through the Korean language classes they attended together every Saturday.
He was like Hunter, yet different. If she had to choose which of the two was relatively easier to deal with, she would choose Rex.
Like Hunter, Rex had little interest in other people and was deeply self-centered, so getting close to him had taken time. Yet despite his reputation as the most notorious troublemaker on the Upper East Side, he was kind at heart. Once he accepted someone as a friend, he treated them surprisingly well.
With his tousled hair, mismatched eyes, and impish grin, Rex looked so utterly innocent that anyone unfamiliar with him might dismiss the rumors as exaggerations. The moment they lowered their guard, however, he would inevitably subject them to some vicious prank.
Still, he had never been known to bully anyone weaker than himself.
Whenever an event was held at Hunter’s house on the weekend, the Korean language class would be moved to Rex’s home instead. The Lafayette Residence resembled a small European museum more than a private house. Beside it, even the classically designed Hamilton Residence seemed modern.
On the few occasions when Jiyu had encountered Rex’s father, Andre de Lafayette, he had struck her as the most frightening person she had ever met.
He had never once raised his voice at her, but she had seen him summon a troublesome Rex to his study several times, his face cold and severe. Merely meeting his eyes by accident at such moments was enough to make her breath catch.
The very thought of disobeying or rebelling against a father like that made her legs go weak. Sometimes she wondered whether Rex was slightly insane, though at other times she found herself envying his courage.
Aejeong called Rex—a boy who was scolded every single day yet continued causing trouble as though openly defying everyone—a “rebel.” Jiyu did not know the precise meaning of the word, but she assumed it referred to someone powerless who dared stand against the powerful. She understood that much instinctively.
Once, Rex’s mother had come to have tea with Lauren. For reasons Jiyu did not understand, Rex addressed her rather rudely as “Miran ssi.”
Exhausted by Hunter and Rex fighting over her as though they were engaged in some territorial game, Jiyu fled the playroom and hid in a corner of the living room with a book.
Lauren and Miran were so absorbed in their conversation, seated before an array of delicate teacups, that they forgot Jiyu was there and continued talking.