The Hamilton residence occupied the penthouse on the top floor of the apartment building where Jiyu lived. The private elevator leading to it stood in a quiet corner of the lobby, set apart from the central elevators.
“I’m finally getting to ride this elevator!”
Aejeong pressed the button, and the heavy doors slid open without a sound.
“Come on, Jiyu.”
They stepped inside. The elevator was roughly half the size of the large central one. As soon as the doors closed, Aejeong examined the panel on the wall. From top to bottom, the buttons read PH, 16, 15, and L for the lobby.
Without hesitation, she pressed PH.
Nothing happened.
“What’s wrong with this thing? Is it broken?”
She jabbed the button several more times. Suddenly, the doors opened again.
Mike, the concierge manager, stood outside in a crisp uniform. Looking flustered, he motioned for them to step out.
“This elevator is reserved exclusively for the penthouse. Please use the central elevators if you’re going elsewhere.”
Caught off guard, Aejeong stammered in heavily accented English.
“Uh… Jiyu—no, Olivia—and Hunter, playdate. Hunter penthouse!”
Mike’s gaze dropped to Jiyu, who was half hidden behind the hem of Aejeong’s skirt, then returned to Aejeong.
“We need to verify your visit through the intercom first, so please step out.”
His voice was cold and curt.
With a firm expression, Mike held the closing doors open with one hand and extended the other arm toward the lobby. Aejeong yanked Jiyu out by the hand and grumbled in Korean.
“This man is only rude to the people from the lower floors. Is he discriminating against us because we rent? Or does he think he’s white and can look down on Asians?”
Jiyu glanced up at Mike’s face. Perhaps sensing the hostility in the unfamiliar language, he frowned deeply and turned away.
“Follow me.”
They trailed him to the concierge desk. Just as Mike picked up the intercom receiver to call the penthouse, another resident approached and asked whether any grocery deliveries had arrived.
Mike glanced sideways at Aejeong, casually replaced the receiver, and turned to the resident.
Aejeong was not the sort of person who would simply stand by and wait. She rapped her knuckles against the desk.
“Excuse me! I was here first!”
The concierge manager did not even look at her. He merely raised one finger, signaling for her to wait.
Aejeong’s face flushed crimson. She opened her mouth as though about to snap at him, but after a moment, she released a sigh heavy with anger and resignation.
She had learned to restrain her temper. In this country, throwing a tantrum and screaming because things did not go her way would not get her what she wanted. It might only get her sued.
Besides, this degree of discrimination was so common that it hardly surprised her anymore.
“Jiyu, you should consider yourself lucky you’re half white. It would’ve been even better if your hair were a lighter shade of blonde.”
Aejeong toyed with Jiyu’s smooth ash-brown curls, then let them fall with another irritated click of her tongue.
Aejeong was half right and half wrong.
Racial discrimination certainly existed and was often blatant. But Mike, whom she assumed was white, was technically Hispanic and hardly exempt from prejudice himself.
Aejeong’s poor command of English left her without the refined euphemisms that softened speech, making nearly everything she said sound like an order. Combined with her Korean habit of speaking rapidly and pressing her point aggressively, it often made others perceive her as rude.
She failed to recognize this and attributed almost every unfriendly reaction to racial discrimination.
Only after Mike had handed over the reserved grocery box with an excessively warm smile and several cheerful jokes did he pick up the intercom again. His expression turned sullen as he jerked his chin toward Jiyu.
“Name?”
Jiyu lowered her eyes and shrank farther behind Aejeong’s skirt. Aejeong answered in her place.
“Olivia Parker.”
Mike politely informed the penthouse through the intercom that a guest had arrived in the lobby for a playdate with Hunter. Then he hung up and gave a curt nod.
“You may go up now.”
Without thanking him, Aejeong spun around, seized Jiyu by the wrist, and marched toward the private elevator. The sharp click of her high heels echoed defiantly across the lobby.
Once they were inside again, she pressed PH.
This time, the button lit up.
“Oh, now it works!”
Aejeong’s grip was so tight that Jiyu looked up, intending to complain that it hurt. But the tension and grim determination radiating from her mother frightened her into silence.
The hand clasped around hers was slick with sweat.
The elevator rose to the top floor and came to a stop. The doors slid open smoothly, revealing another door directly in front of them.
Aejeong drew a deep breath and pushed it open without hesitation.
Holding her mother’s hand, Jiyu took her first step into the Hamilton residence.
The elevator opened directly into a spacious entrance gallery.
At its center stood a round antique table topped with a neoclassical marble bust. A traditional crystal chandelier hung overhead, casting a soft glow across the sculpture.
Large oil paintings in ornate gilded frames lined the walls above the wood-paneled wainscoting. One depicted a scene from the American Revolutionary War, with a man in a dark navy military frock coat positioned prominently at its center.
Aejeong’s roaming gaze came to a stop.
“Huh? That man looks really familiar. Where have I seen him before?”
Jiyu tilted her head back to study the painting as well.
Aejeong released her hand and rummaged through her bag. After pulling out her wallet, she produced a banknote.
“Oh my God, Jiyu! Look at this. He looks exactly like the man on the ten-dollar bill, doesn’t he?”
She waved the bill excitedly in front of Jiyu’s face.
Jiyu gave a halfhearted nod.
“Wow. People said this family came straight out of a history textbook, and I guess they weren’t exaggerating. This is definitely the richest house I’ve ever set foot in.”
Aejeong continued exclaiming in admiration as she moved closer to inspect the painting.
Then footsteps echoed from the corridor to the right.
First came the rapid patter of someone small and light running at full speed. Behind it followed the measured steps 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!”
Aejeong quickly stuffed the bill back into her bag and lifted Jiyu’s chin.
Then, as though demonstrating what she expected, she stretched her bright red lips into a sharp, exaggerated smile like a witch.
Whenever her mother smiled that way, Jiyu found her a little frightening.
“Smile, Jiyu!”
Jiyu obeyed, forcing the corners of her mouth upward as she stared down the hallway.
For no apparent reason, her heart began to race.
‘What if a horrible monster jumps out from there?’
A few days earlier, she had read a picture book titled The Country Where Monsters Live, and the thought suddenly filled her with terror.
As always, she tried to hide behind Aejeong’s skirt.
Sensing what she was doing, Aejeong jerked the fabric away and shoved Jiyu forward.
The footsteps drew nearer.
Instead of a horned monster, a boy with dark brown hair and vivid blue eyes burst into the hallway.
Jiyu’s mouth formed a perfect circle.
She had seen that face at preschool.
So that boy was Hunter.
He was the tallest child at Kensington Preschool and the undisputed outlaw of the playground.
Whenever Hunter tore across the yard fast enough to stir up gusts of wind, any child unfortunate enough to collide with him would end up sprawled on the ground. The others had learned to stay out of his way.
The instant he spotted Jiyu, Hunter’s bright blue eyes flashed.
He hurled the fluorescent yellow ball at her with all his strength.
Half a beat later, he shouted,
“Catch!”
The hard tennis ball struck Jiyu squarely in the forehead before she could do more than blink.
Her head snapped back.
Her white dress fluttered as she toppled in slow motion.
Aejeong let out a bloodcurdling scream.
With a heavy thud, Jiyu’s head struck the marble floor.
That was the day she first met Hunter H. Hamilton.
The shortest playdate on record ended with Jiyu losing consciousness from a concussion and being rushed to the emergency room.
***
The first Thursday morning in September marked the first day of school at Aster School.
Jiyu stood in front of Aejeong, yawning and wriggling her toes. The navy socks pulled up to her knees felt hot and itchy.
She wore the school’s uniform dress, made from navy plaid crossed with red, white, and green stripes.
Aejeong fastened a large navy ribbon to one side of Jiyu’s hair. It was made of classic grosgrain.
In a school where everyone wore the same uniform, hair accessories were one of the few ways to express individuality. As a result, nearly every girl attending a private school on the Upper East Side wore an oversized ribbon in her hair.