Yuri grew to like Caitlyn. Yuri liked to keep to herself, excusing herself from small talk and strategically avoiding any extroverted classmates. But Caitlyn made a point to sit with her in every class they shared. “I like your name,” she whispered while everyone was tuning out the AP chemistry lesson. “Does it mean anything?”

“Glass,” Yuri told her. “It’s Korean.” Caitlyn let out a noise of acknowledgement. There was a hint of excitement, if Yuri recalled correctly. “I wasn’t sure if you were, it’s a name in other languages too, right? Do you listen to K-pop? You heard EXO’s new song, right?”

A little overwhelmed and slightly suspicious, Yuri only shook her head. Their teacher’s scratchy voice droned on, irritating her ears. “What do you listen to then?” Caitlyn probed, leaning her head over Yuri’s desk. Yuri kept her face carefully neutral but instinctively leaned back. “I just like alternative rock,” she said hurriedly, scribbling an element abbreviation onto her worksheet. Tungsten, maybe. Honestly, she didn’t understand jackshit on the paper. She just wanted an excuse to leave the conversation.

But Caitlyn listened to other artists, Yuri later discovered. Taylor Swift, The Weeknd, Dua Lipa. “You were overthinking again,” another friend told her with an air of poorly hidden exasperation. “There’s no hidden meaning. K-pop is popular. She even asked about your name. She’s probably just appreciating your culture.” Feeling chastised, Yuri let out an awkward laugh and quickly apologized.

Besides, Caitlyn was objectively a kind person. She easily lent Yuri money for the school vending machine, taught her how to apply eyeliner, and helped her carry her oil paintings home from school.

Today, they were meeting at a café. Yuri wanted to talk to Caitlyn about something that had happened recently, maybe catch up a little as well. A Korean café to be exact, the newly built one a few blocks away from school, at Caitlyn’s insistence. Yuri had been reluctant, already accustomed to the abnormally hefty pricing of Korean cafés. But she didn’t feel strongly enough about the choice to fight Caitlyn on it. Yuri had been meaning to introduce Caitlyn to traditional Korean twisted donuts anyways, the café’s specialty and a childhood favorite of hers. So she sat, listening to Caitlyn rave about some hotshot actor in a new Netflix single on the other side of the table. It was a pretty table, Yuri decided, a china-white cut of marble streaked with muted silvers.

Korean cafés were typically very well decorated. This one in particular, Yuri thought, was objectively nice. Thin glass bubbles hung from the ceiling cradling yellow lightbulbs, contrasting with the polished mahogany walls. Intricately woven baskets held spider ivies that tumbled over the edge and floated over the floor. It gave the café a very modern feel.

“Do you ever wish your parents stayed in Korea?”

Yuri paused, mouth lingering above a red straw, and looked up at Caitlyn. She wasn’t sure when the conversation topic had changed. “Why?” Yuri asked tentatively.

“It’s just, it looks like such a nice place, doesn’t it?” Caitlyn sighed, twirling her straw around her drink so the ice clanged loudly against the cup. “You ever see vlogs and stuff about everyday life in Korea? The streets look so clean, you never see any trash. In New York, I’m lucky to avoid stepping on a pile of dog shit on the sidewalk every day.”

“Oh,” Yuri replied blandly. “I see that.”

“And what else, have you seen the people there? They look so friendly. You know the other day, I saw this video of high school life in Korea. All the kids seemed so happy,” she said excitedly.

Ironically, the reason Yuri’s parents had moved to America was the Korean education system. “It’s hell,” Yuri’s mother had told her. Children stayed in school from 8:00 AM to around 10:00 PM. This was all to prepare them for the Suneung exam, or Korea’s equivalent of the SAT. However, unlike the SAT, you only had one chance a year to take Suneung. And unlike the SAT, Suneung was the sole factor determining which university you would attend. On average, Korean high school students studied for around 16 hours a day to prepare for Suneung, either staying in school after all their classes or attending cram schools called hagwons. Even four-year-olds, toddling aimlessly and tripping over their own feet, were often sent to hagwon several times a week. Students who underperformed were often beaten or verbally abused by their parents. “You know your cousin?” Yuri’s mother asked her one night. “He’s fourteen. Two years younger than you. One day, he snapped under the pressure and ran away from home to your grandma’s house. He begged her to let him stay. When your aunt dragged him back home, she confiscated his phone and sent him right back to school with red marks on his arms.” Hell Joseon, or Hell Korea, is what Yuri’s mother called it. “Why do you think Korea’s suicide rates are so high?” Sure enough, when Yuri searched up countries with the suicide rate, Korea had placed fourth in the world with around 29 suicides per 100,000 people. “Remember, Yuri,” she warned. “Whatever hell you think you’re in right now, it burns a thousand times stronger in Korea.”

Yuri studied Caitlyn warily. She thought about her teenage cousin. The last time she saw him, he was a seven-year-old who carried a blue plastic sword and a smile too big for his face. She imagined him now, walking home from hagwon under the pitch black sky, loaded up on Ibuprofen and exhaustion. “Not really,” she said. “The Korean education system is harsh. Things are a lot easier in America.”

Caitlyn paused, sipping her drink. Some extravagant drink, filled with herbal teas and yuzu syrups and jewel-like pieces of jelly. The twisted donut Caitlyn had bought was untouched save for a few bites, the light coating of cane sugar melting and leaving sticky residue on the wax paper. Yuri was a bit disappointed, but unsurprised that Caitlyn didn’t enjoy it. She always had a penchant for sweeter things. “I guess,” Caitlyn replied, but she sounded a bit dismissive to Yuri. Maybe it was just her. “That’s why everyone there is so smart, right?”

Yuri felt a light pang of irritation. She wondered if Caitlyn’s ignorance was intentional.

“I showed you that TWICE music video, right?” Another topic change. Caitlyn’s conversations had always been fast paced. Normally Yuri didn’t mind, since it gave both of them ample opportunity to quickly move on from any awkward conversations. Today, Yuri felt exhaustion settling in her temples, weighing her head down. Each change in subject only seemed to make the ache in her skull grow. Somehow, Yuri noticed irritably, most of the topics seemed to involve Korea in some way.

“Oh god, did you hear? That idol I really liked, Moonbin, committed suicide last week. Remember, with the leather jacket? I showed you his concert last week. God, it’s so sad. He looked so happy while performing, didn’t he? I wonder why he did it.”

Yuri felt her tongue loosen. She barely caught herself from saying, “That’s because they’re all depressed, you fucking idiot.” She knew. Every Korean knew. Those very idols that stared directly at the glare of the limelight, who shouted “I love you!” to swarms of fans they had never met, were crumbling under the attention. They were worked to the bone by trainers and choreographers while managers oversaw every aspect of their lives. Idols were denied access to personal phones until they won first place in a music show, forbidden from dating, and forced to perform strict weight checks. Yuri heard from somewhere that one idol sucked on ice cubes once a week instead of drinking water to avoid gaining weight. To Koreans, it was no secret that idols lived brutal lives. So when she heard that the beloved twenty-five year old idol had been found dead in his own home, she was not shocked. She wanted to shake Caitlyn violently, to snap in her face.

It always stunned her how fast Americans’ opinions of Korea changed in such a short frame of time. Just a few years ago, being Korean was considered a reason for ostracization. But recently, people had started seeing Korea as a land of exotic perfection. How people imagined Japan to be when anime started getting popular, Yuri assumed.
Was that all it took? A few hit songs, a few dramas? Pretty idols and visits to nicely decorated Korean cafés? Is that what set them apart from the rest of Asia?

Just as Yuri was about to collect her coffee cup and give some half-assed excuse to leave, Caitlyn popped the straw out of her mouth and gasped. “Oh! I just remembered,” she exclaimed. “Yuri, didn’t you want to talk to me about something? Something about a guy?” Ah, Yuri thought. She had forgotten why she asked Caitlyn to meet her in her bout of irritation. Now, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear what Caitlyn had to say about her situation. Yuri thought about telling Caitlyn to forget about it, that she’d figure it out on her own. Then she took a deep breath. You came here for a reason, right? Just ask her.
She’s your friend.

“Yeah,” Yuri said cautiously. “There’s this guy. The basketball player, remember?

The one you said was cute. With the dyed purple hair?”

Caitlyn huffed out a laugh in disbelief, twisting her straw around to poke around and suck up the remaining sips of her drink. “Akash? Of course I know him. Everyone knows him.”

“Right,” Yuri said lamely. In all honesty, she had learned his name against her will, when he would appear by her side out of nowhere and start chatting while she was washing dirty paint palettes or leaving her paintings on the drying rack. Akash always seemed interested in conversation, although Yuri gave the driest responses she could muster up. Still, she had certainly heard his name in passing before she officially met him. Probably because the boy was insanely popular. After class, he’d immediately be surrounded by at least four boys and girls, the boys throwing a cordial arm around his shoulders while the girls laughed along and shyly let their hands brush over his — accidentally, they insisted.

It was no surprise that he was popular, either: friendly, charismatic, artistic enough to be admired but not enough to be communally labeled the weird art kid, like Yuri.
People thought he was good-looking too, girls and guys.

“You know how I have art class with him? He keeps asking me if he can take me out for coffee after school.”

Caitlyn’s mouth hung open in shock. “Are you serious? Why wouldn’t you?”

Yuri’s mouth opened. Then it closed. Then it opened again. “It’s just,” she said, and she closed her mouth again.

Caitlyn sighed. “You’re so picky, Yuri. What is it about him? Do you not like his personality?”

“It’s fine.”

“His style, then?”

“I don’t care about that.”

Caitlyn groaned and contemplated for a while while Yuri quietly stared at her hands. She picked white paint from her palms with the tip of her index finger’s nail while she waited, but it wouldn’t come off. Caitlyn snapped her fingers in realization. “Oh! Is it because he’s always walking girls to class? Weird, I didn’t take you for the jealous type.”

Caitlyn was right. It was the girls Yuri was worried about. However, it wasn’t the potential competition that triggered the blaring sirens in her mind. Akash was friends with a lot of girls, the way a lot of popular boys were. But there was something in common with all the ones closest to him, clinging onto his arm, playfully punching his shoulder, and doubling over with laughter at every mediocre joke. Samantha Cho.
Heewon Park. Rachel Jung. Those were the ones she remembered.

Yuri took a deep breath. Caitlyn will understand, right? Everyone knows what yellow fever is. She’ll see reason. She’ll tell her she’s justified for rejecting an attractive, popular boy who’s asked her out, even if he’s the first boy in ages who has shown interest in her. “I’ve noticed something a little weird with all the girls he hangs around with,” Yuri started hesitantly. “Have you noticed, that they’re all Korean?”

For a moment, Caitlyn was silent. Then she cleared her throat before she spoke to Yuri. “Yuri,” she said slowly. “You know, there are a lot of Koreans in our school.”

“I know.”

“Besides, they aren’t all Korean. He dated Carla Reynolds for a few months during freshman year, remember?”

“I know,” Yuri repeated helplessly. “But still, it might not be a coincidence.”

Caitlyn gave Yuri a look. It felt judgemental, and Yuri wasn’t sure whether she wanted to reflexively apologize for her suspicions or shatter a glass cup over Caitlyn’s eyes. “Look, Yuri, I know what you’re trying to say.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” In a rare moment of tact, Caitlyn mused quietly for a few seconds, as if she was considering how to phrase her next statement. “And I think you’re a bit paranoid. I’ve been noticing this for a while.” Yuri didn’t say anything. She’d heard this before from other friends, other guys.

“Those three girls you named, they’re really pretty, don’t you think?” Caitlyn said. “Rachel was telling me the other day, she gets up at 5:00 AM every day to curl her hair and do her makeup. It shows, she really does look like an idol.”

“I guess.”

“Besides, Akash isn’t even white. I thought only white guys had fetishes like that.”

“Sure.”

“Just,” Caitlyn said, reaching over the table to playfully pull at a lock of Yuri’s hair. Normally, Yuri was bashfully amused at her brazen acts of physical contact, but this time, she barely stopped herself from recoiling away. “Don’t read too much into it. Try to live life a little, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“So you’ll go out with him?”

“Maybe. I’m still thinking about it.” Yuri was already plotting a way to get out of the café in the next ten minutes. Maybe fake a call from her mother, or a text from her father telling her to come home and help with dinner.

She wondered if she’d ignore Caitlyn from now on, or if her resolve would crumble the moment she walked into class and Caitlyn beamed at her or offered to do her hair. That was the way it usually went after their one-sided disputes. It was difficult to stay mad at Caitlyn, her oblivious nature, her guileless smile, and how it never seemed like she intended any harm.

Caitlyn grinned. “That’s good,” she said. “Hey, can I braid your hair?”

“Sure,” Yuri said, and Caitlyn was halfway done witht the braid before Yuri remembered she never faked that call.