The Jump, page 21
For what I’m about to do.
I make my choice.
And then I open up every single social media platform I can think of.
LEAKED ROUNDWORLD EMAILS REVEAL ALL
ANONYMOUS WHISTLEBLOWER SOUNDS ALARM
ROUNDWORLD AT CENTER OF INSURANCE FRAUD?
ALLEGATIONS OF INSURANCE FRAUD HIT ROUNDWORLD
COMMUNITY GARDEN DEMOLITION HALTED AMID ROUNDWORLD ALLEGATIONS
ROUNDWORLD FACES ALLEGATIONS OF INSURANCE FRAUD—LAND REPURPOSE DEAL ON HOLD
Yas
It’s been a week since Roundworld HQ was reduced to a black shell of a building.
Since we were all arrested.
Since Spider leaked the emails, and the documents, and the text conversations.
And I’m walking down the sidewalk just a few blocks away from where it all happened, out on bail, walking free, for now.
No more parkour for at least a few weeks, though. Jumping down melting scaffolding will put a girl off that for a while. I’m doing some good old-fashioned walking, to Abba’s store. The sun is out, surprisingly, since it’s April in Seattle. But the breeze rolling in off Lake Union ripples through my clothes and reminds me to breathe deeply.
And there it is.
The store that I might have saved, inadvertently. With Roundworld HQ gone, with that cafeteria gone, Abba’s customers have picked up. Mostly people who live locally and used to eat his biryanis and kormas and mithais before the cafeteria opened. Even now, a woman walks out holding one of his lovingly boxed-up heat-and-eat lunches, and as she walks past me, she smiles. I doubt she knows I’m related to him, or that I’m one of the “rebels” who “burned down the refinery headquarters,” but I smile back, knowing she’s helping a small business thrive—a small business that’s very, very dear to me.
I turn and walk up the steps to the glass door and swing it open to find several people milling around looking at products. One guy who seems to be in a huge hurry opens a fridge, grabs a box, and raises it so my father can see from the counter.
“Put it on my tab, sir!” exclaims the man before rushing past me and flying out the door. Abba waves in the guy’s direction with the biggest smile I’ve seen on him in a while. Then he notices me.
“Ah, my Yasmin,” he says, arms outstretched as he makes his way around the counter to me. I step into his warm embrace and press my cheek against his chest.
“Salaam, Abba,” I say. He smells like delicious food and patchouli, black pepper and cardboard boxes, probably from unboxing inventory in the back before he opened the store this morning. “Looks like business is booming again,” I say, stepping behind the counter as two customers step up to the register, each with two meals in hand.
“Would you like a bag?” asks Abba. They nod, and soon he’s rung up and bagged forty-eight dollars’ worth of product. I marvel at those who spend twelve dollars on a meal I eat every week or so with my family. It’s nothing so special, but as Abba says, If they’ll pay nine dollars for a boxed salad, they’ll pay twelve dollars for homemade meals.
He takes the broom off the wall around the corner and begins sweeping dust from under the counter back here.
“You know, dear,” he says softly, “I have you to thank.”
“For burning down a building?” comes Ranya’s voice from behind me. She bites into a crisp apple and leans on the counter. Then, seeing Abba’s face, she winks. “Kidding.”
“No,” says Abba, quite seriously. He rests the broom against the counter, crouches so he can look me in the eye, and takes both my hands in his. “That weed of a company was killing everything around it. Poisoning the neighborhood. You and your friends uprooted it. You exposed its twisted network for what it was, and now we have some hope. This place has its customers back.”
“Most of them,” says Ranya. Abba narrows his eyes at her. “What?” she asks, taking another bite. “I’m just being realistic here. Anyway, yeah, sis—you, uh… you really did take them down from the inside. Well done.”
I roll my eyes and have to smile, knowing that’s as close to a compliment as I’m going to get from her.
“Thanks, Ranya,” I say, turning to Abba. “Thank you, Abba.”
To my surprise, his eyes are glistening, and he cups my face and smiles.
“I’m honored to have you for a daughter,” he says, looking up at Ranya. “You too.”
“Gee, thanks,” she says with a smirk. He extends his arm out to her, she joins us behind the counter, and soon we’re all wrapped in one big cardboard-pepper-patchouli-perfume bear hug, Ranya and me encircled in Abba’s arms.
My phone beeps with a tone I know well—a special tone I’ve reserved for her—and the minute the hug is over, I can’t pull out my phone and read it fast enough.
SIGGE: Hey, it’s nice out. Meet me at the sculpture park for some partner yoga?
Partner yoga?
A million feelings swirl through my head, none of which I’m ready to process. It’s been a lot. Roundworld. My parkour aspirations. Sigge, of course. I feel my face warming at the thought her and the word “partner.”
Abba raises an arm above his head and leans backward, sending a flurry of crackles up his spine. I shudder at the sound, but he looks relieved.
“Ah,” he says. “Time to flip the sign.”
Ranya doesn’t take half a second to jump into my business.
“Is that her,” she whispers.
“Shh,” I urge, as Abba doesn’t know yet and I’m not ready to tell him.
“You can’t hide it from me,” says Ranya, resting a hand on my shoulder. “But… when you’re ready, I’ll be here for you.” I smile at her, grateful, and nod. But my thoughts are swirling, orbiting around that one word: partner.
ME: Will there be snacks?
SIGGE: Partner snacks? Coming on a little strong, don’t you think? ;)
ME: Regular snacks, between partners.
SIGGE: So that’s a yes, then?
ME: Depends what the question is.
There’s a long pause where that ellipsis springs to life and vanishes, and my heart is thundering.
SIGGE: Will you be my partner?
Oh my god. What do I even say? I can’t text back fast enough.
ME: Still playing games, I see?
SIGGE: We’ll see.
I do something I’ve never done. I send a heart emoji. She sends one back. And I make up an excuse to leave the store, sprinting through the city to the sculpture park to join…
…her.
Han
The kitchen is quiet except for the sound of a bird chirping just outside in the tree by our front door. It’s pleasant. And grounding. The sun is brilliant outside, summer peeking its face around the corner to tell me it’s on its way. My phone dings with a text notification.
SPIDER: Hey, man. My attorney is dope. Here’s her info.
Then he sends a link to Annette Coleman and Associates.
ME: Thanks.
SPIDER: Also, wanna come over later for some food and meditation?
ME: What kind of food? Also, yes.
SPIDER: Any kind of food! Let’s order something and go over our legal shit together.
That lifts a weight off my chest. There’s been so much paperwork to go through, and it’s hard to make sense of it all alone. I haven’t found an attorney yet—well, until the reference Spider just sent me.
ME: Yes, please.
SPIDER: Sweet! My place around 7?
ME: Ready your food-ordering fingers.
The kitchen door unlocks and swings open. Dad steps through and looks at me with a smile.
“Hey, man, where’s your brother?” he asks. I shrug.
Haven’t seen him since he left for the store about an hour ago. Dad nods and opens the fridge. Maybe drinking beer reminds him of his older son, who talks to him whenever he feels like talking. Dad hasn’t said much to me since the fire, and I wonder if he’s disappointed, if he believes what they’re saying on some news stations, that we’re a bunch of degenerates and hoodlums wreaking havoc on the workplaces of innocent people, or other news stations that say we’re standing up for what’s right and taking down a company behind one of the biggest insurance fraud claims in the history of corporate America.
I wonder which ones he believes.
He sits down and cracks open the beer, the hiss of the can filling the room where silence was.
“Hey, so, listen,” he says. “Son.”
He glances down at my hand and holds out his own, inviting me to take it. I smile at him and do so, feeling the warmth of his fingers close around mine.
“I, um… I just wanted you to know that I’m proud of you, okay?”
It warms me inside, makes me feel like I’ve done something right. Proud of me? For what? He swallows and stares down at my hand. “Whatever happens to the kayaking business, I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay? You’re not going to live with Mom. I don’t care what I have to do. It’s like I’ve always said—Mom left because of Mom, and not because of you, okay?”
Sure. He says that, but I know it’s just to make me feel better. But what he says next? With tears in his eyes? He looks me straight in the face and says with a passion I haven’t heard from him, ever, “Mom doesn’t know what she’s missing. Everywhere you go, things seem to get better. I’m proud, so proud, to be your father.”
There’s a long pause where I don’t know what to do or say. I mean, I’m happy. I’m really happy. I want to jump up and run around and scream in elation at hearing this. My dad? Proud of me? His younger son who he had to remeet all over again after my diagnosis? His son who is too young to drink a beer with him? Well, technically, both of us are too young, but… I guess his son who’s way too young to drink a beer with him.
I smile, and I realize I… I want to hug him? I want to hold him? I stand up and reach down to him, and amid his shock and surprise at my gesture, he jumps to his feet and pulls me into the coziest hug I’ve gotten in a while. He’s warm, and he smells like pine and freshly cut grass. I close my eyes and rest my chin on his soft flannel-covered shoulder.
“I love you, son,” he whispers.
I sigh and let my eyes close, basking in the warmth of this closeness, and I nod. And I know he knows I love him too.
Spider
This paperwork is bullshit.
The amount of forms I’ve gotta fill out, dates I’ve gotta remember, receipts I’ve gotta produce, and names I’ve gotta drag is exhausting. All I did was expose possibly the whole Seattle police force and a Fortune 5 company based in one of the most densely populated neighborhoods in the state, for insurance fraud and corruption. I already did the work. Now I just want to rest on my laurels, eat my imported shrimp-flavored potato chips, and focus on moving on with my life.
But I know that’s not possible.
Even though I’m a minor and my attorney, Annette, is trying to protect my identity as best as she can, I know I’ll have a target on my forehead for a while, if not the rest of my life. If there’s one thing I know about 12, it’s that they don’t play. Annette told me they’re saying “The Order” was actually two rogue retired cops, not the whole force. Fine, I’ll buy that. Maybe. But I’m still off social media and using my heavily protected burner phone.
I hear a knock at my door and look up from where I’m lounging on my beanbag.
“Come in,” I say, but before I can even say the word “in,” the door is easing open and Umma is peering through the crack.
“Daeshiiiiim, my love,” she coos, stepping inside holding a small ceramic bowl of something with steam rising from it. “I made dak juk. The onions are from Jax’s mama’s garden! So fresh and fragrant.”
I smile as I take the bowl and lift it under my nose. She’s right. The veggies from Mama’s garden are just—chef’s kiss—otherworldly. My phone dings with a text, but I leave it alone, because Umma is lowering herself to her knees in front of me. She reaches out and guides the bowl in my hands to the table beside my bed, and takes both my hands in hers.
“My Daeshim,” she says, kissing my fingers, “I must tell you something.”
Oh god. This is it. The moment she tells me the business is going under, the moment she tells me Seoul Food will be a thing of the past, the moment she tells me we have to leave the Pacific Northwest for cheaper pastures.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she squeezes my hand and says, “When you were born, I was so happy to be a mother. And then, when you told me the news, that I have a son… well, it took me a while. Lots of questions. But I learned to be happy all over again.”
I swallow, my jaw burning, threatening tears.
“Thanks, Umma,” I say.
“And,” she says, “when you told me new news, that my son found criminal information and took down a company that ruins so many lives”—her face is twisted into a grimace now—“I was more proud of you than I thought I could be.”
No way.
Umma? The one who’s all about rules and order and bending her menu to meet the needs of the masses?
“I am so proud,” she continues, “to have a son who fights for what is right, even when it’s hard.”
She kisses my fingers again, and before I can think to say more, I throw my arms around her neck and hold her close. She nuzzles her face into my neck and plants kisses all over it.
“I love you, Umma,” I croak, my voice breaking.
“And I love you,” she says.
I sigh. Whatever happens with the lawyers and the paperwork and the inevitable courtrooms and appearances, right now, in this moment, in Umma’s arms, I’m okay.
“Oh!” she exclaims suddenly, pulling back and looking me up and down. “You haven’t eaten today!”
Have I really not eaten a single thing?
I woke up.
I opened my laptop.
I read new emails from… well… everyone I know, about Roundworld, about my friends, about what happens now. And I’ve been here ever since.
I guess I really haven’t eaten anything.
I shrug sheepishly, without explanation.
“Eat your dak juk. I’ll go cut up some oranges and pears.”
“Umma, please, this is plenty—”
“They’re fresh from Pike Place Market!” she says, standing up. “You can’t power your brain without fuel. Oh, and I forgot to tell you. About Tae-Jin.”
My ears perk up at the mention of his name. He hasn’t been to the restaurant since he left to pick up his sister from the hospital. I’ve feared the worst. Maybe somebody… I don’t know… is torturing him in a back room somewhere for info about me, related to the forum. My chest tightens at the thought that something might have happened to him… happened to his whole family. Because of me.
I muster the courage to ask.
“What about Tae-Jin Hyung?”
Jax
My bingo card is completely shot. A week ago, it was missing so many things.
The incident at Thirty Foods.
Getting arrested.
Getting bailed out by the captain of Team ROYAL.
Racing to stop my teammates from “winning” the game I would’ve given my life to win just days before.
Busting a police-corruption-and-insurance-fraud scandal wide open.
Eating Mama’s pulled “pork” sandwiches made with jackfruit, with coleslaw from carrots and cabbage from the garden. The garden that gets to stand for so much longer, hopefully, now that Roundworld is busy explaining to the public why emails between their executives and two rogue cops seem to depict them enticing teens into compromising situations in the hopes of arresting them, in exchange for facilitating a wildly high-profile insurance fraud scheme that endangered the lives of several Duwamish committee members. As a shock to no one, Lucas’s dad was one of the cops involved, and he was in on it the whole time. Sigge turned out to be pretty cool. Yas certainly thinks so. I’m just glad they’re happy. And Karim?
Karim is sitting right across from me, leaning against a raised garden bed, lifting a jackfruit sandwich to his lips and taking a big bite. Another event that wasn’t on my card: Karim finding out his dad was arrested as one of the executives at Roundworld and having to go into hiding at the request of his mother, Melinda, since she’ll be busy answering questions for the next few weeks at least, and their house isn’t safe for Karim anymore.
Karim is now sitting with me and my family in the very garden his dad tried to destroy.
“You know,” he says, “this is actually incredible!”
“You sound surprised.” Ava smiles, taking bite and crossing her feet one over the other in the dirt.
Two small children sprint down the path between us, laughing and chasing each other, the one in the lead carrying a basket of mushrooms and the one behind carrying a watering can.
“No, no!” says Karim, holding up his hand apologetically. “I only meant that I’m not used to vegan food tasting so… you know…”
“Good?” I ask.
“I was going to say flavorful, but have it your way,” says Karim, taking another bite. “I mean, this is so moist and just—”
“All right, man, cool it or it’ll go to Zaza’s head.” I smirk, watching Zaza turn their attention from the greenhouses to us.
“Hey, I can take a compliment, or two, or three, or fifty-seven. Keep ’em coming.”
Mama walks up behind Karim with a basketful of carrots.
“Look at what’s come up!” she says before leaning down and planting a kiss on Zaza’s lips. A kiss that just… keeps going.
“Jesus, Mom, must you?” I ask.
“Since you’re the teenager,” she says, setting the basket down on the counter and putting her hand on their shoulder as she looks at me, “aren’t I supposed to be ruining your fun?”
“You already let Constable Killjoy stay with us,” I say, sending a playful smile at Karim.
“Don’t you think things might get a little confusing between you calling me Constable and me calling—”
“Don’t even say it again.”
“Say what?” Zaza just has to ask. Karim turns around to look at them and says:
I make my choice.
And then I open up every single social media platform I can think of.
LEAKED ROUNDWORLD EMAILS REVEAL ALL
ANONYMOUS WHISTLEBLOWER SOUNDS ALARM
ROUNDWORLD AT CENTER OF INSURANCE FRAUD?
ALLEGATIONS OF INSURANCE FRAUD HIT ROUNDWORLD
COMMUNITY GARDEN DEMOLITION HALTED AMID ROUNDWORLD ALLEGATIONS
ROUNDWORLD FACES ALLEGATIONS OF INSURANCE FRAUD—LAND REPURPOSE DEAL ON HOLD
Yas
It’s been a week since Roundworld HQ was reduced to a black shell of a building.
Since we were all arrested.
Since Spider leaked the emails, and the documents, and the text conversations.
And I’m walking down the sidewalk just a few blocks away from where it all happened, out on bail, walking free, for now.
No more parkour for at least a few weeks, though. Jumping down melting scaffolding will put a girl off that for a while. I’m doing some good old-fashioned walking, to Abba’s store. The sun is out, surprisingly, since it’s April in Seattle. But the breeze rolling in off Lake Union ripples through my clothes and reminds me to breathe deeply.
And there it is.
The store that I might have saved, inadvertently. With Roundworld HQ gone, with that cafeteria gone, Abba’s customers have picked up. Mostly people who live locally and used to eat his biryanis and kormas and mithais before the cafeteria opened. Even now, a woman walks out holding one of his lovingly boxed-up heat-and-eat lunches, and as she walks past me, she smiles. I doubt she knows I’m related to him, or that I’m one of the “rebels” who “burned down the refinery headquarters,” but I smile back, knowing she’s helping a small business thrive—a small business that’s very, very dear to me.
I turn and walk up the steps to the glass door and swing it open to find several people milling around looking at products. One guy who seems to be in a huge hurry opens a fridge, grabs a box, and raises it so my father can see from the counter.
“Put it on my tab, sir!” exclaims the man before rushing past me and flying out the door. Abba waves in the guy’s direction with the biggest smile I’ve seen on him in a while. Then he notices me.
“Ah, my Yasmin,” he says, arms outstretched as he makes his way around the counter to me. I step into his warm embrace and press my cheek against his chest.
“Salaam, Abba,” I say. He smells like delicious food and patchouli, black pepper and cardboard boxes, probably from unboxing inventory in the back before he opened the store this morning. “Looks like business is booming again,” I say, stepping behind the counter as two customers step up to the register, each with two meals in hand.
“Would you like a bag?” asks Abba. They nod, and soon he’s rung up and bagged forty-eight dollars’ worth of product. I marvel at those who spend twelve dollars on a meal I eat every week or so with my family. It’s nothing so special, but as Abba says, If they’ll pay nine dollars for a boxed salad, they’ll pay twelve dollars for homemade meals.
He takes the broom off the wall around the corner and begins sweeping dust from under the counter back here.
“You know, dear,” he says softly, “I have you to thank.”
“For burning down a building?” comes Ranya’s voice from behind me. She bites into a crisp apple and leans on the counter. Then, seeing Abba’s face, she winks. “Kidding.”
“No,” says Abba, quite seriously. He rests the broom against the counter, crouches so he can look me in the eye, and takes both my hands in his. “That weed of a company was killing everything around it. Poisoning the neighborhood. You and your friends uprooted it. You exposed its twisted network for what it was, and now we have some hope. This place has its customers back.”
“Most of them,” says Ranya. Abba narrows his eyes at her. “What?” she asks, taking another bite. “I’m just being realistic here. Anyway, yeah, sis—you, uh… you really did take them down from the inside. Well done.”
I roll my eyes and have to smile, knowing that’s as close to a compliment as I’m going to get from her.
“Thanks, Ranya,” I say, turning to Abba. “Thank you, Abba.”
To my surprise, his eyes are glistening, and he cups my face and smiles.
“I’m honored to have you for a daughter,” he says, looking up at Ranya. “You too.”
“Gee, thanks,” she says with a smirk. He extends his arm out to her, she joins us behind the counter, and soon we’re all wrapped in one big cardboard-pepper-patchouli-perfume bear hug, Ranya and me encircled in Abba’s arms.
My phone beeps with a tone I know well—a special tone I’ve reserved for her—and the minute the hug is over, I can’t pull out my phone and read it fast enough.
SIGGE: Hey, it’s nice out. Meet me at the sculpture park for some partner yoga?
Partner yoga?
A million feelings swirl through my head, none of which I’m ready to process. It’s been a lot. Roundworld. My parkour aspirations. Sigge, of course. I feel my face warming at the thought her and the word “partner.”
Abba raises an arm above his head and leans backward, sending a flurry of crackles up his spine. I shudder at the sound, but he looks relieved.
“Ah,” he says. “Time to flip the sign.”
Ranya doesn’t take half a second to jump into my business.
“Is that her,” she whispers.
“Shh,” I urge, as Abba doesn’t know yet and I’m not ready to tell him.
“You can’t hide it from me,” says Ranya, resting a hand on my shoulder. “But… when you’re ready, I’ll be here for you.” I smile at her, grateful, and nod. But my thoughts are swirling, orbiting around that one word: partner.
ME: Will there be snacks?
SIGGE: Partner snacks? Coming on a little strong, don’t you think? ;)
ME: Regular snacks, between partners.
SIGGE: So that’s a yes, then?
ME: Depends what the question is.
There’s a long pause where that ellipsis springs to life and vanishes, and my heart is thundering.
SIGGE: Will you be my partner?
Oh my god. What do I even say? I can’t text back fast enough.
ME: Still playing games, I see?
SIGGE: We’ll see.
I do something I’ve never done. I send a heart emoji. She sends one back. And I make up an excuse to leave the store, sprinting through the city to the sculpture park to join…
…her.
Han
The kitchen is quiet except for the sound of a bird chirping just outside in the tree by our front door. It’s pleasant. And grounding. The sun is brilliant outside, summer peeking its face around the corner to tell me it’s on its way. My phone dings with a text notification.
SPIDER: Hey, man. My attorney is dope. Here’s her info.
Then he sends a link to Annette Coleman and Associates.
ME: Thanks.
SPIDER: Also, wanna come over later for some food and meditation?
ME: What kind of food? Also, yes.
SPIDER: Any kind of food! Let’s order something and go over our legal shit together.
That lifts a weight off my chest. There’s been so much paperwork to go through, and it’s hard to make sense of it all alone. I haven’t found an attorney yet—well, until the reference Spider just sent me.
ME: Yes, please.
SPIDER: Sweet! My place around 7?
ME: Ready your food-ordering fingers.
The kitchen door unlocks and swings open. Dad steps through and looks at me with a smile.
“Hey, man, where’s your brother?” he asks. I shrug.
Haven’t seen him since he left for the store about an hour ago. Dad nods and opens the fridge. Maybe drinking beer reminds him of his older son, who talks to him whenever he feels like talking. Dad hasn’t said much to me since the fire, and I wonder if he’s disappointed, if he believes what they’re saying on some news stations, that we’re a bunch of degenerates and hoodlums wreaking havoc on the workplaces of innocent people, or other news stations that say we’re standing up for what’s right and taking down a company behind one of the biggest insurance fraud claims in the history of corporate America.
I wonder which ones he believes.
He sits down and cracks open the beer, the hiss of the can filling the room where silence was.
“Hey, so, listen,” he says. “Son.”
He glances down at my hand and holds out his own, inviting me to take it. I smile at him and do so, feeling the warmth of his fingers close around mine.
“I, um… I just wanted you to know that I’m proud of you, okay?”
It warms me inside, makes me feel like I’ve done something right. Proud of me? For what? He swallows and stares down at my hand. “Whatever happens to the kayaking business, I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay? You’re not going to live with Mom. I don’t care what I have to do. It’s like I’ve always said—Mom left because of Mom, and not because of you, okay?”
Sure. He says that, but I know it’s just to make me feel better. But what he says next? With tears in his eyes? He looks me straight in the face and says with a passion I haven’t heard from him, ever, “Mom doesn’t know what she’s missing. Everywhere you go, things seem to get better. I’m proud, so proud, to be your father.”
There’s a long pause where I don’t know what to do or say. I mean, I’m happy. I’m really happy. I want to jump up and run around and scream in elation at hearing this. My dad? Proud of me? His younger son who he had to remeet all over again after my diagnosis? His son who is too young to drink a beer with him? Well, technically, both of us are too young, but… I guess his son who’s way too young to drink a beer with him.
I smile, and I realize I… I want to hug him? I want to hold him? I stand up and reach down to him, and amid his shock and surprise at my gesture, he jumps to his feet and pulls me into the coziest hug I’ve gotten in a while. He’s warm, and he smells like pine and freshly cut grass. I close my eyes and rest my chin on his soft flannel-covered shoulder.
“I love you, son,” he whispers.
I sigh and let my eyes close, basking in the warmth of this closeness, and I nod. And I know he knows I love him too.
Spider
This paperwork is bullshit.
The amount of forms I’ve gotta fill out, dates I’ve gotta remember, receipts I’ve gotta produce, and names I’ve gotta drag is exhausting. All I did was expose possibly the whole Seattle police force and a Fortune 5 company based in one of the most densely populated neighborhoods in the state, for insurance fraud and corruption. I already did the work. Now I just want to rest on my laurels, eat my imported shrimp-flavored potato chips, and focus on moving on with my life.
But I know that’s not possible.
Even though I’m a minor and my attorney, Annette, is trying to protect my identity as best as she can, I know I’ll have a target on my forehead for a while, if not the rest of my life. If there’s one thing I know about 12, it’s that they don’t play. Annette told me they’re saying “The Order” was actually two rogue retired cops, not the whole force. Fine, I’ll buy that. Maybe. But I’m still off social media and using my heavily protected burner phone.
I hear a knock at my door and look up from where I’m lounging on my beanbag.
“Come in,” I say, but before I can even say the word “in,” the door is easing open and Umma is peering through the crack.
“Daeshiiiiim, my love,” she coos, stepping inside holding a small ceramic bowl of something with steam rising from it. “I made dak juk. The onions are from Jax’s mama’s garden! So fresh and fragrant.”
I smile as I take the bowl and lift it under my nose. She’s right. The veggies from Mama’s garden are just—chef’s kiss—otherworldly. My phone dings with a text, but I leave it alone, because Umma is lowering herself to her knees in front of me. She reaches out and guides the bowl in my hands to the table beside my bed, and takes both my hands in hers.
“My Daeshim,” she says, kissing my fingers, “I must tell you something.”
Oh god. This is it. The moment she tells me the business is going under, the moment she tells me Seoul Food will be a thing of the past, the moment she tells me we have to leave the Pacific Northwest for cheaper pastures.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she squeezes my hand and says, “When you were born, I was so happy to be a mother. And then, when you told me the news, that I have a son… well, it took me a while. Lots of questions. But I learned to be happy all over again.”
I swallow, my jaw burning, threatening tears.
“Thanks, Umma,” I say.
“And,” she says, “when you told me new news, that my son found criminal information and took down a company that ruins so many lives”—her face is twisted into a grimace now—“I was more proud of you than I thought I could be.”
No way.
Umma? The one who’s all about rules and order and bending her menu to meet the needs of the masses?
“I am so proud,” she continues, “to have a son who fights for what is right, even when it’s hard.”
She kisses my fingers again, and before I can think to say more, I throw my arms around her neck and hold her close. She nuzzles her face into my neck and plants kisses all over it.
“I love you, Umma,” I croak, my voice breaking.
“And I love you,” she says.
I sigh. Whatever happens with the lawyers and the paperwork and the inevitable courtrooms and appearances, right now, in this moment, in Umma’s arms, I’m okay.
“Oh!” she exclaims suddenly, pulling back and looking me up and down. “You haven’t eaten today!”
Have I really not eaten a single thing?
I woke up.
I opened my laptop.
I read new emails from… well… everyone I know, about Roundworld, about my friends, about what happens now. And I’ve been here ever since.
I guess I really haven’t eaten anything.
I shrug sheepishly, without explanation.
“Eat your dak juk. I’ll go cut up some oranges and pears.”
“Umma, please, this is plenty—”
“They’re fresh from Pike Place Market!” she says, standing up. “You can’t power your brain without fuel. Oh, and I forgot to tell you. About Tae-Jin.”
My ears perk up at the mention of his name. He hasn’t been to the restaurant since he left to pick up his sister from the hospital. I’ve feared the worst. Maybe somebody… I don’t know… is torturing him in a back room somewhere for info about me, related to the forum. My chest tightens at the thought that something might have happened to him… happened to his whole family. Because of me.
I muster the courage to ask.
“What about Tae-Jin Hyung?”
Jax
My bingo card is completely shot. A week ago, it was missing so many things.
The incident at Thirty Foods.
Getting arrested.
Getting bailed out by the captain of Team ROYAL.
Racing to stop my teammates from “winning” the game I would’ve given my life to win just days before.
Busting a police-corruption-and-insurance-fraud scandal wide open.
Eating Mama’s pulled “pork” sandwiches made with jackfruit, with coleslaw from carrots and cabbage from the garden. The garden that gets to stand for so much longer, hopefully, now that Roundworld is busy explaining to the public why emails between their executives and two rogue cops seem to depict them enticing teens into compromising situations in the hopes of arresting them, in exchange for facilitating a wildly high-profile insurance fraud scheme that endangered the lives of several Duwamish committee members. As a shock to no one, Lucas’s dad was one of the cops involved, and he was in on it the whole time. Sigge turned out to be pretty cool. Yas certainly thinks so. I’m just glad they’re happy. And Karim?
Karim is sitting right across from me, leaning against a raised garden bed, lifting a jackfruit sandwich to his lips and taking a big bite. Another event that wasn’t on my card: Karim finding out his dad was arrested as one of the executives at Roundworld and having to go into hiding at the request of his mother, Melinda, since she’ll be busy answering questions for the next few weeks at least, and their house isn’t safe for Karim anymore.
Karim is now sitting with me and my family in the very garden his dad tried to destroy.
“You know,” he says, “this is actually incredible!”
“You sound surprised.” Ava smiles, taking bite and crossing her feet one over the other in the dirt.
Two small children sprint down the path between us, laughing and chasing each other, the one in the lead carrying a basket of mushrooms and the one behind carrying a watering can.
“No, no!” says Karim, holding up his hand apologetically. “I only meant that I’m not used to vegan food tasting so… you know…”
“Good?” I ask.
“I was going to say flavorful, but have it your way,” says Karim, taking another bite. “I mean, this is so moist and just—”
“All right, man, cool it or it’ll go to Zaza’s head.” I smirk, watching Zaza turn their attention from the greenhouses to us.
“Hey, I can take a compliment, or two, or three, or fifty-seven. Keep ’em coming.”
Mama walks up behind Karim with a basketful of carrots.
“Look at what’s come up!” she says before leaning down and planting a kiss on Zaza’s lips. A kiss that just… keeps going.
“Jesus, Mom, must you?” I ask.
“Since you’re the teenager,” she says, setting the basket down on the counter and putting her hand on their shoulder as she looks at me, “aren’t I supposed to be ruining your fun?”
“You already let Constable Killjoy stay with us,” I say, sending a playful smile at Karim.
“Don’t you think things might get a little confusing between you calling me Constable and me calling—”
“Don’t even say it again.”
“Say what?” Zaza just has to ask. Karim turns around to look at them and says:
