LOVE:ZERO

When Jiyu didn’t answer, Hunter sarcastically said.

“Get some exercise, Ju Parker, don’t stumble and fall.”

Any hesitation to thank him for helping her up evaporated.

“Let go of me.”

Barely regaining her composure, she brushed her hand away.

“Tsk. Even if you need my help.”

Clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes, Hunter spun on his heel and started running.

His feet pounded the ground as he sped away, trying to catch up to the kids ahead of him.

Soon his backside was hidden by the lush foliage.

Jiyu turned around, limping on her sprained ankle.

She needed to get back to base camp, where the first aid kit was, to disinfect and bandage the muddy wound.

But then her eyes locked with Sienna, who stood a few feet behind her, staring at her.

Brows furrowed, eyes squinted, she scanned Jiyu from head to toe, then shook her head slightly.

Then she smirked.

As if that couldn’t possibly be true.

“Are you okay, Olivia?”

Sienna asked as she ran past her again.

“Uh, I’m fine. Thanks, Sienna.”

Jiyu replied quickly, but Sienna walked away without looking back.

She sighed and bit her lip.

Maybe I’ll just play volleyball. Next gym class.

The sixth grade girls at Astor School looked like they’d gotten a taste of the fall heat as a group.

The populous kids, including Sienna, collapsed like slender ladies on the Bridal Path in Central Park.

Hunter Hamilton, running at the front of the Alton School pack, glided past them.

✿

Dressed in a knee-length ivory satin dress, Jiyu stood in front of the mirror.

The golden sash around the dress’s waist and matching mary jane shoes shone brightly.

“Wear gloves.”

Ae-Jeong held out a pair of white satin gloves to her. Then, looking into the mirror, she ruffled Jiyu’s hair with pride.

With a quick flick of her fingers, she secured the loose, corolla-like braids on either side of her head with a thin ribbon at the back of her head, and let the rest of her hair fall free.

Lately, the populist kids at Astor School have been spending every spare moment talking about dresses and shoes for Cotillon’s class.

Cotillon class was a class for eleven- to thirteen-year-olds to dress up in suits and dresses and learn manners and etiquette along with social dances like the waltz and foxtrot.

The last vestiges of the “Debutante Ball” were kept alive by a small circle of upper-class scions.

Of course, it wasn’t a class that anyone could join if they wanted to.

With no publicly available information, you couldn’t even get an application without connections, and you needed a recommendation from an existing member to enroll in the class.

“Recommendation” was the most effective safeguard the upper class used to keep their world small.

“Jiyu, how lucky you are that Hunter’s mom wrote your recommendation. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have gotten in. After all, living next to a rich family is a big step down from the beanstalk.”

Affection chuckled, took one last look at Jiyu’s outfit, and shrugged.

“Let’s go now.”

Jiyu sighed in exasperation.

She didn’t want to go to Cotillon’s class.

She didn’t like the dresses that looked like a six-year-old’s wedding gown, and she didn’t want to waltz with a bunch of boys who screamed and ran around like caged animals in a zoo.

But it was impossible to break the stubbornness of love.

“Is Hunter coming too?” she asked dejectedly, dragging her feet.

“Of course. It’s been in his family for generations. Lauren gave him a hard time about not going because of his fiery temper.”

I felt a little better knowing that I wasn’t the only one being dragged along. Jiyu smirked.

Hunter Hamilton waltzing with girls.

It would be fun to watch.

“Jiyu, Jiyu.”

The soles of her shoes grinded against the cement with each shuffling step as she turned onto Park Avenue.

“Jiyu, are you crawling? We’re going to be late! Hurry up!”

Ae-Jeong, who was walking ahead of her, looked back impatiently and urged her on.

Jiyu retorted sharply.

“My feet hurt, I can’t walk! I told you I don’t like these shoes.”

“What?”

Ae-Jeong walked over and squatted down in front of her.

The ringed, polished mary janes were too stiff.

She bought her a size that was too big, thinking they’d last longer because they were expensive, but they slipped with every step.

The tight straps dug into her ankles when her toes bumped the toe of the shoe.

“Mom, stand up! What are you doing!”

Jiyu panicked and pushed Ae-Jeong’s shoulder as passersby turned to look at her.

But Ae-Jeong didn’t care and undid the ankle strap.

She looked at her reddened toes and ankles and clicked her tongue.

“Tsk. You haven’t even blistered yet. It’s okay, just hang in there. Pretty shoes are uncomfortable.”

“I’m going home. My feet hurt, I can’t dance.”

Jiyu was stubborn. Lately, she’d often spit out words of affection. She’s also become more assertive.

“You’re talking nonsense! Kids nowadays have as much patience as a bird on the street. When your mom was younger, if I bought a pair of shoes, I wore them for two or three years until the soles wore out. The only way new shoes don’t hurt is if they’re blistered, popped, and callused.”

It was a love that came from growing up as an orphan with no parents, so it was an uncomfortable axis to bear.

‘Who did she look like, such a frail child?’

Ae-Jeong grumbled to herself.

‘It’s a shame that she was born with good parents and lived in luxury, but if she had been born an orphan like me, she would have starved to death.’

Ae-Jeong gently rubbed her chapped toes.

Unlike her childhood feet, they were smooth without a single callus.

“Like a rich girl, you have beautiful feet, and you complain that they hurt when I put your shoes on.”

She laughed bitterly, with ambivalent feelings of annoyance and pride.

She wasn’t going to pass on a life like that to Jiyu.

The stench of poverty that haunts her like a nightmare when she closes her eyes, the insatiable hunger that can’t be satisfied no matter what she eats, the shame of ignorance, and the hopelessness that clings to her like a leech.

I had to live without knowing any of these things.

The daughter of a wealthy family, elegant and noble.

That’s how she planned to raise her daughter, who had only one love.

“Listen, I’m doing this for you. Put your shoes back on quickly.”

Ae-Jeong scolded Jiyu.

With her mouth agape, Jiyu grinded the heels of her shoes against the cement floor and started walking again.

Cotillon classes were held every other week in Whitmore Hall, a stately landmark building on the ground floor of 84 Park Avenue.

As she entered the building, Jiyu’s steps slowed to a crawl.

Partly because her feet hurt, but also because she still hadn’t gotten over her shyness.

Her best friend Chloe wanted to come, but she couldn’t find anyone to write a letter of recommendation.

Frustrated, Jiyu asked Ae-Jeong if she could ask Lauren to write a letter of recommendation for Chloe.

Ae-Jeong dismissed the question with a look of incredulity.

Why should she go alone to a place where the populist kids are sure to be?

On top of that, she had to dance with a boy she didn’t know.

My heart sank. A familiar rejection of the unfamiliar replaced any curiosity I had about the cotillion class.

“Mom, I really don’t want to go, and I think my stomach is a little sick…”

Standing at the door of Whitmore Hall, Jiyu pleaded, clutching her stomach with a pitiful face.

But Ae-Jeong just glared at her and fired like a rapid-fire cannon.

“Again, again, Jiyu Parker, you’re shitting your pants in the hall, and you’ve been bending over backwards to Hunter’s mom for the past few months to get you in here… Anyway, if you end up marrying into a rich family, it’s all my fault!”

Jiyu looked around with a puzzled face.

Her eardrums, which were sensitive to sound, twitched as the unusually high-pitched voice of affection echoed up to the high ceiling of the lobby, and she wondered if anyone could understand Korean.

She was ashamed of Ae-Jeong for having the audacity to say such an anachronistic thing, and whenever she felt that way, she was tormented by the guilt of embarrassing her mother.

She knew that Ae-Jeong loved her terribly; she loved her mother too.

But the way she pushed her way through things without acknowledgment sometimes choked her.

Sometimes she wanted to scream and rebel, but she didn’t have the courage.Her mom would be shocked and sad.

Ae-Jeong pushed open the classically carved doors of Whitmore Hall with her trademark bravado.

Though she was five minutes late, the noise that filled the hall made her ears prickle, wondering if class had started yet.

Grabbing Jiyu’s wrist, Ae-Jeong stormed inside, yanking her back as she tried to hide behind her like they did when they were kids.

“Hurry up and sit down!”

Jiyu hunched her shoulders and rolled her eyes, looking around.

When Jiyu didn’t answer, Hunter sarcastically said.

“Get some exercise, Ju Parker, don’t stumble and fall.”

Any hesitation to thank him for helping her up evaporated.

“Let go of me.”

Barely regaining her composure, she brushed her hand away.

“Tsk. Even if you need my help.”

Clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes, Hunter spun on his heel and started running.

His feet pounded the ground as he sped away, trying to catch up to the kids ahead of him.

Soon his backside was hidden by the lush foliage.

Jiyu turned around, limping on her sprained ankle.

She needed to get back to base camp, where the first aid kit was, to disinfect and bandage the muddy wound.

But then her eyes locked with Sienna, who stood a few feet behind her, staring at her.

Brows furrowed, eyes squinted, she scanned Jiyu from head to toe, then shook her head slightly.

Then she smirked.

As if that couldn’t possibly be true.

“Are you okay, Olivia?”

Sienna asked as she ran past her again.

“Uh, I’m fine. Thanks, Sienna.”

Jiyu replied quickly, but Sienna walked away without looking back.

She sighed and bit her lip.

Maybe I’ll just play volleyball. Next gym class.

The sixth grade girls at Astor School looked like they’d gotten a taste of the fall heat as a group.

The populous kids, including Sienna, collapsed like slender ladies on the Bridal Path in Central Park.

Hunter Hamilton, running at the front of the Alton School pack, glided past them.

✿

Dressed in a knee-length ivory satin dress, Jiyu stood in front of the mirror.

The golden sash around the dress’s waist and matching mary jane shoes shone brightly.

“Wear gloves.”

Ae-Jeong held out a pair of white satin gloves to her. Then, looking into the mirror, she ruffled Jiyu’s hair with pride.

With a quick flick of her fingers, she secured the loose, corolla-like braids on either side of her head with a thin ribbon at the back of her head, and let the rest of her hair fall free.

Lately, the populist kids at Astor School have been spending every spare moment talking about dresses and shoes for Cotillon’s class.

Cotillon class was a class for eleven- to thirteen-year-olds to dress up in suits and dresses and learn manners and etiquette along with social dances like the waltz and foxtrot.

The last vestiges of the “Debutante Ball” were kept alive by a small circle of upper-class scions.

Of course, it wasn’t a class that anyone could join if they wanted to.

With no publicly available information, you couldn’t even get an application without connections, and you needed a recommendation from an existing member to enroll in the class.

“Recommendation” was the most effective safeguard the upper class used to keep their world small.

“Jiyu, how lucky you are that Hunter’s mom wrote your recommendation. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have gotten in. After all, living next to a rich family is a big step down from the beanstalk.”

Affection chuckled, took one last look at Jiyu’s outfit, and shrugged.

“Let’s go now.”

Jiyu sighed in exasperation.

She didn’t want to go to Cotillon’s class.

She didn’t like the dresses that looked like a six-year-old’s wedding gown, and she didn’t want to waltz with a bunch of boys who screamed and ran around like caged animals in a zoo.

But it was impossible to break the stubbornness of love.

“Is Hunter coming too?” she asked dejectedly, dragging her feet.

“Of course. It’s been in his family for generations. Lauren gave him a hard time about not going because of his fiery temper.”

I felt a little better knowing that I wasn’t the only one being dragged along. Jiyu smirked.

Hunter Hamilton waltzing with girls.

It would be fun to watch.

“Jiyu, Jiyu.”

The soles of her shoes grinded against the cement with each shuffling step as she turned onto Park Avenue.

“Jiyu, are you crawling? We’re going to be late! Hurry up!”

Ae-Jeong, who was walking ahead of her, looked back impatiently and urged her on.

Jiyu retorted sharply.

“My feet hurt, I can’t walk! I told you I don’t like these shoes.”

“What?”

Ae-Jeong walked over and squatted down in front of her.

The ringed, polished mary janes were too stiff.

She bought her a size that was too big, thinking they’d last longer because they were expensive, but they slipped with every step.

The tight straps dug into her ankles when her toes bumped the toe of the shoe.

“Mom, stand up! What are you doing!”

Jiyu panicked and pushed Ae-Jeong’s shoulder as passersby turned to look at her.

But Ae-Jeong didn’t care and undid the ankle strap.

She looked at her reddened toes and ankles and clicked her tongue.

“Tsk. You haven’t even blistered yet. It’s okay, just hang in there. Pretty shoes are uncomfortable.”

“I’m going home. My feet hurt, I can’t dance.”

Jiyu was stubborn. Lately, she’d often spit out words of affection. She’s also become more assertive.

“You’re talking nonsense! Kids nowadays have as much patience as a bird on the street. When your mom was younger, if I bought a pair of shoes, I wore them for two or three years until the soles wore out. The only way new shoes don’t hurt is if they’re blistered, popped, and callused.”

It was a love that came from growing up as an orphan with no parents, so it was an uncomfortable axis to bear.

‘Who did she look like, such a frail child?’

Ae-Jeong grumbled to herself.

‘It’s a shame that she was born with good parents and lived in luxury, but if she had been born an orphan like me, she would have starved to death.’

Ae-Jeong gently rubbed her chapped toes.

Unlike her childhood feet, they were smooth without a single callus.

“Like a rich girl, you have beautiful feet, and you complain that they hurt when I put your shoes on.”

She laughed bitterly, with ambivalent feelings of annoyance and pride.

She wasn’t going to pass on a life like that to Jiyu.

The stench of poverty that haunts her like a nightmare when she closes her eyes, the insatiable hunger that can’t be satisfied no matter what she eats, the shame of ignorance, and the hopelessness that clings to her like a leech.

I had to live without knowing any of these things.

The daughter of a wealthy family, elegant and noble.

That’s how she planned to raise her daughter, who had only one love.

“Listen, I’m doing this for you. Put your shoes back on quickly.”

Ae-Jeong scolded Jiyu.

With her mouth agape, Jiyu grinded the heels of her shoes against the cement floor and started walking again.

Cotillon classes were held every other week in Whitmore Hall, a stately landmark building on the ground floor of 84 Park Avenue.

As she entered the building, Jiyu’s steps slowed to a crawl.

Partly because her feet hurt, but also because she still hadn’t gotten over her shyness.

Her best friend Chloe wanted to come, but she couldn’t find anyone to write a letter of recommendation.

Frustrated, Jiyu asked Ae-Jeong if she could ask Lauren to write a letter of recommendation for Chloe.

Ae-Jeong dismissed the question with a look of incredulity.

Why should she go alone to a place where the populist kids are sure to be?

On top of that, she had to dance with a boy she didn’t know.

My heart sank. A familiar rejection of the unfamiliar replaced any curiosity I had about the cotillion class.

“Mom, I really don’t want to go, and I think my stomach is a little sick…”

Standing at the door of Whitmore Hall, Jiyu pleaded, clutching her stomach with a pitiful face.

But Ae-Jeong just glared at her and fired like a rapid-fire cannon.

“Again, again, Jiyu Parker, you’re shitting your pants in the hall, and you’ve been bending over backwards to Hunter’s mom for the past few months to get you in here… Anyway, if you end up marrying into a rich family, it’s all my fault!”

Jiyu looked around with a puzzled face.

Her eardrums, which were sensitive to sound, twitched as the unusually high-pitched voice of affection echoed up to the high ceiling of the lobby, and she wondered if anyone could understand Korean.

She was ashamed of Ae-Jeong for having the audacity to say such an anachronistic thing, and whenever she felt that way, she was tormented by the guilt of embarrassing her mother.

She knew that Ae-Jeong loved her terribly; she loved her mother too.

But the way she pushed her way through things without acknowledgment sometimes choked her.

Sometimes she wanted to scream and rebel, but she didn’t have the courage.Her mom would be shocked and sad.

Ae-Jeong pushed open the classically carved doors of Whitmore Hall with her trademark bravado.

Though she was five minutes late, the noise that filled the hall made her ears prickle, wondering if class had started yet.

Grabbing Jiyu’s wrist, Ae-Jeong stormed inside, yanking her back as she tried to hide behind her like they did when they were kids.

“Hurry up and sit down!”

Jiyu hunched her shoulders and rolled her eyes, looking around.