Loveboat in 서울

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"No kidding." I toss my half-finished bubble tea in the trash, all my appetite gone. It's obvious now. My parents have sent me here to be sanctified. As iron sharpens iron, so one well-honed nerd sharpens another—except these aren't ordinary nerds like me, they're prodigies on the order of Wonder Boy.

"Bae Sooji." A woman in her forties, heavy-set in a green hanbok, greets me from behind the registration desk. Her salt-and-pepper perm curls down like a helmet on her head.

"It's Suzy."

"Sooji," she thunders at me with general-like authority. Clearly, it's not up to me what I'll be called this summer. "Eoseo osibsio. Jeoneun Gin seonsaengnim-ibnida." Welcome. I'm Teacher Gin. Gin—"tall." It suits her. The rest of what she says is lost on me.

As she digs into a box behind her, Sohee murmurs, "Everyone calls her the Dragon. Sucks we're stuck with her as program head this summer." The name fits her haughty jawline and nose.

We are roomed by arrivals. The Dragon hands Sohee and me keys to room 39, along with a tote bag stitched with a white, black, red, and blue flag of the Republic of Korea, a red and blue yin-yang with black lines around the white background. It contains a yearbook and folded map of Seoul.

The Dragon switches to English in a Seoul dialect to set forth the program's expectations: Korean, Korean culture, study hard.

"What electives would you like?" she asks. "Each runs for two weeks, then we have field trips.

"I'm doing a double cooking class," Sohee says. "I already sent mine."

"Elective?" I say. "I haven't picked any." Sohee gets a binder of recipes while I flip through the materials: paper cutting, zither, kite making, lantern making,  lion dancing, fan dancing, ribbon dancing, KPOP workshops, dragon boat racing, stick-fighting, Taekwondo, sword fighting, wow—

"Oh! Sooji, your parents already sent in your electives."

My head snaps up. "They did?"

The Dragon hands me a sheet bearing my Korean name at the top:

Hangul: Level 1
Elective 1: Introduction to Korean Medicine
Elective 2: Calligraphy

"Hey, we're in Hangul together," Sohee says, but I barely heard her.

They picked my electives.

Just like they picked them through high school: French instead of Latin, a dead language, Advanced Topics in Biology instead of Dance.

"Can I switch one to ribbon dancing?"

"Ah, I am sorry. Class is full."

"What abput fan dancing?"

"Full as well."

"Stick fighting?"

The Dragon shakes her head. "Your parents asked for these. You can call them.

I imagine the dead-end conversation with Eomma: Korean Medicine is for med school. Calligraphy is practical. Good for writing prescriptions the rest of your life. Six thousand miles away, their invisible hands are still tight around my life.

I answer through gritted teeth. "Fine."

"Please reserve an hour for homework each night, always travel with a buddy, bed check at nine thirty p.m. No boys and girls in a room with the door closed."

"Of course not." If Sohee held her hand up, Scouts honor, she couldn't appear more sincere. "We wouldn't think of it."

I can't help but smile. Until the Dragon introduces he demerits system.