Somewhere Between Us

 Chapter 1

Home away from home

Choi Jiwon

Winter.

There wasn’t much difference between the seasons in Canada and Korea. Both countries had four seasons: winter, spring, summer, and autumn.

I could handle winter.

At least, that was what I kept telling myself.

I had heard that Canadian winters could be brutally cold, but I was used to wearing layers upon layers of winter clothes. A thick sweater, a winter jacket, warm leggings, gloves, a scarf, and boots.

How different could it really be?

Moving from Korea to Canada shouldn’t have been that difficult.

Except for one thing.

English.

I was ten years old when I moved to Canada, and my English was limited to a handful of phrases.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Thank you.”

“Sorry.”

That was about it.

I stood in front of the mirror, looking at myself for what felt like the hundredth time.

Pink sweater.

Black leggings.

Winter jacket.

Pink hair tie holding my black hair in a ponytail.

I looked like any other ten-year-old girl.

Except I didn’t feel like one.

It was my first day at a Canadian school, and I was terrified.

What if I couldn’t understand the teacher?

What if the other students talked to me and I didn’t know how to answer?

What if they laughed at my English?

What if I couldn’t make any friends?

I stared at my reflection.

If only I could skip school.

“Can’t I just do homeschooling?” I asked my mom in Korean.

She didn’t even look up from what she was doing.

“Definitely not. You’ll learn English before you know it, especially now that you’re going to an English-speaking school.”

“But what if I don’t understand anything?”

“You will.”

“What if nobody talks to me?”

“Someone will.”

“What if—”

“Jiwon-ah.”

My mom called my name in the familiar Korean way, adding a soft -ah at the end. It was such a small thing, something I had heard all my life, but standing in our new Canadian home, it suddenly made me miss Korea.

I fell silent.

My mom finally looked at me.

“You’ll be okay.”

She said it with such confidence that, for a moment, I almost believed her.

Almost.

We had arrived in Canada only a few weeks earlier.

My dad had been relocated by the technology company he worked for. He had been promoted to a director position, and apparently, that promotion meant our entire family had to move across the ocean with him.

I still didn’t understand why I had to leave Korea just because Dad had been promoted.

Why couldn’t I stay with my friends?

Why couldn’t I finish elementary school with them?

Why couldn’t Dad just go to Canada by himself?

Those questions had been bothering me ever since we left.

I missed my friends already.

I missed our apartment.

I missed the little convenience store near our house.

I even missed the familiar sounds of people talking around me.

Everything in Canada sounded different.

Even the silence felt different.

We were living in a small rural town, nothing like the busy streets I was used to in Korea. There were no tall buildings stretching into the sky or crowds of people rushing past one another.

Instead, there were wide roads, houses with big yards, trees everywhere, and more open space than I knew what to do with.

It was strangely quiet.

My dad seemed to love it.

My mom was trying to get used to it.

And I was still deciding whether I hated it.

My school was only a fifteen-minute walk from our new house, but my mom insisted on driving me there on my first day.

She pulled up in front of the school and turned toward me.

“Good luck.”

I stared at the building through the window.

My stomach twisted.

“Mom…”

“You’ll be fine.”

“You already said that.”

“And I’m still right.”

She smiled and reached over to fix my ponytail.

“Go on.”

I took a deep breath, grabbed my backpack, and stepped out of the car.

I stood there for a few seconds after she drove away.

Then I turned to face the school.

This was it.

My new school.

My new life.

I took a deep breath and slowly walked inside.

I was in fifth grade.

When I entered the classroom, more than twenty students were already there. They were talking, laughing, running around, and calling one another’s names.

All in English.

I understood almost nothing.

I lingered near the doorway, clutching the straps of my backpack, before scanning the room for an empty seat.

Near the window.

There.

I walked toward it and sat down, quietly arranging my binders on the desk.

Around me were boys and girls with blonde, brown, and other shades of light-colored hair.

Suddenly, I became very aware of my own black hair.

I glanced at the empty seat beside me.

Nobody was going to sit there.

I was sure of it.

Why would anyone want to sit beside the new Asian girl who couldn’t even speak English?

I lowered my eyes and began straightening my things, pretending I wasn’t bothered.

Then—

Thud.

Someone dropped a binder onto the empty desk beside mine.

I looked up.

A blonde boy with bright blue eyes had taken the seat.

He didn’t say anything.

He barely even looked at me.

He tossed his binder onto the desk, glanced toward a group of boys on the other side of the classroom, and immediately stood up again.

Then he ran over to them.

I stared after him.

That was it?

He didn’t even say hello.

I looked down at my binder again.

Fine.

I didn’t care.

I had more important things to worry about.

Like surviving the school day without embarrassing myself.

I didn’t know his name.

I didn’t know anything about him.

And I certainly didn’t know that the boy who had casually dropped his binder beside mine would become one of the most important people in my life.

At ten years old, though, he was just some blonde boy with blue eyes.

Nothing more.

And so, my journey in Canada began.

Six years passed.

Fifth grade became sixth.

Sixth became seventh.

Then eighth, ninth, tenth, and finally, eleventh.

Some things changed.

Others stayed the same.

Most of the students who had been in my fifth-grade class were still around. Not everyone, of course. Some people moved away, changed schools, or made different friends.

But in a small rural town like ours, people tended to know one another.

Everyone knew everyone’s parents.

Everyone knew which family lived in which house.

Everyone knew who had dated whom.

And somehow, everyone always knew your business before you did.

I had gotten used to it.

More than that, I had grown to love it.

I had a best friend now.

Her name was Peyton.

She had curly, reddish-brown hair, freckles scattered across her nose, and the kind of personality that made it impossible to be bored around her.

We had become friends in sixth grade.

She was one of the first people who never made me feel like I was the new girl.

She talked to me even when my English was awkward.

She corrected me when I said something wrong.

And when I couldn’t understand what someone was saying, she would quietly explain it to me without making me feel stupid.

Somewhere along the way, Canada stopped feeling temporary.

I stopped counting the months until we could return to Korea.

I stopped asking my parents when we were going home.

I made friends.

I learned the shortcuts around town.

I learned which teacher gave the most homework.

I learned where to get the best hot chocolate.

I learned how to survive Canadian winters.

And, most importantly, I learned English.

Really learned it.

I could joke in English.

I could argue in English.

I could understand sarcasm.

I could even understand Peyton when she talked way too fast.

My Korean accent had faded until it was barely noticeable. Sometimes, when I spoke, people didn’t even realize I had been born in Korea.

I suppose that was when I finally understood something.

Canada wasn’t just the place my dad’s job had brought us.

It had become my home.

At least, that was what I thought.

Back then, I had no idea that everything I knew was about to change again.

And I certainly didn’t know that the blonde boy who had once dropped his binder beside mine would eventually become someone I couldn’t imagine my life without.