The Last Fallen Star by Graci Kim (the mitten read aloud .TXT) 📗

BY THE TIME WE SNEAK OUT of the dojang and get to Saturday School, it’s well and truly night. Noah arranges to take over his brother’s shift in exchange for access to the noraebang.

We enter room 18, and as the glamour-reveal song loads, I stand there, trying to ignore the phone vibrating in my pocket. It’s been buzzing for ages now, but I can’t bear to look at the increasing number of missed calls showing on my screen, much less actually answer it. My parents will have seen our note by now, and I imagine Eomma’s glasses fogging up in panic as Appa reads it out loud, his forehead creasing with worry. The guilt bubbles inside me like trapped air, and a bout of hiccups escapes my mouth.

Hattie takes my hand reassuringly. She knows hiccups are my tell when I’m nervous. “Everything is gonna be okay. The sooner we get this summoning over and done with, the sooner you’ll become a Gom. And the sooner that happens, the sooner our parents’ crime will be pardoned. We’re doing the right thing.”

The Gumiho glamour on the noraebang room dissolves as we sing “Fake Love” for the second time this week, and I survey the classroom. The wall mural of Santa Monica Pier is just as impressive as when I first saw it. The Ferris wheel and roller coaster are bright and inviting, and the waves lapping against the wooden poles look as fresh and foamy as an ice-cream soda.

“All right, stand back,” Noah says, stepping toward the mural and rubbing his wrists together. As his gifted mark glows blue, he starts chanting.

“Nae nunape inneungeot,

Geurimsoge inneungeot.

Nuneul keuge tteugo boseyo,

Muni jamsi yeollyeoyo.”

“What’s he saying?” Emmett whispers in my ear. His dad doesn’t speak Korean, so the only words he knows are the ones he’s picked up from hanging out at our house over the years.

I listen hard as Noah repeats the chant, and I translate it for Emmett.

“The thing that is in front of me,

Inside the picture that I see.

Use your eyes, look carefully,

A door opens momentarily.”

The next thing I know, the sound of crashing waves fills my eardrums. My lips tingle, and when I lick them, I taste the salt of the sea.

“Sorry I can’t come with you,” Noah says, rubbing the back of his neck. “My brother is about to leave his post, and I can’t leave the portal unguarded.” He unfolds a weird kid’s scooter he’s been carrying since the dojang and gives it a little nudge, forward and back. “But I thought this might help for the trip home.”

We all stare at it, unsure what to say. First of all, it’s tiny. It looks the perfect size for a six-year-old kid, not for three teenagers. Second, the trip from Santa Monica to our house can take an hour by car. I can only imagine how long it would take by scooter—and none of us have helmets, either. Third and most important, it looks all types of strange. It’s covered in shiny blue scales, and two webbed ears poke out from the handle bars. Little wings are attached to either side of the front wheel, and a pointy tail sticks out from the back. It looks like the spawn of a dragon mom and scooter dad.

“Uh, what is that?” Emmett asks.

“He’s a dragon-on-wheels. We Miru use them before our gifts kick in—when our parents want us to practice moving at super speed, but within safe parameters. I guess you could call them training wheels for protectors.” He pats the handlebars affectionately.

“Ahh!” I point at the back. “His tail just wagged!”

Noah tickles the scooter behind the ears. “My man Boris and I go way back. Ever since I got him for my sixth birthday. A real firecracker, this one. He might be getting a bit rusty, but he’s still got a few trips left in him. Don’t ya, buddy?”

Boris’s little wings flutter happily in response, but then he splutters and wheezes like an old man.

Noah looks a little embarrassed, but he quickly hides it with one of his easy smiles. “Sorry. I know he’s not perfect, but hopefully he’ll be better than nothing. Use him for as long as you need.” He pushes the dragon-on-wheels toward Hattie.

“Thanks,” she says, though I can’t imagine what we’re going to do with it.

“Oh, and one more thing,” says Noah. He takes a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and extends it to her. “Here. You’ll need this, too, for the…”

The cutting, I silently finish for him, wincing.

“Thank you,” Hattie says. “This would’ve been impossible without you.”

“And please be careful, won’t you? I won’t forgive myself if something bad happens to you.”

Noah’s declaration of feelings toward my sister is so open and honest that even Emmett doesn’t dare to crack a joke.

Hattie pockets the knife and nods. “We will.”

And with that, she folds Boris, tucks him under her arm, and strides through the wall. As she passes through the mural, her body pixelates as if she’s a digital image in the middle of loading. Then she simply disappears.

“Whoa.” Emmett tries to hide his reaction, but I see the momentary look of awe on his face. “Are you sure it’s safe for a saram and a halfie to pass through?” He points to me and himself, reminding me that I’m keeping the biggest secret of my life from my BFF.

Noah nods. “Totally safe. Good luck, guys.”

We hurry in after Hattie, and the barrier feels cool and almost liquid, as if we’re passing through a wall of Jell-O.

Once we’re on the other side, we find ourselves standing on the beach underneath the Santa Monica Pier, and the gentle night breeze is blowing wisps of hair onto my face. Hattie’s a few feet away, but there isn’t another soul out for miles. From the damp outline on the sand, it looks like high tide has just passed, but I hope the spell will still work the way it’s supposed to.