Free Echoes of the White Giraffe by Sook Nyul Choi Page B

asking me if I felt all right. I assured them I was fine, but Friday came all too quickly, and I still did not know what to do. Tom, I decided just to see where my feet would take me when the time came.
    When our last class ended, I sprang out the door without waiting for Bokhi and without saying goodbye to Teacher Yun.
    â€œSookan, Sookan,” Bokhi called as she ran to catch up with me. “Please talk to me. We always used to be able to share our troubles with each other. Please talk to me. I know you have a problem. Tell me what it is! Remember I am two years older. I may know better. I can help you.”
    I couldn’t respond.
    â€œAre you mad at me? Don’t you like me anymore?” she asked.
    â€œOh, Bokhi, I still like you as much as I always have. I don’t have a problem. Can I just go now? Why don’t you go home?”
    â€œAre we drifting apart because I’m not Catholic and am not in the choir with you? Is that it?”
    I knew Bokhi was just trying to provoke me into talking to her. She had guessed it had something to do with the choir. Though I tried to maintain composure, I couldn’t help snapping impatiently, “Bokhi, I am fine! There is nothing I can tell you. I myself do not know. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    Bokhi saw the cold look in my eyes and she turned away. I instantly felt horrible, and stood watching her rush away. She didn’t look back. I knew I had hurt her as never before. I thought of running after her, linking arms with her, and telling her all about Junho. But I just stood there and watched her disappear from sight. My callousness surprised me. I was ashamed at how eager I had been to be rid of her. For the first time, I had a secret that I couldn’t share with my best friend. I wondered if I was turning into a bad person. I didn’t know what I felt or thought anymore. But I kept walking, and quickly turned down the street to the photo studio.
    The sign beckoned: “Beautiful Pictures, Every Time.”
In a small glass case were pictures of proud grandparents surrounded by their large families, happy couples on their wedding day, and children celebrating their 100th day of life. I thought of passing right by as I had so many times before. But instead, I reached out and pushed open the wooden door. Inside the small hallway was a set of steep narrow stairs that seemed to shout down to me, “Turn back! Go see Bokhi!” But I climbed the stairs defiantly, and my trembling hand pushed open a frosted glass door on the second floor.
    As the door swung open, I saw Junho sitting on a wooden bench in front of the studio’s cameras. It was a different world in there with the sunny, filtered lights. “You’re here!” Junho exclaimed, looking at once relieved and elated.
    â€œI want a picture of us together,” he said to the photographer as he motioned for me to hurry and sit next to him.
    Grinning cheerfully, the photographer said, “Good! good! Perfect timing. Come sit right next to him. No, no, a bit closer, a little more. Closer. Good!” Then he came over to twist Junho’s shoulders slightly so that his left shoulder was tucked behind my right shoulder. Rushing back to look through his camera lens, he said, “Beautiful! Now tilt your head a bit toward his. Oh, that’s very sweet. Tilt your head toward hers, too. Just a bit. Ah, perfect!”
    The shutter clicked. Smiling contentedly, the enthusiastic photographer congratulated himself. “What a picture! The composition, the angles, the light—it’s a masterpiece. You will see. It will be ready in a few days.”
    Dazed from the bright lights and numb from the whole experience, I followed Junho down the narrow stairs in silence. When we reached the bottom, we stood for a minute, looking at each other. Junho seemed calm and happy, and I felt so close to him.
    â€œI’m glad you came,” he whispered. “I can’t