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And...it’s at this moment that my stomach decides to remind me I didn’t have breakfast. Loudly. I grab it, wishing for it to shut up and stop growling.
But it’s too late. I hear the giggles.
“Luckily we’re all heading to the cafeteria,” a voice behind me says. That voice.
I look over my shoulder and my eyes widen as I recognize him. I’m met with an equally surprised expression as he clearly recognizes me. It’s the guy I ran into, literally, at the airport. He’s here too.
Without the hat and the mask and the expensive clothes, he looks younger. He was handsome in a mysterious, dashing way before. Here, in this elevator filled with people where it would be entirely inappropriate for me to check out this softer, cuter version from head to toe, it’s all I seem to want to do.
A banana appears in front of my face. The tall, skinny boy next to airport fella reaches out to offer me one. “Here,” he says.
I shake my head. “Oh, um, no thank you,” I say. It’s not like I can just peel it and start eating right here on the elevator in front of my boss. That would be inappropriate.
He shrugs a shoulder and rescinds the offer.
My stomach growls again in protest.
“So, like I was saying, they’re usually a lot more organized than they’ve been this year. Elijah, it sucks that your clothes didn’t get here. But it’s hilarious that they had you listed down as a Jessica. Weird. Gonna call you ‘Jess’ for the summer,” he says, breaking the silence.
I freeze. What did he just say?
I turn back toward the tall guy talking to see he’s addressing the guy from the airport.
“Really wish you wouldn’t,” the airport guy replies.
“Fine, then,Yoo-Jin,” tall guy says.
“I told you, I prefer to be called Elijah.”
What? Did he just say his name was Elijah? Didn’t Ms. Cho mention an “Elijah” earlier?
I can’t take it anymore. Names are being thrown around in this conversation, one that I’m not a part of, mind you, when some are actuallymynames. And another name I’ve now heard multiple times in passing. It’s like the answer to this mix-up is right in front of me but I can’t quite grasp it.
“I would call you Elijah if it didn’t sound like you just made up that name on the spot.”
“Elijah’s a person in the Bible,” a girl says, joining the conversation.
“I get that. But do you know of any Koreans named Elijah?” tall guy asks.
“There was a guy in my freshman chem class named Elijah Kim,” someone says.
“I know an Elijah Song,” someone else adds.
“Okay, okay, so I’m wrong. Apparently there are a lot of Korean Elijahs. My bad. I will call you Elijah and you can be just some generic dude out of many.”
Everyone starts to laugh and the camaraderie warms me a little. I hope I get to work with everyone and get to know them too. I crave this kind of environment, a group of people thrown together by circumstance.
But I’m confused where I’m supposed to fit in this puzzle. Or if I’m an errant piece that has no place here.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “but did you say your name is Elijah? Is your last name ‘Lee’ by chance?”
His eyes narrow.
The elevator dings and Ms. Cho, without hesitation, walks off. I want to ask her to wait but she doesn’t even spare me a glance. I have to get to the bottom of this, and this Elijah definitely has the answers.
But what if I don’t see him again?
Without thinking, I grab Elijah’s hand, take the cap off my fancy new Haneul Corporation pen, and scribble my phone number on it before rushing off the elevator.
