“No, I’m just dropping off my daughter,” Umma says. “She’s going to be in the reality show they’re filming here.”
“You still need a day pass to enter. It’s thirty dollars.”
“Thirty dollars?” I blurt, leaning over Umma to gawk at the woman. “What’s up there? Gold?”
“????,”2Umma hisses, shoving her hand over my mouth.
“This is highway robbery. The state of Washington is robbing us blind,” I say behind her palm.
The park ranger pops her gum. “This is a national park. So it’s the federal government that’s robbing you, not the state.”
I take that as my sign to shut up. Umma gives the park ranger an apologetic smile, then reaches back for her purse and angles her body, as if shielding it from view. She rifles around in it for a moment. Two.
Quietly, Umma turns back to the ranger and mumbles, “Do you take credit cards?”
We get our pass and are back on the steep road heading up to the main visitor center, where guardians were instructed to drop us off. The air is heavy with the unspoken. I know Umma’s doing the math in her head to see if she can get back down to Portland without having to gas up again. Thirty dollars is a lot these days. Guilt turns my stomach. She’s sacrificed so much for me to get here. I won’t let it be for nothing.
I press my forehead against the window, watching the tall evergreens lined along the road blur into one thick, dense wall of umber brown and deep green, broken by slivers of sunlight that manage to peek around each trunk. When the road is less treacherous, I ask in my most casual tone, “Does Appa know?”
Umma doesn’t answer right away, and I half hope she didn’t hear me.
“I texted him when you got accepted,” she eventually says.
That was about a month ago, right after my junior year of high school wrapped up. “He didn’t respond, did he?”
“… I’m sure he’s excited to see how well you do.”
I shake my head. Appa has been waiting sixteen years to see me do something well. None of my state medals or district trophies for track, volleyball, and swim are impressive enough to him,apparently. “Yeah, he’ll see,” I say. “See what an idiot he was for leaving when I bring back a million big ones.”
Eventually, we pass the sign for the visitor center and pull into the parking lot like the producers instructed us to. I’m out of the car before she’s turned off the ignition, any bitterness on my tongue gone at the first inhale of crisp, woodsy air. The needles of the spruce trees surrounding the lot are so dense, they scatter the sunshine in a million flickering, dancing spots around me as the foliage shifts in the warm breeze. Despite how early it is, there’s still a few dedicated hikers nearby unloading gear and picnic baskets, as several trailheads start here. I’ll be hiking one myself to camp, so this is where Umma and I have to say goodbye.
Umma comes to my side as I pull my duffel bag from the car. She wraps me in a hug and rocks us side to side. She feels small for the first time, with the way she’s holding me like she’s afraid to let go. I hear her sniffle.
“? ???”3I ask with a chuckle. “I’m about to win the biggest game show of all time. You should be excited.”
“Because I’ll miss you.”
My smile falls. An image suddenly pops in my head of her all alone in our new dingy apartment. She grew up in Busan with a big family and married Appa when she was young; she’s never been alone before. Not like the jackass was great company, but he wassomething.Then when he left this year, we always had each other. She always had me.
But not anymore.
I hug her back, squishing my cheek against the top of her head and swallowing past the lump in my throat.
“Umma will be okay. Don’t worry,” she says. She has a sixth sense for what goes on in my mind. Or maybe my poker face is terrible.
“You’ll be better than okay when I come back with the cash prize,” I promise. Because when I come back, it’ll be with enough money for her to pay off the debt Appa racked up in her nameandfor her to quit her back-breaking, minimum-wage jobs. She can finally live the comfortable, easy life she deserves.
Umma pulls back. There’s a furrow in her brow like I said something wrong. She fixes my bangs with pursed lips. “Have fun while you’re here, okay? Try to make friends.”
The implication makes my throat feel weird and tight, so I chuckle to loosen it. “Of course I’ll make friends. How could I not? I’m so lovable. Besides, Ihavefriends.”
“I know you have your teammates, but none of them are like Amelia. It would be nice for you to meet someone you can be that close to again.”
Oh, I see where this is going, and I amnotinterested. A big fat no thank you. Talking about my ex-best friend when I’m about to embark on the coolest adventure of my life is the last thing I want to do. “Let’s just focus on what really matters, which is me winning. Any last-minute advice?” I ask.
Umma looks me straight in the eye. “Winning isn’t everything, Seyoon.”
I can’t help it. I laugh.
