Page 28 of Show Off

There’s no surprise in Lana’s eyes. Just understanding. “To be fair, I’m guessing sauce sales kept the medical bills paid.”

“Sure, I get that.” But the constant spin took a toll. “When Mom died, he turned his attention to convincing everyone Ji-Hoon could walk again. We went on this ridiculous, live talk show, all three of us. ‘He’s a fighter,’ Korain told the cameras.” I’m imitating his voice again, sounding so much like Dad that it scares me. “Uncle Korain would stare right at the camera and say all this stuff.”

“Like what?”

I comb my brain, hating how the memories make me feel. “Stuff like, ‘The doctors believe that if anyone can do this, it’s Ji-Hoon.’ We got so wrapped up in the story that we all believed it.”

“Even Ji-Hoon?”

“Especially Ji-Hoon.” I uncurl fists I didn’t know I was clenching. “Then a specialist flew in. This world-famous spinal cord expert from Istanbul.” I’ll never forget the kindness in her eyes. The hope that turned to pity. “She spent five days studying Ji-Hoon, reviewing the charts. At the end of it all, she said, ‘There is no scientifically possible way he could ever walk again. Anyone saying otherwise is selling false promises.’”

“God.” Lana wipes her eyes. “Talk about taking the wind out of your sails.”

“I called her a liar.” I’m not proud of that. “For weeks, I kept trying to convince Ji-Hoon to see a different specialist. To listen to Korain when he said we just needed to pray harder,believeharder.” I shake my head, feeling foolish all over again. “My brother took my hand like this—” I grasp Lana’s in mine and energy arcs up my arm. “And he said, ‘I know you mean well, butstop. These stories, these pretty pictures you’re painting—they just make the truth harder to face.’”

“Oh, Dal.” She takes a shuddery breath. “He was how old?”

“He turned seventeen in the hospital.” Even then, my brother was the smartest, bravest motherfucker I’ve ever met. “I turned thirteen two weeks later.”

“I’m so sorry.” She blinks a few times as she gathers herself. “That’s a lot for a kid to deal with.”

“Yeah.”

“Or for a grown man.”

“I suppose.” I’m still not sure why I told her all that.

“Thank you,” she says. “It means a lot that you shared your story.”

“No sweat.” I’m gripping the arms of the chair, wondering if I can run.

“Okay, so.” She draws a shaky breath. “I’m trying really hard to connect the dots to chowder.”

I bark out a laugh. She smiles in response, and it’s like a sunshine IV dripping straight to my heart.

“That’s fair.” I lean back in my chair as the tension drains out of my shoulders. “Coming to Juniper Ridge was Ji-Hoon’s idea. A way to show a family touched by paraplegia but working side by side as equals.”

“And that’s how we’ve spun it.”

I wince and she sees it.

“Notspin,” she corrects. “It’s the truth and we show it.”

“I know.” I draw a deep breath. “Which is why this big focus on me and my stupid chowder-based growth arc doesn’t sit right with me.”

She’s quiet a second, considering. “I understand.” She studies my face for a moment. “For what it’s worth, Ji-Hoon drove the process of submitting you to the contest. He wants this for you.”

“Which is the only reason I didn’t tell you guys where to shove the stupid chowder contest when you showed up today.” That came out meaner than I meant it to. “I’ll do it, okay?”

Surprise widens her eyes. “You will?”

“Yeah.” Maybe I should have led with that. “But I needed you to know all that first. That I’m not a commodity to be spun. Neither is Ji-Hoon.”

“Understood.” She folds her hands on the desk. “What are your terms?”

“No live television.”

“Got it.” She doesn’t even blink. “I already knew that from your contract.”

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