“I don’t see any.”

“You have to envision them through your imagination. One star, two stars, three stars.”

There are too many of these romantic literary types in the world. I walk into the café, and she follows me.

“Yeoul, what’s your zodiac sign?”

I’m getting real sick of this shit. “I was born in May, so probably Taurus.”

“Hmm. You were born under the influence of Aldebaran. It’s a large star, and in astrology, it’s the star that brings fortune.”

“Hmm. I guess that’s nice.” I find it strange how chummy she’s being with me tonight. I wonder if she wants something from me. “Aren’t you busy today? You usually are.”

“Not today. By the way, did you know that you’re popular here? Someone was looking for you.”

“Me? Who was it?” I ask, intrigued.

“I dunno. We talked a little over drinks. I think he runs a hospital over in Gupo.”

“I don’t know anyone like that. He must’ve been looking for someone else.”

“Sure. You need to get your tuition for the next semester ready, right? I’ll pay you in advance so you can go buy some pretty clothes. You’re wearing the same clothes all the time. When do you even wash them?”

Embarrassed, I mumble that I haven’t eaten yet, so I need to get some food. In the kitchen, Eunyong whispers to me.

“Yeoul, she’s trying to take you to her bar in Gwang-an. Be careful. Once you start working there, you can’t really leave … There was another woman who worked here and left to work at that bar, and she … changed.”

“What kept the café owner from taking you there?”

“I like it here. Sungyun Oppa2 is nice to me. And I’m still a high school senior—a super senior at that. The customers at the bars prefer college girls. I’m not that pretty anyway.”

“Super senior would imply you’re actually prepping for the college entrance exam. I haven’t seen you crack a book once.”

“What, you think I like living like this? My mom says I don’t need to go to college anyway. I’m just going to get married after making some nest egg money.”

Eunyong and I make bibimbop in the kitchen. We mix the rice, bellflower roots, bean sprouts, some greens, and chili paste. The owner’s mom often cooks for us and sends the food to us via Sungyun. Sometimes she sends something simple. Rice, soup, and kimchi. Sometimes she sends marinated beef. She must be feeding us so that we’ll work hard at her daughter’s café. It’s fine when she doesn’t send us anything, we just cook ourselves ramen or pork cutlets, or order Chinese. Mothers seem to be their daughters’ guardian angels or their enemies, there is no middle ground.