BY THE TIME WE SNEAK OUT of the dojang and get to Saturday School, it’s well and truly night. Noah arranges to take over his brother’s shift in exchange for access to the noraebang.

We enter room 18, and as the glamour-reveal song loads, I stand there, trying to ignore the phone vibrating in my pocket. It’s been buzzing for ages now, but I can’t bear to look at the increasing number of missed calls showing on my screen, much less actually answer it. My parents will have seen our note by now, and I imagine Eomma’s glasses fogging up in panic as Appa reads it out loud, his forehead creasing with worry. The guilt bubbles inside me like trapped air, and a bout of hiccups escapes my mouth.

Hattie takes my hand reassuringly. She knows hiccups are my tell when I’m nervous. “Everything is gonna be okay. The sooner we get this summoning over and done with, the sooner you’ll become a Gom. And the sooner that happens, the sooner our parents’ crime will be pardoned. We’re doing the right thing.”

The Gumiho glamour on the noraebang room dissolves as we sing “Fake Love” for the second time this week, and I survey the classroom. The wall mural of Santa Monica Pier is just as impressive as when I first saw it. The Ferris wheel and roller coaster are bright and inviting, and the waves lapping against the wooden poles look as fresh and foamy as an ice-cream soda.

“All right, stand back,” Noah says, stepping toward the mural and rubbing his wrists together. As his gifted mark glows blue, he starts chanting.

“Nae nunape inneungeot,

Geurimsoge inneungeot.

Nuneul keuge tteugo boseyo,

Muni jamsi yeollyeoyo.”

“What’s he saying?” Emmett whispers in my ear. His dad doesn’t speak Korean, so the only words he knows are the ones he’s picked up from hanging out at our house over the years.

I listen hard as Noah repeats the chant, and I translate it for Emmett.

“The thing that is in front of me,

Inside the picture that I see.

Use your eyes, look carefully,

A door opens momentarily.”

The next thing I know, the sound of crashing waves fills my eardrums. My lips tingle, and when I lick them, I taste the salt of the sea.

“Sorry I can’t come with you,” Noah says, rubbing the back of his neck. “My brother is about to leave his post, and I can’t leave the portal unguarded.” He unfolds a weird kid’s scooter he’s been carrying since the dojang and gives it a little nudge, forward and back. “But I thought this might help for the trip home.”