Hiding Pandora Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Friday, September 6

  Saturday, September 7

  Monday, September 8

  Tuesday, September 24

  Author's Note

  Other Books by Mercy

  Acknowledgments

  Find Me Online

  Mercy Amare

  Hiding Pandora

  New Haven Academy, Book 2.5

  Copyright © 2015 by Mercy Amare

  Cover designed by Mercy Amare

  Edited by Janet from Dragonfly Editing

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer—who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  If you are reading this book and you have not purchased or won it in an author/ published contest, this book has been pirated. Please delete and support the author by purchasing the ebook from one of its many distributors.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Friday, September 6

  New Haven Academy—North Andover, MA

  “Name,” the guard says.

  “Lee Suel Ri...” I answer, letting my voice trail off.

  Crap.

  My name is not Lee Suel Ri anymore.

  “Um, sorry,” I say. “I’m Pandora Hart.”

  The guard looks at me. “I’m going to need to see some ID.”

  I pull out my driver’s license and hand it to him. My ID is fake, but he won’t know the difference. Nobody but my dad, a handful of people in the CIA, and I know. Nobody would be able to tell that it’s not real.

  My real name, the name I was born with, is Layla Scott. I was born on February 27 in a hospital in Los Angeles, California. But, for the last twelve years of my life, I have been in hiding, pretending to be Lee Suel Ri, living in Seoul, South Korea.

  Now, I am Pandora Hart. I am in the United States, and I am an American citizen once again. I guess I always have been, but I don’t really feel American.

  For the last four months, I have been at a special CIA location. I’m still not sure where it was, but I think it was somewhere in Arizona. I wasn’t privileged enough to know the location. There, I was learning how to speak with an American accent, and basically, learning how to be an American. After spending twelve years in South Korea, it was hard. I don’t think I’m ready to be Pandora, but the CIA seems to think I am. I’m pretty sure I just proved I’m not.

  The guard hands me back my ID and opens the gate.

  “Welcome, Miss Hart,” he says.

  I drive through the gate and breathe a sigh of relief. That was a close one.

  As I drive closer to the school, I take in my surroundings. I know all there is to know about New Haven Academy, but this is my first time seeing it in person. The rolling hills are beautiful, but they make me feel claustrophobic. I miss Seoul.

  I am half-Korean, half-American. My mother was born in South Korea and she met my father while attending college in California. She and my dad dated six months, and when it was time for her to go home, he couldn’t stand the thought of losing her, so he did what any nineteen year old in love would do—he asked her to marry him. The rest is history.

  Sort of.

  My mom was killed when I was four. That is when I moved to Seoul, where she was from. I took on a fake identity, but I truly became Lee Suel Ri. And I thought I would be Lee Suel Ri forever.

  Leaving South Korea was absolutely the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. As soon as this mess is over, I’m moving back there.

  If this ends.

  Twelve years. That is how long I’ve been hiding. It’s possible that I could spend the rest of my life hiding.

  I pass a sign that says “Welcome to New Haven Academy—home of the fighting Tigers”.

  I laugh.

  Fighting Tigers?

  Why do American high schools have mascots? Mascots are for corporations, not high school sports teams. Not that I see the point in having a high school sports team, anyway. Students should focus on their studies, not on sports.

  I pull into the third dorm building on the right, where I was instructed to go. It’s smaller than I thought it would be, but other than that, it looks just like the pictures.

  “Okay, Lee Suel Ri, you’ve got this,” I say, speaking to myself in Korea. I switch to English. “Crap. Pandora Hart. You’re Pandora Hart, you’re Korean-American, you’ve never been outside of the US and you definitely do not know how to speak Korean.”

  Suddenly, the driver’s side door opens and I reach for the small pistol in my purse. I don’t really like guns, but I was trained on how to use them safely. Right in this second, I’m glad I have one, though I don’t think it’ll do much good if a group of terrorists have come to kidnap me.

  “Were you just talking to yourself?” a voice asks.

  An American voice.

  I pull my hand off the gun and place it over my franticly beating heart.

  “Jesus, you scared me,” I say, remembering to use my American accent.

  “Sorry,” the boy says. “I’m Jason Andrew. I’m a prefect.”

  Prefect?

  “What is a prefect?” I ask, then regret it. Did I just blow my cover? Does every American know what a prefect is?

  He doesn’t seem fazed. “I’m here to help you.”

  I grab my purse and get out of my red Kia Soul. The CIA said I could have any car I wanted, and this is the one I wanted. I used to see people driving them around Seoul, and always thought they were so cute.

  Before coming to America, I had never driven. I could walk or take public transportation anywhere I wanted. I didn’t really want to learn how to drive, but according to Agent Kim, public transportation in American sucks, so I learned.

  I’m just glad American drivers are slightly better than Korean drivers. Driving in Seoul would’ve been a nightmare.

  “So, what is your name?” Jason asks, following me to the back of my car.

  “Pandora Hart,” I say confidently. Maybe I do have this.

  Jason holds out a key to me. “You’re in room 3A. Somebody will be here shortly to help with your bags.”

  I bow to him. “Gamsahabnida.”

  “What the—? Are you speaking Chinese?”

  “Korean,” I correct him. I hate being called Chinese. Since coming to America, I’ve been asked if I was Chinese or Japanese on more than one occasion.

  “Sorry,” he says. “So, you speak Korean?”

  “A few words,” I lie, wanting to slap myself for the slip-up. I was doing so good!

  “Yo! Winston!” Jason yells.

  A blond guy with a clipboard walks up to us.

  “What’s up?” Winston asks Jason.

  “Our girl, Pandora, speaks Korean,” Jason tells him.

  “Annyeong,” Winston says hello to me in a very bad accent. I try not to laugh, remembering it took me three months of intense studying to master an American accent. This guy isn’t that bad, considering.

  “Annyeonghaseyo,” I say, bowing to him.

  “I always forget the honor thing,” Winston says. “Sorry.”

  “Anieyo,” I say, waving him off. “Jal jinaseyo?”

  “You just went over my head,” he says.

  Another car pulls up, so Jason leaves to help them.

  “
So, you’re Korean?” Winston asks.

  “Korean-American,” I correct. “My dad is white and my mom is Korean, but I was born in Cali.”

  He grins. “I can hear your California accent.”

  I sound like a true Californian. This is good. Agent Kim would be so proud.

  “So, where did you learn Korean?” I ask him.

  Most Americans aren’t interested in learning Korean. Not even the ones who live in South Korea, yet Americans expect foreigners to learn English when they move here. It’s very double standard.

  “I visited Seoul with my family when I was younger,” he answers. “I find the language to be beautiful and interesting. I’m also taking a Korean language class here, which pisses off my dad. He’d rather I learn Spanish or French.”

  “I’m taking Korean, too,” I tell him. “Your dad is probably right. French or Spanish would be a lot more useful in America. Korea is a small country, and the language isn’t used anywhere else.”

  I’m not sure how I convinced Agent Kim to let me take a Korean language class, but it will be the easiest A I’ve ever made.

  “So, how fluent are you?” he asks.

  I shrug, not giving a definite answer.

  “Maybe we can practice together,” he says.

  “Sure,” I say. “I could use the practice.”

  He doesn’t seem to notice my lie. He just smiles.

  Being Pandora Hart will be easier than I thought. Maybe I have got this down.

  1 p.m.

  Blown cover.

  There is a knock on my dorm room door just as I finish unpacking. My heart accelerates, and I grab my gun. The CIA is confident that I’m safe, but they were pretty sure a few months ago that I was safe... and that didn’t end well.

  I open the door an inch and sigh in relief when I see the blond guy from earlier.

  Of course, it’s not a terrorist group. They wouldn’t knock. They would just bust the door down.

  “Winston, hey,” I say, putting the handgun into the back pocket of my jeans. As long as he doesn’t see my back, I should be good. I’m pretty sure the school would frown upon a minor carrying a loaded gun on campus. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal.

  “Hey,” he says.

  I open the door wider.

  “I noticed you weren’t at orientation,” he says, stepping inside. I shut the door behind him, careful to keep my back turned away from him.

  My face grows warm as I realize I’m in the room alone with a guy. This is normal for American teenagers, but Korean teenagers don’t spend time alone with the opposite sex. I don’t like the American way. It’s just... weird.

  “Are you okay?” Winston asks, noticing my discomfort.

  “Yeah. I’m just not used to being alone with guys,” I say, deciding to answer honestly. “I’ve never had a guy in my room before.”

  He looks at me, as if trying to gage if I’m serious. “But you’re... really beautiful.”

  “No, I’m not,” I say, then remember Agent Kim told me that in America, you’re supposed to say thank you when somebody compliments you. “I mean, thank you.”

  In Korea, if you say thank you to somebody after they compliment you, it means that you’re agreeing with him, which makes you seem arrogant. Humility is kind of a big deal there. From what I understand about American culture, if you disagree with somebody who calls you beautiful, it makes you seem self-conscience, which is a bad thing here.

  “You really don’t believe you’re hot?” he asks.

  “Hot?” I ask. “No, it’s a bit cold in here, actually.”

  He laughs.

  I just look at him, trying to figure out why he’s laughing.

  “Oh, you were serious?” he asks.

  “Serious about what?” I ask. “What’s funny?”

  Winston looks at me... really looks at me.

  “Were you homeschooled?” he asks.

  “Nope. I went to a private school in Malibu,” I answer, remembering my cover story.

  “Oh. Okay,” he says, still looking at me cautiously.

  “What did I say?” I ask, wondering what is making him act like this.

  “The hot/cold comment.”

  “You asked if I was hot. I answered. What is weird about that?” I ask.

  “Hot is a word used to describe a beautiful girl,” he says.

  My face warms. “Oh. I didn’t know.”

  “How do you not know that?” he asks.

  “Haji,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders.

  He looks at me.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I have no idea what you just said. My Korean isn’t that advanced,” he says.

  “I was speaking Korean?”

  He nods.

  Crap.

  How did I spend four months training? I’m going to blow my cover on the first day here.

  “I’m trying to figure you out,” Winston says. “Your accent sounds American and your English is perfect, but sometimes you say things that make me think you’re not from around here.”

  I turn around and walk towards my desk to grab my phone. I’m going to have to call Agent Kim and tell her I need a new identity. Less than five hours and I’ve already completely screwed up.

  “Is that a gun?” Winston asks, reminding me that there is a gun in my back pocket.

  I turn around quickly. “Umm... yes.”

  “Why do you have a gun on a high school campus?” he asks.

  “It’s... complicated,” I answer.

  “Try me.”

  “Well, a group of terrorist are after me,” I say, going with the truth. I’ve already blown my cover, so I may as well tell him. Agent Kim will have me out of here within the hour anyway, and I will never see this boy again.

  “Are you really American?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Have you always lived here?”

  “No,” I answer.

  “Are you really Pandora Hart?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  “Will you tell me your real name?”

  “It’s safer for you if I don’t,” I answer.

  “Are you honestly a legal US citizen?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I answer. “I was born in California. I moved to South Korea when I was four. I haven’t been in America since, until four months ago.”

  “But your accent...”

  “Taught to me by one of the best coaches in the CIA.”

  “CIA?” he asks.

  “Where my American father works.”

  Winston nods. “I’m guessing you know how to use that gun.”

  “Again, I was trained by the best.”

  “This is crazy,” he says.

  I pick up my phone.

  “What are you doing?” Winston asks.

  “Calling the CIA to let them know my cover was blown,” I answer.

  “I won’t tell anybody,” he says.

  I look at him and see that he is telling me the truth, but it doesn’t make a difference. “I can’t. It’s not safe for me or you.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” he says. “I’m good at keeping secrets. Besides, it’s not like I have any close friends here I could tell.”

  “You don’t have friends?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer.

  “We’re friends,” I say.

  “Are we?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “Look, this is pretty much the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says. “I feel like I’m in a Bond movie.”

  “Bond?” I ask.

  “Oh, my God, tell me they have James Bond movies in Korea,” he says.

  “Oh. Yes, I know who James Bond is,” I say. “The old British guy who is a spy.”

  Winston laughs. “Yeah, that’s him.”

  “We have American movies in Korea,” I tell him. “I love watching 4D movies.”

  “4D?” he asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “I mean, what is a 4D movie? We ha
ve 3D, but I’ve never heard of 4D before.”

  My mouth falls open. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. Americans are so behind on technology. Your internet here is ridiculously slow. And what’s up with the whole no wifi thing? We have wifi everywhere in Korea. And, oh, my gosh, we drove through a tunnel when I first got here and I didn’t have cell service. It’s crazy how far behind America is.”

  Winston laughs. “I like you.”

  I look at him, raising an eyebrow.

  “What?” he asks.

  “I’m trying to decide if you’re being sarcastic,” I admit. “Sometimes Americans say things they don’t mean.”

  “I’m being truthful when I say that I like you,” he says. “You’re kind of awesome.”

  My face warms at his compliment. “Thank you,” I say, bowing to him.

  Wow. Did I really just bow to him while saying thank you in English?

  “I trained for four months,” I tell him. “Every day from seven in the morning until nine at night. Yet, I come here, and literally forget everything I learned.”

  “You’re probably just overwhelmed. It’s your first day,” he says.

  “I miss Korean culture,” I tell him. “My life has been nothing but a crash course in American culture lately. Not that your culture is bad or anything, but it’s not mine. I miss Seoul. I miss speaking to people in my language. I miss my friends.”

  “Well, you can be yourself with me,” he says. “And we are going to study Korean together. So, you can teach me your language. I already know Hangul.”

  “Hangul is how Americans say it,” I say. “Koreans say Hanguel.”

  “Haangool,” he tries, putting too much emphasis on the vowels.

  “Hanguel,” I correct. “Spend the exact amount of time on each block... or... I guess you’d call it a syllable.”

  “Hanguel,” he tries again.

  “Good,” I say.

  He gets a serious look on his face. “So, will you stay?”

  I hesitate.

  I know that I shouldn’t. Agent Kim and my dad would kill me if they knew I told somebody.

  He frowns. “How else am I supposed to learn about Korean culture and learn the language?”