Watching Krystal order brunch has got to be the funniest thing ever. It started with the seating.
"Emril? Hi, yeah, it's me. I know, I know, but a friend wants to eat at school so that's why I'm calling. Okay, I would like the Jung Room prepared for two, still and sparkling with lemon in each pitcher, and jasmine. We'll be up shortly," Krystal chirps into her phone.
You have no idea what she's talking about but figure she'll explain once she's done.
"Hey, sorry about that. I was just setting up our table and stuff," she says by way of explanation.
"What's up with the Jung Room and jasmine? I assume you got us different waters? And who's Emril?"
She stuffs her phone into her pocket and smiles at you.
"Well, my dad donated to the school and they named a private room in the dining hall after him. Emril's sort of a butler I guess? He just helps out with small things like setting up the room. And yes, I can't live without my Perrier or my jasmine hand towels. You should know this! Aren't you premed? Gotta wash your hands before you eat!" she giggles.
You shake your head, dumbstruck.
"Well, I use the poor version of jasmine scented hand towels, A.K.A. I lick my hands."
Krystal breaks out into a smile and smacks your arm.
"Oh my God you're disgusting! Thank goodness we'll have hand towels because I can't trust anything you touch now."
You like this easy banter. She's actually pretty fun to talk to and can take a joke, which is more than you can say for most people you've met at college.
You two arrive at the front of the dining hall where an elegantly dressed man in a tuxedo welcomes you inside. You follow him up a flight of stairs away from the main banquet hall and into an archaic looking loft. Muted conversation drifts up from the stairwell but otherwise the place is enchantingly silent. Golden motes of dust dance through the air as you walk through the arches lining the room. At the end of the hall, there's a heavy wooden door with a great bronze plaque that reads: K. Jung Room of Reflection.
"Are you a Mulan fan?" you shoot at Krystal.
"Hell yeah! She's the most badass princess out of all of them! And nice pun!"
You grin as Emril ushers you both inside. There's a tiny round table surrounded by four chairs in the room, and nothing else. On the table, as per Krystal's request, two crystal decanters of water sit, bubbles sparkling in the right one. Perfectly circular lemon slices float on top of the water. The table is immaculately set for two, and the smell of jasmine perfumes the room. Emril is a master.
"The chef is waiting. Shall I send him in?" Emril asks Krystal.
"Please. And, thank you for setting this up with such short notice."
"My pleasure. May I present to you, Mr. Jean Pierre."
Emril is replaced by a short man decked in white. He bounces forward on his toes and kisses Krystal on both cheeks.
"Mademoiselle! You look more lovely each time I meet you! What will you have today?"
Krystal looks at you.
"Uh, could I get some cereal? And milk?"
You can't help feeling defensive under Krystal's disbelieving stare.
"What? I like cereal!"
"Amber, we are doing brunch. This is not your middle school breakfast. Seriously!"
You sweat, trying to remember any fancy food that sounds remotely French.
"Could I have French toast? And a baguette?"
"Jesus Christ Amber you can't carb load in the morning! I'm so sorry Jean, but my friend's just being silly. Please surprise us!" Krystal cuts in impatiently.
"Wonderful!"
Jean bounces out of the room, leaving behind a faint scent of cologne and bread. You collapse onto a chair, feeling oddly bad about yourself.
"Will you stop making that face? It's giving me anxiety. Just spit it out!"
Krystal is staring at you again and you don't even try putting up your walls.
"I feel dumb and unsophisticated next to you. Because of all this—" you wave your hands around vaguely at the room, "—fuss."
She looks genuinely sorry.
"I—I'm sorry. I'm so used to doing this and I just forgot how it could make you feel. I wanted to show you how to do brunch and yeah I guess it didn't work out then," she mumbles, tracing a pattern on the table with her finger.
You don't like the way her mouth is turned down at the corners, but you don't really know what to say.
"Want to just go down to the dining hall?"
You think for a moment.
"No, but next time we eat, we do it completely my way, okay?" you blurt out without thinking.
She smiles, her eyes turning into half moons.
"Sure!"
You feel like floating. She agreed to another date! Well, not date but close enough.
"Ahem! May I present the first course! White truffle flavored honey with manchego and Colombian apples! Enjoy," Jean says happily, bounching through the door with two huge platters.
Overall, that was the fanciest meal you've ever had. Each course came out in a large white plate that was twenty times the size of the actual food portion. The first course tasted heavenly. The second course, foie gras with raspberry preserves and a wheat cake, made you realize you loved foie gras. The last course, crab and bacon eggs benedict with cashew cheese and caviar, convinced you that you needed your own sturgeon farm.
This was bad.
Krystal turned you bougie.
"What's your favorite color?"
You pause and look at Krystal.
"What? I'm trying to get to know you. I thought color would be easy," Krystal stammers.
"Relax. I'm just surprised you'd care to know, that's all," you reply, shoving another forkful of egg into your mouth.
She stabs her bacon with her knife.
"Seriously, Amber? You've been saying those things the moment I tried to be nice to you. It's as if you don't want me to be your friend!"
"No! Sorry, that's not what I meant. I just, well, it's just weird that you would care to find out who I am."
"And why is that?"
You push around the rest of your food on your plate, unsure of how to respond. Should you tell her what you really think? Would she be offended?
"Well, you're a Jung first of all."
"So?" she questions, setting down her knife and fork daintily.
"So, you're rich! And you've already made your rich clique," you mutter.
"Who said I can't be friends with anyone?" she shoots back, her eyes razor sharp. "You're judging me for being rich and assuming that I wouldn't ever talk to anyone else like some asshole but I think that's really unfair."
For some reason that pushes you over the edge.
"Yeah? Well maybe when you've had to work a whole semester just to buy practice books for the MCAT or realize your family can't come to graduation because hotels and plane tickets are too expensive, you'd realize rich people don't share!" you start angrily, "I'm not asking you to pay for my parents or anything but when you see shit like that then tell me the rich don't like to just keep to the rich!"
That shuts Krystal up. You realize you're shaking with fury, gripping the bone handled knife so tightly your knuckles turn white. The sight makes you stop. You carefully place the knife back onto the plate, next to your unfinished crab. Then you get up from the table with its pristine white cloth and glossy china plates. You don't trust yourself around such pretty things, especially not the porcelain princess frozen to her white leather throne.
"Where are you going Amber?" Krystal whispers, barely moving her lips.
Before you can answer, there's a knock on the door.
Emril pokes his head in with an apologetic expression on his face. "Krystal, there's someone here to see you."
Krystal inclines her head and Emril walks into the room, flanked by two tall men robed in obsidian. A third man, even taller than the last two, strides in, his black coat flapping around his legs. You wonder how he's not sweating, given the warmth outside.
"Krystal, who's this?" the man asks, not even looking at you.
Krystal gulps, her eyes darting from you to the newcomer.
"This is my friend. Kai, why are you here?"
The man finally looks at you. You feel like he's trying to guess your weight, with the one over he's giving you, from your scuffed shoes to your unruly hair. He appears dissatisfied.
"Sehun, Chen, clear the room."
The two guys boldly walk over to you and pin your arms to your sides. You're too confused to even resist as they frog march you from the room. The last thing you register is the man extending his arm and sweeping your plate from the table, the contents flying everywhere and splattering the walls. Before the last pieces of china settle on the ground Emril closes the door and locks it from the outside. It sounds like a tomb being shut.
What the hell was that?