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never really thought it through. We don’t have popcorn at home very often—it’s not really a Korean delicacy, you know.” Brittany shrugged her shoulders.
    “Well, okay then. I guess you get to learn how to make
real
popcorn now.” Amber reached for a pot from the cabinet under the range. “Trust me, once you taste this stuff, you’ll never want microwave popcorn again.” She poured oil into the bottom of the tall pot on the stove. “The key is to put in enough oil so every kernel is submerged, but not so much they’ll drown in it when they pop.” She poured two pieces into her palm. “Now, the next step is important. You only put two kernels into the pot. Wait until they pop, then add the rest.”
    “Why?” Brittany peered through the glass lid.
    “That way you know it’s hot enough to pop the rest of the corn.”
    “Yeah, but I mean, why only two? Why can’t you put it all in there? The oil would still get hot, right?”
    “Um, well, yeah. I guess so.” Amber’s forehead creased as she wondered why. “But anyway, that’s how it’s done.”
    “Ha! You don’t know.” Brittany grinned and crossed her arms triumphantly on herchest. “But whatever. We’ll do it your way. Two kernels.”
    Pop. Pop
.
    “Okay, now we’re ready for the rest.” Amber lifted the lid and poured in the popcorn. “And … now we wait.”
    Brittany peered through the clear glass lid of the pot.
    “A lot of people will tell you to shake it the whole time once it starts popping. But really, the trick is not to. If it’s the right temperature, it will pop fast enough that the popped kernels will rise and the unpopped ones will stay on the bottom.”
    They stood at the stove, leaning over to watch the bubbling oil heat the corn kernels inside. A few early responders popped into big, white fluffy clouds while the rest simmered longer.
    “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Brittany hesitated.
    “What’s up?”
    “My church is having a Christmas concert next Thursday, and I wondered if you’d like to come—”
    “Aw, Britt. You know I don’t really like to go to church. Don’t make me … pleeeease?” Amber stuck her bottom lip out in a pretend pout.
    “It’s not church, though—it just happens to be
at
a church.” Brittany stood over the steam coming out of the sides of the pot lid. “What could be wrong with a concert?”
    Amber opened her mouth to explain the vast numbers of things that could be wrong with it, but closed it when Brittany held up her hand.
    “It’s White Horse.” Brittany’s eyes gleamed.
    Ooh. She got me
. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place? I’d love to see them! You should have said: ‘Hey, Amber, let’s go see White Horse!’ It wouldn’t have mattered where they were playing—I’d have agreed to go without all the begging.”
    “Oh, I know,” Brittany admitted, her eyes twinkling. “But that wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun for me.”
    Amber snapped the dish towel at Brittany’s leg. “Oops! We’re about to burn this popcorn.” The lid rose as the popped kernels pushed it up from its secure spot atop the pot and started to spill over. She poured as much as she could fit into the extra-large red plastic bowl Brittany held.
    “Um, I think we’re going to need a bucket. That’s a lot of popcorn.” Brittany reached her hand into the bowl.
    “Wait! Not yet.” Amber grabbed the salt. “We need to put the finishing touches on it.” She sprinkled the salt over the top and then jiggled the bowl to mix it up, careful not to spill any, and then stuck a kernel in her mouth. She repeated those actions several times until her taste tests confirmed perfection.
    “What about butter?”
    “Never butter. It’s much better like this. Just the right amount of oil, plenty of salt. You’ll see.” Amber tasted another kernel and grinned. “Go for it.” She held the bowl out.
    Brittany stuck a few pieces into her mouth and chewed for a