by Axie Oh
“You have to wear the uniform correctly,” she says, pointing to my sloppy tie, “otherwise the whole classroom will be penalized.”
Is she serious? I look over at Sori, but she’s gone back to staring out the window.
“Hurry,” the girl says, “you still have a few minutes.”
I scramble up from my seat.
Outside in the empty hall, I pick a direction at random, hoping to stumble upon a bathroom. I curse my past self who hadn’t carefully read the rule book. I’m going to be late for my first day of class.
“Student!” A teacher approaches down the hall, and I sigh in relief. He can help me— “You need to be in your classroom right now!”
I stare at him, confused why he’s so angry. “I was told I needed to fix my tie—” I begin.
“Your classroom, now!” He’s literally yelling at me, spittle flying.
“You don’t understand. I’m a new—”
“GET TO YOUR CLASSROOM!”
And now I’m on the verge of tears. Why is he shouting at me? “But—”
“Seonsaengnim.” Jaewoo appears from out of nowhere, addressing the teacher by his title. “She’s a new student. I was showing her to her classroom.”
Suddenly the teacher is all smiles. “Ah, Jaewoo-ssi. Of course.”
Jaewoo gives him a close-lipped smile, bowing as the teacher walks away. He then presses his hand lightly against my back, leading me to a door that he pushes open.
We’re in a stairwell, light filtering in through a skylight above us. I step forward, taking deep breaths. When I’ve composed myself, I turn to face Jaewoo who’s now leaning against the door.
“Are you all right?” he asks in English.
“Yeah,” I say. “Thanks for . . .” I wave in the direction of the hallway in a gesture that’s meant to encompass everything.
“He shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he says gently.
I stare at him, wary. He’s acting like he did back in LA, a complete one-eighty from pretending like we’d never met.
“Why weren’t you in your homeroom?” he asks.
“A girl told me if my uniform broke regulations the whole class would be penalized.”
Jaewoo offers a sympathetic smile. “She was just messing with you.”
That’s so mean! I’m a new student! Why didn’t Sori say anything?
“Still,” Jaewoo says, “uniform violations will get you points off your next test, that or you’ll be made to run around the track field a few times.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Wow, Korean schools are pretty strict.
“The truth is . . .” I kick my feet against the floor. This is embarrassing. “I don’t know how to tie a tie.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
He shakes his head. “What kind of education were you getting in the States?”
“A public school education.”
He steps away from the door, his hands reaching for my collar. Slowly, he loosens the sloppy knot I’d managed this morning. A small crease forms between his brows as he concentrates. Undoing the knot, he evens out the sides of the tie. Sliding one side down, his knuckles brush my shirt. I suck in a sharp breath.
“Sorry,” he says, hands going still for a moment. He bites his lip, then continues, Adam’s apple bobbing.
He makes a new knot by slipping the tie through a hole and pulling gently.
I observe him as he works. Unlike when I met him in LA, he’s not wearing makeup. He looks younger without it, but just as handsome. His left arm is also clearly not broken anymore, as he uses his left hand to hold the tie in place, tightening the knot. The tattoos on his wrist are gone too.
“What are you doing here, Jenny?” he asks softly.
“I swear I didn’t follow you,” I say.
He pauses in his movements. He blinks once, twice, then laughs. “I’m not as self-absorbed as that. Not yet, at least. I meant, what are you doing here in Korea, at this school?”
I frown. “Didn’t you get my text?”
“What text?”
“The one I sent you, you know, where I told you I was going to be in Seoul for a few months.”
He sighs, does one more pull on my tie, then drops his hands. “My phone was confiscated. After that night in LA, my manager took it away. I was given a company phone a week later, with approved contacts. What did you say?”
“Guess you’ll never know.”
Now it’s his turn to frown.
I didn’t say anything that revealing, but I’ll let him stew in curiosity for once. Above us, the school bell rings.
“We better go,” I say.
“I’ll walk you to class.”
We exit the stairwell and head back down a now empty hall.
“I’m sorry,” Jaewoo says after taking a few steps, “for not texting you. I . . . wanted to.”
I study him out of the corner of my eye. His lips are pressed together, his expression conflicted.
“Why did you pretend like you didn’t know me earlier?” I ask.
“I didn’t want people to know we’ve met before. I trust my classmates, but rumors have started from less. If it was just me to consider . . .”
We reach the door to my classroom. Inside, I can see the figure of an adult at the podium. “Jenny,” Jaewoo stops me. “The thing is”—he watches me carefully, gauging my reaction—“we don’t have to pretend we don’t know each other.”
“What do you mean?”
“When it’s just . . . you and me.”
“Like secret friends?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, when you put it that way, it sounds bad.”
I wonder if I should be offended. I mean normally I would be, but I’m sure he probably has more things in his life to consider than a friendship with some random girl from LA—his reputation as an idol, for one.
“I get it,” I say. “Things aren’t exactly normal for you.”
“Yeah,” he says, a tentative smile on his lips.
Still, I don’t have to agree to a secret friendship, not when I have people in my corner willing to be my friend, like Angela and Gi Taek. Even Nathaniel and Youngmin have been friendly, and in public too. What makes Jaewoo and my relationship so different? Is it because he’s the class president, the most popular member in the group, a “prince” in nickname and reputation?
Maybe it’s my hurt pride, but I have enough on my plate right now—adjusting to a new school, getting into a top music school of my choice. I don’t know if I want to put in the energy into figuring him out.
“As for being friends . . .” I step closer, and he leans in, almost instinctively. “I’ll think about it.”
His smile drops.
Reaching for the door of the classroom, I slide it back.
Thirteen
As expected, everyone turns when I enter the classroom five minutes after the bell rings. The teacher looks at a loss for words, probably unable to comprehend how a student would be late on the first day of school.
“She’s a transfer student,” Jaewoo says, entering the class behind me. “She was lost.” I look at him, surprised that he’s come inside with me.
“And you found her,” the teacher says warmly. “We wouldn’t expect anything less from our class president.”
Jaewoo approaches the podium, passing by me. Reaching into his school bag, he pulls out a folder and hands it to the teacher. “These are the papers you asked me to pick up from the office.”
He bows, and instead of walking back out the door, heads down the aisle of seats, taking one in the back row, farthest to the right.
It’s the seat directly behind mine.
Which means he’s in my class. He doesn’t look at me, resting his chin on his hand as he looks out the window. Even from the front of the classroom, I can see the smirk on his face.
“Jenny,” the teacher says, “why don’t you introduce yourself to the class?”
<
br /> Oh my God, forced public speaking is the absolute worst.
I take a deep breath. “My name is Jenny Go,” I begin. “I’m seventeen years old . . .” A few of the students in the front row frown, and I remember that in Korea, you’re considered one year old the day you’re born, and depending on your birthday, could be one to two years older than your American age. I’m not quick enough to figure out my Korean age so I say the year I was born instead. Everyone nods in understanding. “I’m originally from Los Angeles, California. And I’m a cellist.”
Finished, I look at the teacher, who seems to be waiting for something. I bow.
“Perfect!” The teacher says, “Baksu!” She claps her hands and the rest of the students half-heartedly join her. “You can take your seat now.”
Well, I guess after that introduction everyone now knows that I’m an international transfer student, and they’ll be more forgiving of any cultural faux pas on my part.
Or not. I remember that girl who’d lied about the uniform violation. She was sitting in the front row during my introduction, and the whole time she and her seatmate had been looking me up and down and rolling their eyes.
As I take my seat, I glance at Jaewoo, but he’s still looking out the window.
In front of him, Sori mimics his pose exactly, not acknowledging me as I pull the seat out beside her.
The rest of homeroom is spent going over class expectations for the year and assigning chores. Apparently the students take turns cleaning the classroom. The teacher also mentions the senior showcase, which happens in June. Each program head will share further details when we meet with our respective departments after lunch. I make a point to ask mine the steps to audition for a cello solo.
A little after an hour, the bell rings, signaling the end of Period 1. Most of the students remain seated; the next class is apparently advanced Korean, a literature class. Me and a few other students pack up our things to move rooms.
“Jaewoo-yah.” Sori shifts her legs so that they’re facing the window.
They do know each other, and not just know each other. If she’s using his name in that familiar way, then they’re close.
He glances up from where he was reading his schedule. “Min Sori.”
“Why didn’t you text me back?” Why is she on his list of approved numbers?
“Sorry, I left my phone at the studio,” Jaewoo says. “What’s up?”
“I congratulated you on your performance last night.” I glance in her direction, but her face is turned away. It’s subtle, but there’s a hitched quality to her voice. “On Music Net.”
“Oh, thanks.”
“You’ll find your phone, won’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t ignore my texts,” she says softly.
I quickly finish my packing and practically flee from my seat. Nathaniel catches my arm as I’m walking out the door.
I almost forgot about him, which is wild. How could anyone forget about Nathaniel?
“What’s your next class?” he asks.
“I have study hall, but I guess English.” Since Korean literature is too advanced for me and English language is too easy, LACHSA is letting me do an online version of their English literature course.
“And after that?” He shakes his head. “You know what, why don’t you text me your schedule.” He hands me his phone.
I stare at it, still a little dazed from what I just witnessed. Also the settings on his phone are all in Korean.
“Oh, sorry, here.” He opens up the new contact info page. “Just type in your number. I’ll fill in the rest.”
Afterward, he takes it back and types in English “Jenny Go” all on one line.
As I leave the classroom, I catch sight of Liar Girl and her friends—a boy and girl—glaring at me. Honestly, at this point, I couldn’t care less.
I spend a few minutes of my study hall reading the syllabus my English teacher sends over, and the rest of it wondering if Jaewoo was the one who sent Sori the postcard. If so, then why did he hang out with me in LA? And what about earlier in the hall, when he asked to be secret friends? How would Sori feel about that? How do I feel about that?
Not great.
The last period before lunch is PE and I quickly rush back to the dorm to change before meeting my class on the field.
“Jenny!” Angela greets me, looking adorable in pigtails and a pink hoodie over her uniform sweats. It’s freezing outside and most of the students are running in place or doing jumping jacks to warm themselves up. “I’m so glad we have this class together!”
“Me too,” I say, especially when I catch sight of Liar Girl and her friends. And Sori, though she stands apart, which seems to be her general state of being.
“Who’s that?” Angela asks, following my gaze. “She’s so pretty.”
“Min Sori,” one of our classmates answers, a girl with purple-tinted hair. “She’s a trainee at Joah Entertainment.”
So that’s how she knows Jaewoo. Also maybe why she’s an approved contact in his phone.
“I envy her,” Angela sighs.
“Oh, yeah?” The girl smirks. “Wait until you hear who her mother is.” The girl pauses dramatically.
I don’t give her the satisfaction of asking.
Angela—on the other hand—is not petty, like me. “Who?”
“Seo Min Hee, the CEO of Joah Entertainment.”
Angela gasps. “Her life is so blessed. Though I’m sure she would have gotten into Joah even without that connection.”
I aspire to be as sweet as Angela when I grow up. The girl, however, doesn’t seem to share my feelings and heads over to join her friends.
Today we’re running the Korean equivalent of “the mile,” which is four laps around the track. I’m fine with the first lap, huffing and puffing after the second, breathing heavily after the third, and then almost dead by the fourth, collapsing on the lawn with the students who’d finished ahead of me. Angela’s still running, so after a short break, I walk over to the water fountain at the edge of the field to wash up.
Liar Girl is already there with her friend. In order to avoid them, I go to the other side of the fountain, splashing cold water onto my face from the spigot that shoots the water into a shallow basin. Lifting my head, our eyes meet. This close, I can read the nametag on her uniform: Kim Jina.
While holding my gaze, she nudges her friend and says something in Korean.
I frown, not quite understanding. Yet with how loud she spoke, I was clearly meant to hear.
Her friend glances over at me, and then says something back, and then it clicks.
They’re purposefully speaking in slang, so that I won’t understand.
At my confused expression, they start to laugh. They then exchange a few more words and these I can recognize because curse words are some of the first words you learn in any language.
I walk away with my face dripping water, the girls’ laughter trailing behind me.
I feel an odd sort of disconnect with my mind. My whole body is shaking, hot with frustration and fury. And all I want to do is lash out, but what would I even say? I’m not fluent enough to curse someone out in Korean, which is what I want to do. And they wouldn’t understand me if I did it in English. They’d just laugh more, and I’d feel like an even bigger loser.
And it sucks because usually I’m pretty good at defending myself when the rare occasion presents itself for a good put-down. My mom, an immigrant with an accent, knew the power of language, which to her was like a weapon to use against people who claimed she didn’t belong. That’s why she became a lawyer.
And now the weapon of language is being used against me, but in a different country.
“I’m soooo gross,” Angela says, walking toward me, her pigtails drooping, “and now we have to go to lunch.” She frowns when she catches sight of my face. “Are you okay?”
I nod, refusing to let Jina and her friend ruin my day. “I’m fine. I am starving though.
”
“Me too,” Angela says. “Let’s head over before the lines get too long.”
The cafeteria is located next to the student center, across from the dorms. Even though we arrive five minutes before lunch officially starts, there’s already a line forming outside the cafeteria window. A menu on the monitor above the station shows the different meal set options to choose from: bulgogi patty set, grilled mackerel set, and braised tofu set, all of which come with banchan and whatever the soup of the day is. Today’s soup is sigeumchi-guk, spinach boiled in an oyster soup base.
As students order and retrieve their trays, the long tables in the cafeteria begin to fill. People also arrive from the student center, where a walkway connects to the cafeteria, bringing with them food purchased at the snack bar and convenience store.
At one point Angela stops an Indian girl who’s passing by and introduces her as Anushya, her roommate. She’s British Indian and from Bristol. We chat a bit in English about moving to Seoul—she’s been here for two years—and then a boy from a table nearby calls her away. Though SAA isn’t an international school, I was surprised to find out from the website that there’s a good amount of international students, maybe one-fifth of the student body.
After we retrieve our trays—I choose the bulgogi patty set, Angela the mackerel set—we search for Gi Taek among the chaos of students.
“I see him!” Angela says, holding her tray with one hand and pointing across the cafeteria to where Gi Taek sits alone at one of the long tables, watching a video on his phone. We hurry over and join him.
He pauses the video, which a quick glance shows to be one on choreography. “How’s your first day of school?” he asks. “I see you both came from PE.” Unlike Angela and I in our sweats, he’s still wearing his uniform from the assembly.
“Great!” Angela says, taking the seat across from him. “I had homeroom with you and then math.” She makes a face.
“Study hall for me,” I say sitting to his right. “I’m taking classes through my school in the States.”
“Well, I had English and Korean back-to-back,” Gi Taek says. “My brain is fried.”
I pick up a piece of acorn jelly with my chopsticks, plopping it into my mouth. “So, what happens after lunch?” I know how it works at LACHSA, but I’m curious if it’s different here.