The First Look
Boseong High School only had exactly three hundred and fifty-seven students – now it's three hundred and fifty-eight, a horrifying number; When we were at our old house, we had more than seven hundred children in grade 11 alone. All the students here have been playing together since they were little – their grandparents even learned to walk together. I will be a girl who just moved from a big city, is a curiosity, a strange thing.
Maybe, if I'm like a real girl in Busan, that might be an advantage. But physically, I never fit anywhere. I should have been tanned, healthy-looking, blonde--be it a basketball player, or a cheerleader--all the things I should have lived in a valley. sunny valley.
Instead, I have a fair skin even though the weather is always sunny. I've always been a small kid, sometimes weak, obviously not a sportsman; I have a problem with the fine balance of my limbs and eyes to play sports without losing my face – injuring myself and anyone else standing close to me.
When I finished arranging my clothes in the pine cabinet, I carried the bag into the shared bathroom of the father and son to take a clean shower after a day of moving house. I look at my face in the mirror as I brush my messy damp hair. Maybe it was the light, but I already looked weak. My skin should have been pretty – white, almost transparent even – but that depends on the skin tone. And I have no mood at all.
Faced with my pale reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was deceiving myself. Not only does it not fit anywhere in appearance. And if I can't get myself a place in a school of three thousand students, what opportunity do I have here?
I don't get along with my peers. Maybe it's more true that I don't get along with people in general. Even my mother, whom I am closer to than anyone else in the world, never felt like me, never thought like me. Sometimes I wonder if I see things the way the whole world is seeing through their eyes. Maybe there's something wrong with my head.
But the reason is not important. The new consequences are the whole problem. And tomorrow is just the beginning.
I couldn't sleep that night, even after crying. The sound of the wind and rain pounding continuously on the roof could not sleep. I pulled the blanket over my head, then covered it with a pillow a moment later. But it wasn't until midnight that I fell asleep, when the rain finally subsided, leaving only the sound of a whisper.
The next morning, through the window I could only see the thick fog, and feel the creeping fear of closure. I've never seen the sky here, it's like being in a cage.
Breakfast with Bang's father took place in silence. My father wished me good luck in school. I thanked him with my mouth, but in my heart I knew for sure that his hopes were misplaced. Luck always tries to avoid me. Dad left the house first. The rest I sat alone in the middle of one of the three chairs, at the square oak table, looking around my father's small kitchen: the dark paneled walls, the bright yellow cabinets and the rug. white house cover. Nothing changed. Eight years ago, it was my mother who manually repainted the cabinets to bring some joy to the house. Next to the kitchen is a family room as small as a handkerchief, in the room is still the old fireplace, above it is still a row of photos. The first photo is a wedding photo of mom and dad taken in Incheon, the second one is of the three of us at the hospital, after I was born, the midwife took pictures, and the second is pictures of me at school. year by year, ending with a photo taken at school last year. It's heartbreaking to watch it all – I'll have to choose my words to have him put all the pictures away, at least for the time I'm in Boseong.
Living in this house, it is not difficult to realize that Dad has never forgotten his mother. That makes me feel uncomfortable.
I don't want to go to school too early, and I don't want to stay home any longer. Putting on a cold coat, which felt like I was wearing a gas suit, I stepped out into the rain.
It was still a drizzle, not big enough to get me wet as I reached for the house key, which was always hidden under the eaves, to the front door and locked it. The sound of boots wading through the water was boring. I longed to hear the crunching sound as I walked on the gravel. I couldn't stop and look at the truck, even if I wanted to; I'm hurrying out of the damp mist that hangs over my head, slipping through my hair under the hood.
In the truck it was dry and comfortable. It can be understood that Mr. Bang or his father cleaned it carefully and cleanly; however, the brown leather upholstery still smells of tobacco, gasoline and mint. I was relieved that the car's engine started very quickly, but it squealed loudly, rumbling through the air and slowly rolling at maximum volume. Oh my gosh, this old fashioned truck is about to enter the museum. And then there's this old-fashioned radio that's working, and one more thing I didn't expect.
The school is not difficult to find, although I have never set foot there. This school, like any other, is located away from the highway. At first I couldn't guess it was a school, but when I saw the sign saying Boseong High School, I stopped. The whole school resembles a collection of matchbox-shaped houses, built of dark brown bricks. Around the school, full of green trees, tall and tall. There are so many trees that at first glance, I don't know how big or small the school is. Where is the familiar feeling of recovery? I asked myself nostalgically. Where are the fences, where are the metal detectors located?
I stopped the car right in front of the door of the first building, there was a small sign with the words: FRONT OFFICE - hanging by the door. Seeing no one, I was sure this was a no-go place, but I decided to drop in anyway, instead of having to drive around the school like a lunatic. Reluctantly, I stepped out of the cockpit, landing on a small stone step that was lined with dark green bushes. I took a deep breath before opening the door.
The room was brighter and warmer than I expected. The office is quite small, the waiting area is only as small as a mosquito's eye, there are a few folding chairs, the billboard is dotted with orange streaks, the notices and certificates of merit hang messy on the wall, one The clock ticks loudly. The room was filled with potted plants, as if there weren't enough trees outside. The office was divided in two by a long shelf, littered with nets filled with paper and a model of flying insects attached to the front of the basket.
Behind the shelves were three desks, and a large, red-haired, glasses-wearing woman was sitting behind one of them. She was wearing a burgundy short-sleeved shirt, which made me feel overwhelmed.
The red-haired woman raised her eyes.
- What can I do for you?
"I'm Bang Amy." I introduced my name, and immediately recognized the light in the woman's eyes. People are waiting for me to come, still the eternal gossip. Finally, the daughter of the sheriff and his ex-wife who left home has returned.
- Of course - the woman answered me and then reached out to flip through the pile of documents on the table, she finally found it - I have your class schedule, also the map of my school - The woman redhead put those papers on the shelf, show me.
She showed me the map, showed me the fastest way to the classes, and gave me a piece of paper to get the teacher's signature at the end of each class. The red-haired woman smiled, hoping, like my dad Bang, that I would love Boseong. And I also smiled in response.
By the time I got back to the truck, students had already started pouring into the school. I drove the car around the school, following the traffic route. My heart suddenly felt happy when I realized that most of the cars here are in the category of "big trees" like mine, none of them are in the "dazzling" category. In the place where I lived before, one of the areas with many low-income people, people often see Mercedes or new Porsches of students. Meanwhile, here, the best car is a shiny Volvo, lost in the parking lot. As soon as I parked the car in the right place, I immediately turned off the engine, lest that thunderous roar again draw attention to me.
Sitting in the truck's cab, reviewing the road map, I tried to memorize every detail, hoping I wouldn't have to walk around the school and have to dig into the map all day. I put everything in my bag and slung it over my shoulder, taking a deep breath. I can do it, I weakly motivate myself. No one will bully you. I reassured myself one last time, then got out of the car.
Still wearing my hood, I walked down the sidewalk, mingling with the crowd of other teenagers. Fortunately, my jet-black sweatshirt didn't stand out at all, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
I passed by the cafeteria and easily recognized the number Three building. The number "3" is very large in black, lying squarely on the white board, placed in the corner of the east wall. With each step closer to the classroom door, my breathing became more rapid, I didn't have a hard time noticing it. Holding my breath, I followed the two men in raincoats entering the classroom door.
The classroom is quite small. The two men ahead of me, just past the threshold, stopped, hung their raincoats on a hook. I also imitated doing the same. It was two schoolgirls, one blonde, with fair skin, the other with the same fair complexion, but with slightly brown hair. At least here, my skin color is not unique.
Suddenly, I slipped, tripped, and bumped into the teacher. In front of me was a tall, balding man. On the teacher's desk there is a signboard with his name written on it: Teacher Kim Woo Bin. The teacher stared at me, then looked at my name stupidly – it was not a warm welcome – and of course my face was as red as a ripe tomato. Anyway, at least he led me to an empty table at the back of the class, without even introducing me to the class. The "old ghosts" turned their heads to look at my back, and then, they also restrained their curiosity. I ran my eyes along the list of authors to study that the teacher had just given me. I have read it all. It's so leisurely, to the point of boredom. I was wondering if she would send me some old essays about these authors, or if she thought I was joking. And just like that, in my head, I kept thinking about what I would have to say to make my mother understand, while the teacher above was constantly talking about his lecture.
The bell rang – a crisp, nasal voice – and a lean, thin, jet-black-haired guy leaned over to talk to me.
- You're Bang Amy, right? – It seems that this guy is very enthusiastic to help others, like the members of the chess club.
"Just call me Amy." People within three chairs around started turning to look at me.
- Where's your next class? - He asks.
I quickly opened my bag to check.
- Well, the state subject, with Mr. Song Jong Ki, building number six.
Now everyone present in the class turned their curious eyes on me.
- I'm going to building number four, I'll show you the way - I'm a person who likes to help people - I'm Suho - he added.
"Thanks." I smiled wryly.
We grabbed our coats and stepped outside, the rain was heavier now. I would bet that right now, there are some people behind me who are trying to shorten the distance between us even more, in the hope of overhearing something. I hope I'm not paranoid.
- It's very different from Busan here, isn't it? – Suho started a conversation and asked.
- Very different.
- Doesn't it rain a lot there?
- About three or four times a year.
- Well, how will it be? The guy next to him looked surprised.
"Sunshine," I replied.
- You don't look very tanned.
- My mother has albinism.
Suho looked at me apologetically, and I couldn't help but sigh. It seems that seriousness and humor just can't go together. A few months ago, I seem to have forgotten, no longer used this irony. We detour back to the cafeteria, heading for the south buildings, near the gym. Suho led me to the door, as if he was afraid I wouldn't find it, even though the door was clearly marked.
- Well, good luck - He said goodbye as I touched the doorknob - We'll probably be in some other classes together - there's hope in Suho's words.
I smiled absently and stepped inside.
The rest of the morning passed quietly. My class trigonometry teacher named Jaesuk - I couldn't help but like him because of the subject he was in charge of - was the only one who made me stand in front of the class to introduce myself. I faltered and faltered, my face red; After that greeting, I walked into my seat with one foot kicking the other.
After spending hours in two classes, in each class, I started to remember a few faces. It's just because some brave, proactive people came to me, introduced themselves and asked if I liked Boseong. I try to be a little social, but in the end it's just being polite. At least thanks to that, I don't need to use the map anymore.
A girl who sat next to me in both trigonometry and Vietnamese classes went to lunch with me at the cafeteria. She was a petite girl, about seven feet six inches shorter than my height, but the big difference between us was not our height, but her messy, curly hair. . I can't remember the girl's name, so I just smile and nod at her every time I hear her tell this and that about the teachers or the classroom. Honestly, I don't want to save all of that in my memory either.
We sat in the empty seats in the diner, and along with some of my shaggy-haired friend's comrades, I was introduced to them; and I forgot their names as soon as the frizzy-haired girl introduced herself. Apparently, these new friends were impressed by the shaggy-haired friend's boldness when she spoke to me. Suddenly I saw on the other side of the table, the guy - Suho - was waving his hands frantically to greet me.
And the first time I saw them was at that moment, when I was sitting down to lunch and trying to fit in the conversation with seven curious people.
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