the morning announcements as the bell rang. As soon as she left, the room erupted into chatter. While the teachers moved from classroom to classroom for each period, the students gained a few minutes of freedom to gossip and eat forbidden snacks previously hidden away.
Jihoon usually used the break for the latter, but this time he pushed back from his desk, stepping toward Miyoung.
He was beat to the punch by Baek Hana.
“Transfer student,” Hana said. She was pretty in a traditional way: classic oval face, pert nose, and rosebud lips. Her straight bangs perfectly styled, her pleated skirt perfectly pressed. She reminded Jihoon of a porcelain doll, if dolls had judgmental eyes and sharp tongues. “Where’d you transfer from?”
It took Miyoung so long to answer, it seemed she intended to ignore the question. Finally, she said, “Jeollanam-do.”
“The whole province of South Jeolla?”
“Gwangju.” Another clipped answer.
“I have cousins in Gwangju.” Hana smiled, but it held no kindness. “You’re very pretty. Who was your plastic surgeon?”
Jihoon rolled his eyes at the barb. Everyone knew that Hana had begged her parents for double-eyelid surgery; just because they denied her didn’t mean she was above plastic surgery. He saw Miyoung’s hands clamp, two tight fists folded together. He wondered if she did that to save Hana from a well-deserved punch in the mouth.
“Do you need something, Hana-ya?” Somin asked, and half the class stopped their conversations. Some settled in for the show.
Hana squirmed under Somin’s stare. Jihoon didn’t usually find pleasure in other people’s discomfort, but he felt a grim sense of satisfaction as Hana’s eyes darted back and forth between Somin and Miyoung. She seemed torn between playing with her new target and preserving her own skin.
Hana lifted her chin and Jihoon couldn’t help but think she’d made the wrong choice. “I’m saying hello to the new transfer.”
“Well, you said it. You should sit before the teacher gets here.”
“Sure, whatever.” Hana shrugged, a jerky movement filled with nerves. Everyone knew better than to cross Somin.
“I didn’t ask for your help,” Miyoung said, and heads across the room turned to stare in surprise.
“Excuse me?” Somin asked, and Jihoon got the impression of two powerful forces pushing against each other.
“From now on, keep out of my business.” Miyoung’s words were low but easily heard in the silent room.
Jihoon watched Somin’s jaw flex, like she held back a biting retort. But he knew her. She rarely succeeded in curbing her temper.
It was as if the whole class held their breath, waiting for the thick tension in the air to break.
Instead, the door opened and the math teacher, Mr. Hong, entered.
* * *
• • •
Jihoon watched Miyoung throughout the class.
She sat a row up and across the aisle from him. Her hand took quick notes as the teacher lectured. He stared at it, remembering how she snapped off the dokkaebi’s thumb. He shivered involuntarily.
Jihoon scribbled a quick note and leaned into the aisle, casting a furtive glance at Mr. Hong. The teacher was watching two kids try to solve problems at the board, tapping a split bamboo branch on his palm. He liked to crack it against desks when kids fell asleep, and Jihoon knew that before corporal punishment was outlawed in schools, Mr. Hong would have used it directly on the kids.
“Ya,” Jihoon whispered.
Miyoung’s hand stopped writing, but she didn’t look over. Jihoon tossed the paper. It hit the edge of Miyoung’s desk and fell to the floor.
Miyoung continued taking notes as if nothing had happened.
“Ya,” Jihoon said again, his voice the urgent gravel of a whisper-shout.
A foot dropped on top of the note, and Jihoon grimaced as the teacher picked it up.
“Gu Miyoung, it seems Ahn Jihoon would like you to meet him after class,” Mr. Hong said. It earned muffled laughter from the other kids. “The two of you, follow me outside.”
In the hallway, they sat on their knees, their hands raised in the air. A punishment they’d have to continue until the class period was over. Already, Jihoon’s arms ached.
“You should have caught it,” he said.
Miyoung ignored him, staring straight ahead.
“You could have caught it. I’ve seen your reflexes.”
She still didn’t answer.
In the sunlight filtering through the windows, she was striking. Almost delicate looking. But Jihoon remembered how fierce she’d been in the forest, effortlessly squaring off against the monstrous dokkaebi.
He tried again. “About the other night in the woods—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Miyoung interrupted him.
“But—”
“I just moved here. I don’t know the area. Why would I be in the