Migukin

He was pointing…at me? Minho was pointing to me.

I checked to see if anyone was standing behind me and there wasn’t. This made me nervous.

“Me?” I pointed to myself now and stared at him with questioning eyes. He nodded and walked away. I noticed the way the girls about me started chattering before I felt myself being shoved from my seat as if to follow him. I did so leaving the lunchroom.

No one followed us into the courtyard and we were alone. He took a seat on the bench and I remained standing unsure of what to do. His stare said it all. I set beside him, my gaze unwavering from my knees. “Migukin… you are very funny.” He began to laugh.

He was laughing at me.

“If you brought me out here to laugh at me, well then…” I couldn’t think of a threat. My mind had completely blanked. It was enough that my parents had brought me here against my will, that my mother wanted me to be fully Korean like her and my dad just went along with it. I had red hair for Christ’s sake! There was no way that’d I’d ever fit in with these people. And it’s not like they made it any easier. I was American—migukin. I felt tears threatening to come. I brought my hands up to shield my face. “You are mean.”

Making the move to stand and run, something pulled my wrist down. I turned to look at his hand—he had stopped me. “W-what are you doing? I won’t just stand here and let you—”

“Mean?,” he questioned.

“Mean,” I phrased, “You made fun of me. You called me ‘funny’.”

“Yeah, you are funny,” he said, “I like you. You are fun.”

I sensed his appreciation and realized I’d gotten all worked up over nothing. I wiped away my tears as I sat back down. “You like me. You think that I am fun to be around, not funny.” I corrected him.

“I like you. You are fun to be around,” he repeated. We laughed. He touched my hand, turned it over, and placed his in my palm. “Your English is good. I learn from you.” He pointed to himself with the other.

I smiled, but before brashly saying yes, another idea came to mind. “I can--” I pointed to myself, “teach you English,” then pointed to him, “if you teach me--hangung” I pointed back to myself.

Seeming to get the jist, Minho nodded brightly. “Ne,” he answered.

“Ne,” I repeated, “means…”

“Yes,” he explained.

I squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Ne.”