내 곁에 있어줘

"I have to pick up my prescription from the pharmacy this afternoon," Richard told me curtly, as if he had been forced to. He probably had. It was the only time he seemed to address me since I'd turned twelve and entered middle school. "I can't pick you up."

I still stared out the window at the rain pouring in fat drops onto the pavement and didn't say anything. It wasn't uncommon. Richard had a lot of health problems, and he always needed to pick up pills for something or other, but we both knew he could wait and pick them up at any time. That was the point of an all-hours pharmacy. He chose to pick them up when he would pick me up normally. But I was neutral on the matter since things were slightly less tense with my mom. I knew that even if she turned a blind eye to things, at least she cared somewhat about my well-being.

I leaned my head against the cold window, my breath fogging its otherwise perfect surface. I saw several people walking in the rain, including some people from the ESL classes I was helping with. I pressed my cheek against the glass, trying to avoid thinking about the bruises on my back, shoulders, and legs and the semi-fresh cuts on the insides of my thighs. I shifted in the leather seat.

Richard barely slowed down enough in the roundabout for me to get out of the car and close the door behind me. I pulled my jacket's sleeves down past my hands and hurried inside out of the rain.

Ellie was nowhere to be found, like usual. I went straight to the art room to talk to Mr. Mercer, the art teacher who nearly watched me grow up. On my way there, I felt my 'home self' slowly fading away. The bruises and cuts seemed to vanish as well. My 'school self' surfaced, a sarcastic, but content person. As I pulled open the door, I almost slammed into Jinyoung, who was waiting on the other side.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, holding a giant white piece of poster paper in both hands. Only his face peered at me over the large white paper.

"Just hanging out," I said, standing aside so he could leave. I held the door for him.

"You hang out with the teacher?" he asked incredulously.

"You've met the art teachers before, right? How could I not hang out with them?"

He still gave me a strange look. I laughed.

"Quit looking at me like that, Twinkle Toes. Do you have an art class?"

"Yes. I just wanted to ask a question about my project," he told me, clutching the paper closely as if he was afraid that I would try to take it. "I don't like how it looks."

"I'm sure it's not that bad."

"It is," he said miserably, thrusting it out toward me suddenly. It was a moderately well-proportioned rendition of an anime character I'd seen a long time ago but couldn't remember. "It's alright. You can laugh if you want."

I stared at it. It was still a pencil drawing without color, without shading. At this stage, it was hard to tell whether or not it would be good, but the outline was solid and close to the original. "I'm not laughing. See?"

He smiled a little, sheepish smile as if he were embarrassed to smile in front of me. He tucked the paper under his arm, but I noticed that he made no move to hide it now. "You don't have to be nice to me, Emiko. I'm just your student."

"I don't have to do anything," I agreed as we rounded a corner. The halls were still mostly empty at this time of morning. "But that doesn't mean I won't do it, anyway."

We continued down the vacant hall toward the school's side doors. Jinyoung's locker was the last before the door. He opened it and stuffed the poster inside. "You're a strange girl."

"I know," I said. I was more aware of my numerous quirks than he could understand. "But what are you referring to, exactly?"

"I don't know how to explain it. You act like a boy, kind of."

For some reason, the little comment I'd heard from everyone else caused a little flare of anger coming from him. "And just how, exactly, are girls expected to act?"

He blushed suddenly and closed his locker, dipping his head so that I couldn't read his eyes. "I didn't mean it like that."

I forced myself to smile and set aside my inexplicable anger. "I hear that all of the time. I guess I should be used to it by now."

"I didn't mean it to sound so... ugly," he said softly, but his voice was a little surer now. "I just meant that you seem more... strong than the girls I'm used to. Korean culture is very different from American culture."

"It isn't necessarily an American trait. It's something my mom forced on me." I wanted to stop talking about this, but I found it hard not to tell him everything. I found a way to satiate both cravings. "She wants to be a very independent kind of woman. 'Girl power' and all that, you know."

"She's a feminist?" he asked, looking like he swallowed a bug.

"No, no, no. It's just that she believes that women should be strong and take care of themselves. She doesn't like the idea of relying on a man for her well-being." I blushed, feeling uncomfortable by his reaction. "I understand how she feels, but it's a long story."

He looked at me for a moment, a kind of gentle understanding there. As if catching himself, he looked away and busied himself with his notebooks. I watched him fumble with them for a while, not sure how to feel about the strange look that passed between us.