Mr. Chun smiled at the residents and the room quieted down immediately. His smile was distinctly unsettling; it never seemed to reach his eyes. Everyone rose and stood at attention.

“Good afternoon, class,” he said. It was time for art therapy. Since the residents were all high-school aged minors, it was only appropriate that the setting was a classroom. They even earned grades and credits that could be transferred to their schools upon release.  

The students bowed and chorused a greeting in return before taking their seats.   

“We have a new resident. Ms. Paik informed me that Seunghyun introduced himself during Group, so if there are no questions for him, let’s get started.”

He gestured for the tall boy to sit next to Daesung, who tried not to show any negative reaction to the seating arrangement.  

“The end of the semester isn’t for another month, but I think it would be wise if we started thinking about our final projects now to avoid any unfortunate incidents.”

All around the room, students started murmuring to one another. Mr. Chun raised a hand to silence them. Seunghyun looked as confused as ever.

“I will pass out the forms now. You will brainstorm three different ideas for the final project. Write a five-sentence description for each idea. For those of you who have never been here for the end of the semester, the final project is work developed with any creative medium: oil paint, charcoal, origami, dance, piano music, poetry, photography…One time we even had a student bake many cakes to form one large cake, then cover it in different colored frosting. The frosting made up the image of the first video game he ever played: Tetris. All of these works will be unveiled in the Student Showcase. Please remember that your parents will see your work on Family Night. I expect these forms back by the end of the week.”

He handed the papers off to Eunseo, the teacher’s pet. She eagerly stood to receive them, bowed, and quickly distributed them. Jihun often said that she had scheduled her future emotional and psychological breakthroughs in her daily planner, and even had a deadline for her release from Quiet Waters. Daesung wouldn’t put it past her. However, instead of scoffing at her behavior the way that his roommate did, he admired her dedication.  

As Mr. Chun moved on to talking about their current projects—watercolor—Seunghyun looked questioningly over at Daesung. At Daesung’s responding inquisitive stare, he leaned over and whispered into his ear.  

“Why was everyone so excited when Mr. Chun mentioned ‘unfortunate incidents’?”

“That’s code for suicide attempts.”

“Jesus. How common are those?”

“Residents are often depressed, and final projects are pretty stressful–”

Daesung was cut off by the teacher calling his name sharply in warning. He sat upright and turned his body towards the front of the room. He was never scolded for talking in class. He prided himself on being respectful to his elders. Mr. Chun resumed prattling about brush-cleaning techniques.

He felt a nudge on his upper arm. He ignored it. Again, he felt that same tap.

When it became apparent that Daesung was not going to turn around, his seatmate then resorted to sliding a scrap of oak tag with a message scrawled in Sharpie on it under his elbow. Rolling his eyes, he took the scrap and read the question, wondering all along where he had even gotten oak tag.

Is it just me, or is Mr. Chun creepy as balls?

He couldn’t help but smirk. He felt something narrow jab his thigh. Reaching down, he realized Seunghyun was passing him the Sharpie. He grasped it, uncapped it underneath the table, and started to scribble a hasty reply.

He’s a smart teacher, but sometimes–

“Kang Daesung!” Mr. Chun yelled.

Daesung gulped. He hadn’t been paying attention, and now the man was towering right in front of him. He was the sort of person who made Seunghyun almost appear to be of average height.

“I would never have suspected you of passing notes. And to our new student! You’re supposed to be a role model.”

Daesung began apologizing profusely, but was interrupted again.  

“Second strike. Give me the note.”

Daesung glanced at Seunghyun, his hand hesitating over the oak tag. The new boy stared resolutely down at the table, swallowing hard. That settled the issue for him.

“Now!”

Steeling his resolve, he furiously folded the scrap into sixteenths, threw it into his mouth, soaked it with saliva that was surprisingly difficult to produce, and gulped it down in a matter of seconds. From their respective assigned seats, Jihun and Minah watched the exchange in silent horror: Jihun peeking through his fingers and Minah’s mouth forming a shocked O. Eunseo squealed, bringing him to his senses.

Originally, after seeing Seunghyun’s defeated posture, he had been so certain that it had to be done; now that it was done he immediately felt nausea and regret washing over him in equally suffocating waves.

As Mr. Chun started his loud diatribe about disrespect—citing all the ways Daesung would pay for his three-strike insubordination, especially in a facility that would tolerate exactly zero percent of it—the shaken boy noticed Seunghyun’s eyes. They were now wide, innocently and attentively taking in the righteously shouting teacher, and surely meant to portray him as the blameless new kid under the influence of a more established student. Who had first whispered to whom? Who had insisted that the other read his note? Who had sacrificed himself even though he had written nothing wrong?

Daesung felt his cheeks heat up again: this time, with undeniable rage.

                                                                        *****