Moving to a new school was, hands down, one of the toughest things that could happen to a kid. Especially when you’re eight-years old. Especially when you’re not only transferring schools, but moving to an entirely new country. It’s true that you already know how to speak Korean from your parents, but that doesn’t make it any better; you still look different, you act different, and you sound different. To the other kids, you’re an anomaly, someone to whisper about when they think you’re not looking, someone to avoid at all costs, someone who wasn’t worth being friends with. The first week of school is hell, and you come crying to your mother every afternoon, pleading with her to send you home, back to America, where all your friends are, where you feel normal and wanted. And every time your mother would tell you that she couldn’t, because your father’s job was too important, and that you just had to stick it out, and that you’d make new friends here.

    On the first day of your second week of school, as you’re sitting alone at lunch, eating quietly by yourself, you notice someone approaching your table. She’s a tiny girl with long black hair and a cherub-like face, with a default expression that looked both tired and annoyed at the same time. To be frank, she kind of scares you. You know that she’s likely going to come make fun of you, like how the others sometimes like to do, to call you names and laugh at you before going back to her own table with her friends. You brace yourself, angry at the fact that frightful tears are already starting to form in your eyes.

    But she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she sits down across from you, pulls her own lunch out of her bag, and begins eating in silence. You’re not sure how to react. You keep your gaze down at your food, unwilling to look at her for fear of an aggressive reaction. After awhile, you glance up shyly, darting your eyes away almost immediately when you realize she’s staring right at you. You go back to pretending to eat your food, but find that you aren’t hungry anymore. The girl across from you goes on eating casually, as if there’s absolutely nothing wrong with the situation she’s in. Why was she here? Was it just to torture you? A spike of anger manages to cut through the thick anxiety welling up in your body and you glare up at her. It takes her a moment to look up at you again, as she was preoccupied with eating. That default annoyed expression melts away into a smile. Your glare falters for a moment; the girl across from you actually looks quite friendly when she smiles.

    “Hi,” she says, her tone shockingly warm and kind.

    You offer no response other than a mildly dumbfounded look. She continues with little hesitation.

    “I’m Kim Yerim.”

    She reaches out her hand to shake. You hesitate for a second before taking it, wondering if this is some kind of elaborate trick she’s pulling on you. However, your curiosity gets the best of you and you shake her hand. She doesn’t ask you your name. She instead goes back to her lunch. You do the same. You eat quietly together before departing for your separate classes. You think about her for the rest of the day, that mysterious Kim Yerim who had, for some reason, decided to sit with you at lunch. You tell your mother about it when you get home, and she seems immensely relieved that you’ve finally managed to make a friend.

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