n i n e ; an origin story (when kai met skylar) 

5 years ago, 6th grade

The new kid barely talks to anyone. His figure is lanky. He sulks all day and his haircut is long overdue. I don’t have any problem with those qualities of his, because Mom and Dad taught me that you should never judge anyone based on their appearance. So I respect that, but it’s his character that I have major problems with. He sat on my seat at lunch and I had nicely informed him that I usually sit there because I like the view. It gives me a clear sight of everyone and I have this weird obsession of people watch. Not in a creepy way, just observing interactions of my fellow peers. I don’t tell him that part because he could judge me for it.

He had replied, “This seat doesn’t have your name on it. You don’t own this seat.”

I was stupefied by his rudeness. Everything he does now annoys me even though it shouldn’t. I’m just basing off my irritation on that short interaction from that day at lunch.

In an art activity, we are supposed to draw farm animals. Art is not my specialty but I do try my best to make my shapes resemble farm animals. I’m the type of “artist” who needs to label the objects in her art because said objects are always unidentifiable. I sit next to Yuna and you can tell that she was born to do art activities. Not only does she create animals that resemble animals, she makes them look good. On the other hand, when I try to channel my inner Picasso, the end result is like a five year old drew it. To be honest, I’m not surprised that some five year olds have better artistic skills than I do.

I peek over at the new kid’s drawing. He sits in the left corner of the classroom while I’m on the right side of his desk. His work has recognizable animals but not as good as Yuna’s, only because Yuna is on another level altogether. It’s the coloring of his work that has me curious.

“Why is your pig purple and your horse orange?” I wonder, low enough that only the two of us can hear.

“Ever heard of the term ‘none of your business?’” the new kid, Kai, counters.

His response enrages me. “What’s your problem? Why do you always have to antagonize me?” I confront him.

“Because you’re ugly.” With that blow, he faces the other way.

I gasp. It unexpectedly hurts, because I don’t understand how someone could hate me for something so vain. “You’re a jerk,” I say and I hate how my lip trembles from being close to tears.

My parents always tell me that never take someone’s insult to heart, especially if they barely know anything about you. It’s a good advice that I genuinely agree with, but for some unknown reasons I can’t control the dampness of my eyes. I wipe it away hastily, as if I have my lids itch, not because I’m upset by the new kid’s bitterness towards me. I can’t show that his meaningless words hurt me, otherwise he’d win, because that’s the intention behind those words.

Yuna’s gaze meets mine, and she gives me a sympathetic look. She saw. I respond with a shrug, pretending that I’m not affected by it. She points to my drawing, and raises a thumb. I mumble a thanks. I can’t focus the rest of the day, because all I could think about those two words, running over and over in my head.

•   •   •   •   •   •   •

“How was school today?” Dad asks me over dinner. We’re having Korean curry rice and Ethan, who recently turned six, likes to count the number of carrots Mom inputs in his portion. He always wants an even number, and we have yet to figure out why.

I mumble, “Good.” However, it sounds far from believable, so I quickly blurt out the things I did today. “We have to draw farm animals today, and I was one of the last ones standing in dodgeball.” I didn’t want my parents to worry about what someone said to me. It probably upsets them more than it upsets me, knowing how much they hate to see me sad.

“Can boys be pretty and can girls be handsome?” Ethan ponders midchew. My shoulders sag in relief when the spotlight is no longer on me. My parents direct their attention on my little brother.

“Why not?” my mom counters. My parents like to do this thing where they answer your question with another question. It used to frustrate me as a kid, because it wasn’t an answer that I was looking for. Now that I’m older, I learn that they just wanted me to challenge myself by developing deeper thinking about the topic.

“This friend in my class said that pretty is for girls and handsome is for boys.”

I contribute to the discussion, “And what do you think Ethan?”

He spoons curry into his mouth, takes a sip of water, and averts his stare on the ceiling. No one talks the entire time he mulls over the answer. It takes him a minute to conclude, “I don’t think it’s fair that we can’t tell a pretty boy that he is pretty. Or a handsome girl that she’s handsome. They’re not bad describing words. If we tell a girl she’s pretty, wouldn’t she be happy? Shouldn’t a boy feel happy if he’s pretty?”

I think about words and adjectives a lot. How people put meaning into them so it would inflict emotion by a mere word composed from the letters of the alphabet. “Ugly” consists of four letters but so do “good” and “bold.” Yet, we react differently to each of these words due to the definitions we decided on for them.

•   •   •   •   •   •   •

The following month, I don’t try to talk to the new kid. Even so, he isolates away from everyone at school. I try to push the word he said to me out of my head, but it sits in the back of my mind, ready to attack when there are signs of weakness. When I look in the mirror, I frown at the freckles clustered on my face, how skinny my body looks—I could never gain weight despite how much I eat—how my complexion is tanner than the average Korean girl, my unruly mess of hair, and my dull pitch dark brown eyes. The list actually goes on. A part of me I want to take that list of insecurities in my head and burn it with fire. The other part of me starts to see how others view me, and wish that I could change myself.

Snap out of it, I remind myself, you are strong and your family loves you and you can make a mean tuna sandwich and even if you can’t draw properly at least you can color inside the lines.

I keep those reminders to heart, because if I don’t, I’ll lose myself to the endless cycle of self-pity.

•   •   •   •   •   •   •

Kids start to notice how the new student never joins the game activities. How he always sits by himself at lunch (which was my old spot by the way). They whisper these observations, and begin to point out everything they don’t like about him.

“Does he think he’s better than all of us?”

“He really needs a haircut.”

“What a loner.”

I can’t decide if I’m happy with this outcome. I should be. He was the one who mistreated me for no apparent reason. Nonetheless, there are times when I take an accidental glimpse of him, he would have a dazed look on his face with his eyes directed to the ground. Despite my resentment for him, something about the picture feels tremendously lonely.

•   •   •   •   •   •   •

Every January, my school has an annual event of Muffins for Moms in the morning. Mothers of students love to join this event so they have an excuse to take a day off from work. As a tradition, kids would come to school with their moms to have a light breakfast together. Dads have their time to shine when Donuts for Dads comes around next month. The classroom is aligned with more chairs than a typical day. There’s a table on one side of the classroom with bagels, cream cheese, good variety of muffins—Banana Bread, Blueberry, Lemon Crumb, etc.—and drinks provided by the school. Mom settles right by me, taking off her coat in response to the warmer weather inside. She greets the other parents who she has become acquaintances over the past years and comments on how their kids have grown up so much.

When it’s our row to get food, my choice includes half a bagel and a cinnamon muffin, coupled with apple jui