Three days before Valentine’s Day, Bora tells me about a job interview she has for that afternoon. When I ask her why she didn’t tell me about it earlier, she replies that she “was afraid she wouldn’t get it, and if nobody knew about it, then it was like it never happened.” Even though I can’t accompany her because of homework, I cheer for her from our room and hope for the best.

Bora has been under a lot of stress lately. She already has a job at a restaurant, but she hates it. Besides that, her teachers seem to be bent on giving her too much homework. She’s been working hard, and I feel bad that she has to, what with Valentine’s Day coming up.

I contemplate on giving her a Red Valentine, but I decide against it. I only have ten dollars cash with me because the ATM at the school doesn’t take my card, and I have no reason to leave campus only to withdraw money.

She’s been down in the dumps lately, too, and I don’t know why. I try to think of all the reasons – Boy problems? Family problems? School problems? – but none of them fit.

In truth, Bora has been through a lot of things I never could have dreamt of had she not told me during the many nights we used to visit the Hall. Besides having a brother who once self-proclaimed himself estranged from her family, Bora has moved twice in her high school years, so she is sensitive about friendships and people. That’s why I always feel like I have to watch out for her. I feel like one of these days, she’ll cave. Her talent amazes me, really. She can still smile and laugh even when her life is complicated. It makes her that much more amazing.

So when we have our class the next day and I offer her the other half of my Pop Tart, which she refuses, I feel concerned. Bora never turns down a Pop Tart. Heck, Bora never turns down food.

“Are you okay?” I whisper. I know the teacher is talking, but his lesson doesn’t compare to the importance of Bora’s state of mind.

She shakes her head, and when I look closer, I can see that her nose is red. She’s trying to refrain from crying. She blinks rapidly, and then she plays with the rings on her binder.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. Gosh, I hate asking people what’s wrong, not because I don’t care, but because I’m afraid they won’t tell me.

“It’s Kea’s birthday,” she stutters, and then she shakes her head again and hides her face with her hands. She starts to silently cry in the only way she can in a classroom full of people. I feel awful that she’s crying, and being an empathizer, I, too, find the urge to cry, but worse than that, I realize I have no idea what she said.

Who’s Kea? I glance at Bora from time to time to make sure she’s okay, and eventually, her eyes have dried and her hands are off her face. Still, I feel like the iest friend ever. Who’s Kea? And why would Bora cry about it being somebody’s birthday?

It takes me until the end of the class period to figure out why she was emotional. I remember now. Last semester, when Bora and I were still acquaintances, we talked about car accidents. She told me that over the past two years she’s had three friends die in car accidents. I asked her if she knew them well, and she said that she didn’t, not really, except for one person; that person was Kea.

Kea is gone, and it’s Kea’s birthday today.

And I just feel sick to my stomach because, how could I not remember that? I want to see her smile again, because that’s what Bora is good at – she has this great laugh that shakes her entire being like something is vibrating beneath her. It sounds weird, and it is weird how she laughs, but I love that she puts everything into it, like she’ll never have the chance to laugh again.

That’s the reason why I go to the Student Life office after class with my ten bucks in my pocket and the intent to buy her a Red Valentine that will consume my entire budget.

While I’m heading there, I pass Chanyeol. He walks so briskly that once he is near me, I feel like he’ll trample me. He looks up as our shoulders brush, and then his mouth bursts into a smile.

“Guess what!”

“Huh?”

“Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day!” He laughs. I don’t know why he’s laughing. Holidays aren’t funny.

“Yeah. Um, do you know if I can still buy a Red Valentine package?”

“Sure. They’ve got tons. I watched a guy get one earlier.”

“Great,” I say. “Thanks.”

“Yeah. You’re getting one? For whom?”

I shrug innocently. “It’s a secret.”

He makes a face. “Okay. Well, see ya.” He reaches into his pocket before I leave and tosses me something. It’s a bag of gummy worms. “Thanks for the fruit snacks,” he says, and then he jogs off.

I tear open the bag and eat my gummy worms on the way to the office