I tapped my wallet against the sensor to pay my fare and surveyed the bus. It was strangely full today – my usual seat in the back corner was taken by a teenager, his eyes shaded by his bangs and his head leaning against the window. The seat directly in front of him was occupied by an elderly woman. I sighed and made my way to the back, sitting next to the boy. I placed the textbook I was reading on my lap and my gaze found the place I had left off on. I chewed my lip, trying to memorize dates of important history events.

                The bus went over a speed bump, making me jump. The boy beside me jolted too, hitting his head against the window. He groaned a bit, but made no sign of waking up. I glanced at him. He was wearing the uniform from my school, and with a closer view, I recognized him. I didn’t remember his name though – Sungmin?  Sungjoon?

                We took a right turn and suddenly, the boy’s head was on my shoulder. I looked down at him in horror.  He smelled sweaty and he was heavy. I caught sight of his nametag.  Ah, Seungcheol. I was kind of close.

                “Seungcheol.  Choi Seungcheol,” I hissed. He didn’t respond. I shrugged my shoulder, trying to shake him off.

                Awakened by the abrupt movement, he opened his eyes and came to a sitting position. 

                “Sorry,” he said with a sleepy smile. His scent still lingered and I wrinkled my nose.

                “It’s fine,” I replied tersely, returning to my book. 

                He didn’t take the hint that I wanted to be left alone. He leaned closer and inspected my face, his own lighting up when he seemed to recognize me. “Kim Mikyung? Aren’t you the really highly ranked girl at school?”

                Not high enough. “I guess.”

                There was a pause before he spoke again. “What’s that?” he asked, indicating the thin strips of paper that I was using as a bookmark. 

                “Star paper,” came my clipped response.

                Another moment of silence. “Could I have one? I promise I won’t bother you again,” he said with a mischievous grin.

                I pressed my lips together in irritation and handed him one without looking at him.

                As promised, he didn’t speak to me again for the rest of the ride. The bus came to my stop and I descended, starting the walk home.

                It didn’t take me long to realize that someone was following me. I swiveled around and made eye contact with Seungcheol.

                “Why are you following me? You don’t live in this neighborhood.”

                “Well, yeah, but I need to make sure you get home safely,” he said, closing the distance between us.

                “I’ve walked down this road plenty of times before.”

                “But now that I know we ride the same bus, it’s my responsibility if something happens to you.”

                I furrowed my eyebrows, lost in his ridiculous logic. He just laughed.

                Fine.  He can follow me home like a stalker if he wants to. Just ignore him. I buried my nose into my book and briskly continued on my way. I didn’t say goodbye to him as I opened the gate and shut the door behind me.

                “Are you still keeping your grades up, Mikyung?  I feel like you’ve been slacking lately,” my mom told me over dinner. My bowl of rice was pushed to the side, half-eaten, and I concentrated on the delicate paper in my hands.

                “Don’t ignore your mother,” my father scolded me. I looked up and nodded vaguely.

                “Yes. I’m doing fine.”

                I pinched the ends of my little pentagon and dropped the finished star into my partly-filled bottle. 

                “Have you studied for your history exam?”

                “I’m studying for it right now.”

                “Really?  When you got home, all you did was sit around.”

                I stood up from the table without another word, taking my cold dish to the sink and collecting my stars before heading to my room. 

                I sat at my desk and put my head in my hands for a while, waiting for the storm of emotions to pass. I didn’t cry. At first I cried a lot, but I eventually got used to it. If you constantly hear that you’re not good enough, the words soon just become several syllables strung together.

                I took out my history book again and opened the side pocket of my backpack to retrieve my pencil case.  My fingers brushed against something that wasn’t usually there, and I pulled out a strip of star paper.

                It had a name and a phone number written on it, along with a winking face.

                I knew I shouldn’t have smiled, but I did anyway.

                I folded the paper into a star and added it to the bottle.