It was the first day of school, that I can remember.

Everyone was still in the summertime mood, restless being stuck back in a classroom. Fingers, pens, feet, tapping relentlessly in the desks, undoubtedly counting down the seconds until they’d be free to enjoy whatever warm weather was left before the cold winter breeze blew in. Even the teacher knew these first few days of class were not going to be very productive and tried her best to keep the noise to a minimum.

My seat was in the middle row, second desk from the window to my left. Seats weren’t assigned, I’m not actually sure why I sat here, I never payed attention to the teacher anyways, my thoughts and eyes fixed on the clouds. I surprised even myself today, I woke extra early to eat a bigger breakfast and get dressed up for the occasion. Usually I would roll out of bed ten minutes before having to leave and make do with what I had, bed-head and yesterday’s makeup remnants.

But today, on this first day my short brown bob was curled and neat, black eyeliner swept into little winged tips on my lids and the black mascara made my brown eyes keep a glimmer façade. My roommate picked out my clothes from her closet since I certainly did not understand fashion to the extent she did. So I ended up with a short-sleeved white blouse tucked into a knee-length navy floral skirt that made me feel incredibly exposed and uncomfortable. The only good thing about this get up was that I got away with wearing my favorite sneakers, age-old converses that belonged to my father in middle school. They were frayed and falling apart, but I somehow found ways to keep them this long.

It was in the middle of my thoughts about the American Civil War and horses that the teacher called on me. I was immediately snapped back and narrowed my eyes at the front of the room where the teacher, Ms. Rivera was pointing to the lyrics on the blackboard.

Oh yeah, this is Spanish class. Whoops.

“Stella, can you translate this for us please?” She repeats, smiling at the only competent student in her class. I quietly sigh to myself and focus on the board:

Antes que pase más tiempo contigo, amor

Tengo que decir que eres el amor de mi vida

I straighten in my seat and without much hesitation, read “Before more time passes with you, love, I must tell you that you are the love of my life.”

Satisfied, she moves on to the next couple lines of Camilla’s song and asks another student - the stupid cool guy who knows everything there is about Literature, but nothing about foreign language - who then trips over every word and the class rises in snickers and giggles.

My gaze returns to the window.

——-

I feel pressure on my right shoulder. I open my eyes, squinting in the sudden light. Turns out I dozed in class and the guy in the seat next to me noticed. My brows furrow, discontented and disoriented, and I look up at him. I blink a couple times, very sure I’ve never seen him before.

“Are you new here?” I ask in a quiet voice, so the teacher doesn’t hear. I admit, my tone was rather sour and it sounded much more mean than intended. He smiled down at me, amused, probably by the fact that I don’t sound or act like how my appearance shows.

Or the fact that the tinted gloss on my lips was smeared from my position.

I fix this when he points it out, suddenly conscious of my looks. I felt my stomach churn with worry and my whole face contort in confusion and frustration.

I don’t like girl feelings, so I just don’t feel them, simple as that. So why did I care? This was the exact reason I never wore makeup. It changes a person into something else and I didn’t like it. He laughed quietly and I narrowed my eyes at him.

“I hate this goddamn makeup.” I mutter under my breath.

“I’ve been sitting next to you in Spanish for over a year. We’ve had several conversations even. Your name is Choi HanByul and you hate all things frilly and ride your bike wherever and whenever you can. You have an older sister and brother, you live in an apartment with a roommate you met on Craigslist and you’d rather be lying on your back looking at the sky than doing anything else in this town.” I look blankly at him, trying to remember his name as well as wondering how he knows this much about me since I’ve never told anyone about my living situation. He nods curtly, “My name is Do Kyungsoo and I’m also your next door neighbor.”

Well then, I’m observant.

“Well, Mr. Do Kyungsoo, it’s nice to officially remember meeting you.”

And with that, I made a friend.