Week 7, Thursday.

There’s something off today, Irene feels when she first steps into the library. Then she notes the heavy atmosphere, the still air, the number of students all sitting at large, conjoined tables, and she spies an empty seat. Seulgi appears out of nowhere and bumps into Irene, startling her. “We have a class test tomorrow,” she whispers, not wanting to interrupt the concentrating students.

“We?”

“Yeah,” Seulgi takes a sip from the can of Coke in her hands. “They’re all going crazy over it.” Irene tilts her head back to stare questioningly at Seulgi. “Ah, I have a dance audition tomorrow, so I’m taking the test next week,” she half-heartedly justifies her lack of exam stress.

Irene narrows her eyes, but lets Seulgi be; after being friends with her and studying together in the library, she knows that when the girl wants or needs to do anything, she will always put her heart and soul into it. Even if it means having to revise during the weekend.

A while later, Irene stands up from her seat, closing her textbook and rubbing her tired eyes. She gives herself 10 minutes to take a walk and refresh. Grabbing her flask of mocha, she stretches as her feet pads the carpeted floor, she notices that the group of students that were hoarding the main tables have all dispersed, leaving one person to study by herself.

“Wendy?” Irene exclaims, surprised, then quickly puts her hands over when the passing librarian glares at her. She looks back at the girl, who has not reacted even a bit to her outburst. Irene considers sneaking up to her, but fortunately remembers that the last time she tried that, it backfired and resulted in an awkward scene. So instead she settles in the chair opposite Wendy’s, pours out a cup of sweet, steaming java, and waits patiently.

Her ten-minute break turns into thirty, and thirty minutes into 2 hours. Students file in and out of the library, some stopping to retrieve their study material from the seats adjacent to Wendy’s. Irene bows and greets them and wishes them good luck, and in return one of the boys come back to give her two slices of cake, “just in case you get bored and our Head Girl feels hungry”.

After Irene herself has completed a significant amount of work (she has shifted her belongings to the seat opposite Wendy’s) and is in the midst of sipping at her second cup of lukewarm coffee, Wendy heaves a long sigh and puts down her pen. “Irene!” she finally notices. Irene smiles at that, and thinks that the girl in front of her can look good in anything; even the Harry Potter-esque reading glasses do nothing to curb Wendy’s beauty.

“I’ve got some mocha in this thermos, and someone gave us some red velvet cake,” Irene whispers happily. She and Wendy exchange sly grins, and scuttle off to a private, hidden corner to indulge in their desserts.

As they munch and chat, Irene admits: “You know, I’ve gotten so used to being called to the broadcasting office every day. Now that you’re here, revising and not in the studio, it feels really strange.”

“Why, do you miss my voice?” Wendy jokes and starts to laugh, but pauses when the girl gives a small nod. Feeling bashful, Irene covers her nose and mouth with the sleeve of her sweater, inhaling its scent.

Leaning back, Wendy thinks for a moment, then whispers: “How about a private broadcast? Just for the two of us.” Irene widens her eyes in surprise, touched by the idea.

“But we have to be quiet, okay,” Wendy says as she shuffles next to Irene. Both of them are extremely aware of their pinkies touching, and can hear each other’s steady breathing. Blushing a little, Wendy begins in a hushed voice, solely for Irene’s ears:

“Hello, everyone, you’re tuning in to Wendy’s radio show. I want to start off today by introducing my guest, and only listener, the cute, insanely attractive woman… Irene!”

  ————————————————— 

Week 10, Friday.

According to every person found in the school, Wendy is the epitome of flawlessness. She is friendly, pretty, and cheerful, and neither student nor staff has heard or said a negative statement about her. So when Irene hears a group of boys make snide remarks about Wendy on the way to school, her temper instantly flares up. She storms over to the boys, fuming and demanding that they take back their words, but they just laugh in her face.

“You-!” She raises a hand to slap the leader of the group, but he neatly avoids it and pushes her down onto the pebbled pavement.

“What? Me, what?” He mocks, looming over her. “Hey, this chick’s pretty cute. Where you from, cutie?” The rest of the boys leer at her, and she looks around helplessly as pedestrians walk by, purposely ignoring the commotion. 

Irene is scared, paralysed; she has heard of these incidences where men gang up on females, but never did she think that she’d be actually involved in one, as a victim nonetheless. Open hands reach for her, and she curls up like a hedgehog, hoping that someone would take notice and help.

Her wish is granted when she hears a bloodcurdling yell followed by a loud thump. She opens her eyes to see one of the boys lying on the floor, nursing a bloody nose. “What the do you think you’re doing?” A furious voice growls, and Irene gapes. She’d recognise that voice anywhere.

A pair of strong yet gentle hands help her up, and she glances up to see Seulgi’s concerned face, then turns her head to see a fuming Wendy standing before her protectively, fists tightly clenched.

The leader of the bullies smirk as he registers Wendy’s presence. “What’s this? Look out everyone, fatty’s here to save the day,” he says in a provoking sing-song voice. “Oh no, I’m so scared of her, oh nooooo…”

Like his friend, he gets smashed onto the ground, his left eye rapidly turning a fantastic blue-black. “I’m sorry, what did you call her?” Yeri appears from nowhere, swinging her arm in preparation for another right hook. Then, glaring at the other boys, she casually asks: “Does anyone else want to fight?” Irene doesn’t know whether it was the tone of her voice — light yet laced with menace — or the fact that one punch from her had sent the biggest of their pack down, but the others flee in no time.

Joy, slinging an arm over Yeri’s shoulder (where did she come from now? Irene wonders), looks down with contempt at the two injured boys on the ground. “Oh, it’s you,” she spitefully remarks to the nose-bleeder. “I’d remember that ugly mug of yours anywhere. Is rejection not enough for you? Do you want a free ride to the hospital too?” Flicking her hair distastefully, she grabs the other two girls and turns them around. “Let’s go.”

“Seulgi, I think I can stand by myself now,” Irene says, and runs over to Wendy. “Thank you,” she says, gratitude welling up in her. “Are your knuckles alright?”

“How about me?” Yeri loudly complains, and grins modestly when Irene sends a wink her way.

Wendy asks quietly: “Are you okay?” Irene nods in reply, and the girl smiles. “Then I’m okay too.”

  ————————————————— 

Week 13, Tuesday.

Irene yawns during her daily walk to the broadcasting office from her usual spot at the library, and giggles to herself as she replays Wendy’s voice in her head: “Irene, where are you~? I’m waiting here, hoping that you’ll come soon.”

She flings the door open, face already taking on the pretense of annoyance. She notices the flitting micro-expressions in Joy’s and Yeri’s faces as they turn to face her, smiles already prepared, although she can tell that they are straining. “What’s wrong?” she asks, worried. Then, she takes a look through the large glass pane into the studio, where an empty chair swivels. 

“Where’s Wendy?”

At their reply, Irene bursts out of the room and heads straight for the girl’s washroom. “Wendy!” she calls, but gets no answer. She concentrates, and this time hears a subdued sniffling in one of the cubicles. “Wendy? Are you here?” She knocks on the door. “It’s Irene… I’m here.”

The door unlocks with a click, and through the gap she sees Wendy’s hair trailing down, once luscious but now frazzled and damp with tears. Irene steps in, locking the door behind her, and takes a good look at the girl in front of her.

Wendy is a mess, sitting huddled on the lowered cover of the toilet with her feet placed on its edge. With face buried in her arms, her sobs are absolutely heartbreaking. Irene can only pat her head and embrace her soothingly. “What’s wrong, Wendy? Why are you crying?”

“T-t-t-they dropped me,” Wendy cries. “I, I failed the evaluation.”

“What evaluation?” Irene feels lost, like she’s missing out on some information crucial to understanding Wendy’s remorse.

“C-Cube Entertainment…” It all clicks into place now: Wendy’s recent diet, the humongous pain relief patches that have started to appear on her calves, the tiredness that she allows herself to display only in front of Irene. But Irene doesn’t understand why Wendy, of all people, would fail the test. From what she can tell, Wendy has it all; she can sing like a nightingale, has hilarious reactions, is kind and cheerful, and last but definitely not least, is ridiculously beautiful.

Wendy gratefully accepts the tissues that Irene offers to her, violently blowing her nose as it hinders her unstable breathing. “Is it because I’m still… still… fat?” she weakly asks, tearful eyes looking into Irene’s.

She is stunned speechless as Wendy continues: “Even those boys the other day said I’m fat. So maybe I’m still a bit, you know, chubby-” She grabs at her stomach, trying to pinch whatever fat is gathered there.

Irene hadn’t realised that those awful words had stuck with Wendy, even after almost two weeks. The saying was all wrong, Irene thinks. Sticks and stones sure may break some bones, but physical scars heal; words, however, cause deep-rooted emotional wounds that may haunt people forever.

“Wendy,” Irene stops the girl’s nipping hands, and holds them in her own. “You’re wrong,” she says firmly. “You’re wrong, and they — that stupid group of boys and Cube Ent. — are definitely wrong. They don’t know who you are, what kind of person you are, but I know. You’re just so amazing, so skilled, so strong, and you make everyone around you smile. You’re not fat, Wendy… but even if you are, so what? True beauty shines through fat, through scars, through the things that people try to do to hurt you. You are so much more than that, Wendy, trust me. You haven’t seen you through other people’s eyes.”

“How about you?” Wendy asks in a small voice. “How do I look like… to you?”

Forgetting the situation the two are in, Irene laughs, almost bitterly, as she remembers that Wendy doesn’t know how she feels, doesn’t understand the endorphins that bubble up in her body whenever she even dares to sneak glances at Wendy. So she blames the dopamine rush when she says: 

“I think you’re perfect, Wendy. Heck, you’re beyond that. You’re like a full moon in the night sky that I can’t help but admire because you shine like the sun and guide me when I’m distressed or lost, but no matter how much I want to be like the stars that sparkle together with you I feel like in the end I’m only going to be just a mere human being, a speck of dust floating around that goes unnoticed in the darkness of the night. To be honest, I’d rather just keep my feelings inside me instead of saying it out loud because the any rejection that I get is going to be just so bad because then afterwards we’ll have to pretend that it never happened and there’s going to be this uncomfortable distance between us, but right now I don’t even understand why I have this ridiculous urge to tell you how much I like-like you because this really isn’t the right time but I just love you so much and—”

Before Irene’s agitated rant becomes any more incomprehensible, she feels Wendy’s lips on hers, urgent and desperate and in want of more. So she lets her fingers get tangled in Wendy’s hair, pulling her closer as the girl presses her against the door of the cubicle. For a fleeting moment, Irene wonders to herself, what are we doing in the washroom? The thought doesn’t last long, however, and she lets Wendy hungrily devour her lips as she moans.

As they pull apart, panting, Irene can still taste the salt from Wendy’s tears, yet when the brunette smiles shyly at her, whispers “thank you” and “me too”, Irene thinks that the burst of sweet strawberry that Wendy has left on her lips is much more appetising.