Three Years Ago   In middle school, people were at the prime age of stupidity. No one had a sense of right and wrong; instead, putting a greater emphasis on what was cool. If one kid bleached his hair blond and survived the wrath of the teachers, the entire classroom would be filled with blondies the next day. If the teacher won, the kid would walk with the label of a loser for an entire school year. Such was the law during middle school—you either belonged or got castrated. There was no in between.   I had been a new transfer student from San Francisco, the land of pride. I had only spoken Korean with my parents at home and the local Korean restaurant owners nearby my house. This was a new beginning for me.   “My name is Krystal Jung,” I introduced myself in front of the class. Everyone stared in confusion as I used my American name instead of my Korean one. They immediately labeled me as ‘different.’ And being different placed me a level below the blondie who lost his argument against the teacher. I was at the bottom of the food chain.   My middle school years were the epitome of hell. They say ghosts are scary, and that the devil is evil. I came to realize a person’s tongue was more wicked, and a friendship more terrifying.   The only person who made my school years bearable was Kim Myungsoo.   ***   Present   I called him over lunch break to come see me behind the gym building. My mind went through at least a hundred scenarios to confess, only to return to the first method I had thought of.   The direct way.   “What is it, Soojung?” Myungsoo asked, tilting his head sideways, pushing his luscious streaks of bangs sideways to reveal his eyes. It was the color of caramel chocolate—sweet to the senses at first glance, and extruded a welcoming warmth at the glances afterwards. When other people stared at me with disgust or mockery, he had always looked at me like I was a treasure hidden among the dirt.   My heart drummed against my chest. The sound amplified in my ear to the point I thought it would stop beating entirely. I bit my red lips, suddenly self-conscious of his gaze on me. There was a reason why girls didn't do this. Though he had seen countless of my tears before, I would not hand him the privilege today. There was no other way around it other than to say it.   “I like you.”   I shut my eyes. A part of me was afraid of his reaction. What if he would laugh,