Life started anew for me when I went to middle school.

I made new friends. They’re not the sort of friends my mother approved of, but there was something about their simmering anger and their hatred of everyone and everything that spoke to me.

I learnt to find satisfaction in the way other students cowered away from us when we walked down the hallway. I found happiness in the disdain tourists would express when they came across the vulgarity we graffitied on public walls.

One fine summer morning, you turned up. Your car pulled up in our parking lot and you tore out of the backseat even before your father could turn it off, smiling so wide your eyes crinkled. “Jongin-ah!”

My heart sank when I saw you.

You see, I used to beat up boys like you. Your clothes were new and so, so preppy. Your haircut was too pretty. Your arms and legs were like noodles. If you went to my school, I’d have stuffed your head down a toilet. I couldn’t have hurt you, but I couldn’t face my own hypocrisy. And even if I never raised a hand against you, my friends would eventually find you. You would never have stood a chance against them.

So I stayed out of your way. I left the pension when the sky was still dark, well before you could wake up. I came back only when it was very late; always through the kitchen entrance.

It worked. For a whole week, our paths never crossed.

Which is why you caught me by surprise when I climbed over the wall of the pension after a night of wreaking havoc with my new friends. You were sitting in the sand, the high tide at your feet.

“Jongin!” It was dark, but I could see the whites of your teeth as you smiled at me.

I missed you so much. “Hey.”

“Let’s go to the bay tomorrow,” you said. It was as if you never noticed that I had been purposely avoiding you. “I’ll call the dolphins again.”

And there it was, that familiar hatred. You were so childish, and I was not a child anymore.

“There are always dolphins,” I snapped. “You being there doesn’t make a ing difference and if you believe otherwise, you’re either stupid or crazy.”

You didn’t even try to defend yourself.

“We could…” you looked so lost “… we could go to the arcade? Your umma said you liked it. I play a lot of games too-”

“I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”

Your eyes welled up with tears that I couldn’t bear to see fall, so I walked away first. I didn’t sleep that night; I guess you didn’t either.

You left the next day. My mother never said anything about it, but I caught her watching me with a strange mixture of pity and disappointment all summer long. I went to the bay by myself; the pod was there, with two new little additions. You would have loved them.

I am so sorry, Taeminnie.