“Parents, always in the way of something and never the way you need."

— Byun Baekhyun 

    What are you up to? Dad 10:55 AM

I glanced down at my phone as the quiet buzz rang out through the classroom. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice as I snuck it out. 

    classss??? u know that uni bill ur paying??? 10:55 AM

    It’s expensive too… What are you learning about? Dad 10:56 AM

I scoffed, shouldn’t parents leave you alone when they know you’re in class? 

    won’t ever find out if u keep msging me 10:56 AM

I slipped my phone back under the sleek edge of my textbook, taking care to turn off the ringer after hearing a few more buzzes. He would have to wait through his boring scripted interviews without my attention this time. Though I’m sure he would try Mom next, even if we all know she never keeps her phone on her— he tries it regardless. 

I glanced up at the clock, class was almost over. Most students piled up in the back so they could slip out when they wanted, ten minutes in and you could count on at least five students gone. Five minutes before the class was out?—  it looked like me and a few passed out kids in the middle were left, other than the know-it-all teacher’s pet who always sat right in the front. And I thought journalists were supposed to be the most dedicated. I could snort if I really cared. 

“The point is,” my professor wrapped up, “crime rate isn’t going down, it’s going up. It’s behind the scenes now, you could say. Criminals are getting crafty, they’re your neighbors that invite you over for pasta dinner and wine. You just never expect it anymore.” She shook her head, that gleam in her eye growing that made me respect her even if she did give me a B on my first assignment and was ten minutes late half the time. “And that’s exactly why we, us journalists, have to be better, smarter, more efficient at uncovering the bull of this world.” 

Uncovering the bull of this world— that’s what I hope to do. 

Eleven o’clock hit and she was never one to hold over class, so she sighed and said “don’t forget that article I emailed you last class, I want everyone to think it over and be ready for discussion next Monday.” I slipped my laptop and pens back into my bag, shouldering it before closing the Advanced Journalism Topics textbook and heaving it down the stairs. I swear, professors must want us to be easily tracked down, making us carry these heavy books everywhere. 

As I rounded the corner, the first and only thought that sprang into my mind as I watched the contents of my classmate’s steaming hot cup of whatever projectile from her hand and onto my new white blouse was: I think this day will be a good one for me. Considering how it is my birthday and my class had gone by somewhat smoothly, this idea didn’t seem unreasonable— if only I had seen that clumsy center row girl a moment before. 

Warm, darkened brown liquid came pelting onto my skin and ran quickly down the front of my shirt, soaking the clean material to the likeness of a ing paper bag. I yelped out loud at the shock, grasping at the sticky shirt to pull it from my skin, but of course, my textbook seemingly fled from my fingers and landed quite perfectly on my bare toes. Needless to say, my next actions may have been over dramatic, but it’s my birthday, and who would take such injustices on their birthday. 

My chest rumbled in refusal and before I could catch myself, I was falling flat on my — bag in the air, pens going everywhere, hair a damn mess. What else? This didn’t help the situation, for obvious reasons, but god, the look on my classmate’s face as I bore my wrath into her might have done something to ease my mental state. 

She gulped three times before daring her voice to reach the vicinity of my ears. “O-oh, Unnie I’m so sorry, I didn—” 

“Yeah I’m sure you didn’t plan for your—” I cut her off, scrunching my nose and bringing the material to my face before taking a big whiff— “Gross! You’re drinking instant coffee?! You spilt instant coffee on this designer shirt! Do you know how much this costs and you spilt, of all things, instant coffee on it?”

She began to apologize profusely, but I decided that her nasally voice was just as irritating as the instant coffee smell wafting up my nose, so I pushed her aside and began recollecting myself the best I could. A hand emerged in front of my face with a wad of napkins and so I snatched them away and tried to pat the stain from my clothes, but it was useless. I watched as the girl bowed before scampering away like a limping puppy, and in her place, the unamused face of my professor greeted me. 

“No pleasantries for the weak, huh?” She simply said, holding out the discarded textbook in the air between us. 

“What?” I shot back, not in the mood for coded judgement from a professor who was only put together half the time. 

She shook her head in what seemed to be disappointment and a sliver of detestment, roughly shoving the textbook I hadn’t minded to take from her into the palm of my hand. “What are you doing in this class Choy Jieun?”

This came out of instead, making me stop my huffing to give her a real look over. Where was this even coming from? Can she not see that I have other matters on my hands at the moment?

“To learn, what else?” I snorted in a sense of unplaced amusement. 

Her pause was incessantly long to the point where I realized she only would respond if I gave her my undivided attention— how needy. Her face had soured, but what she said in return was even more so unexpected.

“What an obnoxious answer from a rude little girl.” 

“Okay first of all,” I said after catching the flash of anger that arose in my throat and swallowing it back down, “I’m twenty today so I’m not a little girl, and second of all, how is that obnoxious? I’m like everyone else in this class, I want to become a great journalist and learn how to uncover the bull— or whatever you said earlier,” I added last second. 

“Become a great journalist, she says…” My professor mulled my statement over, rolling my words like a mocking stinger around in . “Too bad becoming a great journalist means having the ability to read other people and handle them effectively, you know?” That came out in a pinched snarl that made me clench my jaw shut. “I’m not sure if a spoiled rich girl like you would be capable of seeing anything past your little nose. Maybe you could study that in my class rather than texting on your phone and bullying hard working girls.”

She smiled sweetly before prancing away as if she had taken down a great beast. I instantly went to take a step forward and instill my much needed response to her vile statement, but my foot slipped in the remaining coffee and the whole process almost repeated itself. 

I can read people, I’m great at reading people— me being rich has nothing to do with that, I thought. And that girl spilt her coffee on me! How was I supposed to react, say thanks? Stupid professor and stupid class and stupid Dad for texting me.

I grabbed my phone and dialed the number of the only person I knew would side with me. This seemed important in the moment.

Two rings and he picked up, “Happy birthday!”

“Happy birthday, happy birthday,” I mocked. “Happy my . Baekhyun come get me, I’m at uni.” 

He cleared his throat on the other line before letting out a clenched: “Is everything okay?” 

“Tell me Baek,” I said instead, “am I bad at reading and understanding people? I’m not bad right? I mean I figured everything out about you! How you keep money in the covers of your books so you don’t lose them and always beg to go with your dad on business trips because you secretly love him despite always saying you’re too different and how