RILIE (FEBRUARY, 2011)

      I haven’t been too sure on how to approach Shim Changmin at all.

      Most of the time he’s either texting, surrounded by girls—the outspoken ones seductive, the bashful ones leering, and the curious ones gossiping—in detention, or eating. I suppose being famous requires a lot of fuel since they can never slow down or stop reinventing themselves to keep up with the trend. Living in such a fast-paced and flamboyant life, I doubt he’ll actually take an interest in the explanation of molecular structure theories. Besides, I’m not too good of a tutor anyway, more of a self-learner.

      So I postpone seeing Shim Changmin for as long as possible. Luckily, he has been engaged in his business enough to be away from school for one entire week. Neither my chemistry nor physics professor speak to me again about the subject. On my part, I’m more than ecstatic to believe that they’ve probably forgotten the matter.

      Sadly, I turn out to be horribly wrong: what is actually worse than me willingly approaching Changmin is having him approach me first.

      A week later, as I make my best efforts to solve a logarithm derivative question, a stack of textbook suddenly slam over my notes. Suppressing annoyance, I turn to tell off the intruder, only to realize that it’s Changmin who stands over me.

      I never thought that the library can get any quieter, yet the abrupt, sheer silence that followed is almost deathly. I begin to feel all sorts of scrutiny darting from every corner in the study hall. His voice is so clear in the barren silence that it’s almost brittle, “Professor A says I should find you to be inspired to have some initiative.”

      I gawk at him speechlessly, unsure how to rearrange the overlap of emotions written on my face.

      He assumes that I haven’t heard and repeats himself, loudly, “Rilie, can you please be my tutor?”

      I clench my pen, looking down at my scrawled solutions. Can you be any more oblivious to the situation? After a second of deliberating, I tell him that I don’t take sciences as a joke. Curtly, to my surprise, he confronts that he isn’t toying with science either.

      “Professor A tells me I’m on the verge of failing,” He says with a stern expression. “I honestly wasn’t expecting that.”

      Of course, you weren’t, being famous and all.

      “Will you sit down at least?” I whisper to him, sinking lower in my seat to dodge various glares. “We are in the library.”

      He sits down meekly. “Look, Professor A’s right—I think I do need some motivation. I don’t want to fail this course. I’ve never failed anything my entire life!”

      I shift my eyes to my pages again, composing my words carefully to ensure that they won’t come out