It’s drizzling and the tracks are muddy. Irene carries her feet doggedly as the mud her flip flops, purple umbrella bobbing over her head. She opted to drop by the kiosk again. Summer ends in about a month, and she needs to strike any chance she gets. Bugger the weather.

She spots the lemonade stall, blue and yellow paint conspicuous against the bleakness of the day.

“I’m surprised you went all the way here, with this weather,” Seulgi wonders. There’s a dearth of customers today. Hardly anyone shows up at the beach when it’s rainy, nor are cold juice drinks being craved. Almost half the day has passed and she can still count the customers with her fingers. She honestly would rather stay at home and play Battlegrounds.

Irene folds her umbrella and places it on her lap. She has just settled at the seat in front of the kiosk which is sheltered by an overhang. “I have nothing much to do at home, and I needed my fix of the lemonade drink, so I went.” A lie garnished with the truth is palatable. She knows they will eat it up.

Joy, who has been mum for a while, smiles in spite of herself and breaks her silence. “Well, nothing beats a cold lemonade to drink on a cold weather,” she comments, tone vapid to mask her sarcasm. C’mon, is that the only excuse you can make to see Seulgi this time? Joy contemplates.

Irene runs her tongue around the inside of , the irony not lost on her. Joy, was that her name? Seulgi introduced them briefly the last time. “Oh, certainly. I don't think the drink has its days.” She inadvertently curls her left hand over her umbrella.

“A drink that doesn’t have its days. Perfect for any weather. Sounds good for an advertisement slogan, if I say so myself,” Joy sneers. “But of course, the lemonade juice must be really special for you to bother walking all the way here.” More sarcasm. is running faster than a cheetah on the hunt.

“Uh…” Irene rubs the bridge of her nose. The more she bluffs, the more Joy is going to pick on her, and the more she is going to put herself in a tight spot. Her eyes flick towards Seulgi briefly, who’s been listening intently to their exchange. “Yeah, well, you can put it that way.”

“It even led you to Seulgi,” Joy points out, smacking her lips. “Or is it the other way around?”

Seulgi squints at her this time, utterly confused and uncomprehending.

Irene squirms slightly in her seat. She can clearly see that she’s being backed into a corner. What is it? What is it that I did to make her this suspicious? She chuckles nervously before she replies. “W-well… I don’t know exactly how I’m supposed to answer that question…” Beat around the bush, dodge a bullet, whatever. Then she locks eyes with Seulgi, bats her lashes, and hopes she can read her cry for help. It’s her last resort.

Seulgi blinks, then sputters, “Oh, oh…” as if suddenly struck by electricity. She knows that look Joohyun threw at her, and she understands. “What are you even talking about?” Seulgi shoots at Joy directly. “She’s been coming here because she loves the lemonade drink.” It finally dawned on her that Joy might still be on Irene’s case, and decides it’s better if she puts a stop to it sooner than later. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“H-hey…” Joy mutters, daunted at how she sudden the tables have turned. Seulgi’s rhetorical question particularly implicates her to be stubborn. She does not like it one bit. “I’m only trying to get to know her. Why, are you the only one who’s allowed to befriend her?” Could obviously be a bold faced lie, but her nerves are getting to her at the moment to be able to ponder upon a decent pretext.

Seulgi sighs loudly, her shoulder heavy, and crosses her arms. “Not this way, Joy.” She’s over Joy’s nitpicking. Her patience is as taut as an overly stretched rubber band, ready to snap in a swift tug.

“What’s the right way then? Huh?” Joy rebuts, defensive, with a cocked brow and pouted lips.

“No, no,” interrupts Irene, uneasy about their temperament. “It's perfectly fine if Joy just wants to befriend me. No need to get worked up.”

“I’m really sorry we’re behaving this way. You just wanted your drink,” Seulgi says, remorseful. It’s not like they get regulars like Irene, and they have the audacity to put her off. Seulgi turns to look at Joy, her expression pleading the red head to apologize.

“Sorry. I go over the top sometimes,” Joy forces herself to admit. No choice but to save face, and she genuinely believes she pushed it a bit far anyway. Her takeaway from the conversation though is that Irene is definitely dodgy. It’s not her answers per se, but more on how she answered them. Had Seulgi not interrupted, she might have had been able to squeeze more from the girl.

“It's fine, really. I think Joy is a fun girl to be around with, she’s got so much ideas,” jests Irene, relieved that she’s off the hook.

Joy’s cheeks light up, embarrassed.

“Oh, she sure does,” Seulgi agrees. She leans over the counter and asks, “So… a bottle of blue lemonade?”

“Surprisingly, there’s someone who’s questioning my intentions,” relays Irene over the phone. Her head is at the foot of her bed, her feet against the wall, and her left index finger twirling a lock of her hair. She just got home, had just washed off mud from her slippers and calves. “I don’t know for sure if she knows I like Seulgi, but she was onto something.”

“Oh, who is she?” asks Yeri, curious.

“Joy, a cute girl with a red-dyed hair,” describes Irene. “She’s working together with Seulgi at the kiosk. You didn’t get the chance to meet her the last time we went.” Her mind briefly flashes to the image of Seulgi getting a bit mad, and this causes Irene to grin triumphantly. “She was passive-aggressive, spouting and asking stuff that could give me away too much had I not known better. I was unprepared to lie and bluff, but I managed.”

“I should’ve gone with you today, it would’ve been funny to watch.” She giggles. “Too bad I can’t be arsed to step outside with this weather.”

Irene sits up on the bed and taunts, “So this is how it is, huh? You’re siding against me?”

“I’m not siding with anybody, you losers,” Yeri argued, implying their foolishness is beneath her.

“Alright, smartypants,” yields Irene, knowing how her friend finds her situation ridiculous since the beginning. “What’s your opinion about it? I need a different perspective, I don’t feel good about being left behind. I need to catch on.” If Joy did find out her intention of visiting their stall, would it have made a difference? Seulgi would probably distance herself and tiptoe around her, and things might get awkward instead. That even if they don't find out about her lying about the blue lemonade, it would defeat the purpose of why she had to do it in the first place.

“Hm, what do you think made Joy suspicious?”

“I asked myself that too. I wouldn’t have had to ask you if I had known,” Irene replies derisively. Joy barely talked to her after Seulgi arrived during their first meeting, so she couldn’t think of anything for the girl to have acted that way when they met again.

“Maybe it was just playful banter and you’re reading too much because well, you don’t want to get busted.”

Irene considers but then disagrees, “Perhaps with a clearer mind I can recount on our exchange again and think I was just looking the other way, but no, it was the feeling of being doubted and cross-examined that tensed me. I believe more in my instinct than on sound logic right now. That’s the way it made me feel.”

“Oh, okay,” Yeri says, tone rising at the last word. “What if she’s likes Seulgi? Or you know, she’s her girlfriend,” Yeri suggests, her voice getting a bit more perky. “A girl that guarded over someone and intimidating anybody coming close to that person could only mean that. I mean, humans behave like animals in some ways.”

“Animals? Wait, you’re stretching it a bit much,” scoffs Irene. “Anyway, I don’t think that’s the case, or their body language would tell me so.” From what she has observed, the two girls seem to be close friends with a long and deep history. The subtle reprimanding gave away that Seulgi deeply cares about Joy.

“Why, are you gonna snog your girlfriend in front of your customers? Are you gonna flirt with your crush when you’re both busy earning some income? They’re professionals.”

“Hey now, do you have a personal vendetta against me? Are you purposely trying to make me give up on Seulgi?” She did not intend to sound angry, but it probably rubbed off that way. She got a brow raised, though.

“What? Stop twisting my words,” deflects Yeri, highly amused at how Irene is reacting.

“First of all, I need to know if Seulgi’s even single,” the older girl admits. She’s spent a few bucks and allocated hours trying to make a move, and she hadn’t even thought of that. She’s obtained her number, but despite being forward initially, she’s not too shameless. She can’t bring herself to start texting Seulgi, knowing that they’re not close yet, and that she has no good reason to do so. Not yet, at least.

“Don’t you have her number? Ask her yourself,” suggests Yeri.

“But that’s…” Irene starts, running a hand through her hair, conflicted. “That’s too obvious. I can’t make it obvious. But I need to know soon or I might just be setting my heart out for nothing.” Whether she learns about Seulgi having a lover sooner or later, she knows she’ll be devastated, anyway. It’s preferable to be aware sooner.

She can feel Yeri roll her eyes so hard that it may fall off, because it took a good two seconds before the latter spoke. “Why do you have to be sly about it? You should’ve just straight up hit on that girl. You should’ve not just lied about liking blue lemonade. You’re building a relationship based on a lie!” It didn’t come out as a harsh chastising but Yeri’s voice sounded irritated.

“Mulling over ‘what ifs’ is not gonna help me now, Yeri,” laments Irene. She rolls towards the headboard, and pulls the duvet over her. “And stop overreacting, it’s just a mere juice drink.”

“A mere juice drink that you waste your money on so that you have an excuse to see someone who might not even like you back,” Yeri spat. She said it in one full sentence without pauses nor stuttering, as if she has practiced it for days now.

Irene gasps, covering a hand over , too shocked to speak.

“You... your tongue is too wicked,” she says, for a lack of better term. She’s partially shaken, like hearing a recklessly held glass shattering to the floor. “Don’t attack me like this, Yeri-ah.”

Yeri only grunts.

“Well, I still want to know if I have a chance,” Irene says weakly. For a moment she’s discouraged, thinking how all of this might have been stupid in the first place. She doesn’t know where the confidence she had on the past days went.

For a moment, Yeri’s quiet, and Irene can only hear a crackling from the other line. “Hm, I have an idea. I’m working on my thesis proposal right now - and whenever I’m free, actually. Don’t worry, I’m going to think about it once I’m done.” She pauses for a bit, then proceeds, “In exchange for a box of pizza delivered at my house tonight.”

“Wow, is this what our friendship is to you?” Irene’s jaw has never hung this low.

“Are you done? I can’t negotiate over this stupid problem. Ask Seulgi yourself, if you want. A 14-inch, thin crust Pepperoni pizza or I’m gonna hang up.”

“Okay, okay, okay, I’ll leave it up to you. I’m dialing the pizza house right after this call.”

The door creaks open as Wendy turns and pushes the knob inwardly, revealing an unoccupied bedroom.

Her six earrings sparkle against the soft sunlight streaming through the windows concealed by sheer curtains. It’s obtrusively quiet, that she can hear the slightest sound her socked feet creates with every step. She sits on the edge of the unkempt bed and spots Seulgi’s phone conspicuously resting on the duvet. Coincidentally, the device pings which draws her to the phone, reading the notification of a text message received at 3:14 P. M. on a Saturday.

011-XXX-XXX

are you free tonight?

“Hm?” she mused. It’s staggering to find such a curt but loaded message on her friend’s phone. Has Seulgi been meeting up new people and giving out her number as if it’s the lottery? She snorts in amusement. The summer job is totally giving Seulgi that opportunity, no doubt. Immersed in thought and not fully conscious with her actions, she cradles the phone in her hand, her goofiness suddenly spiking up. What if she pretends to be Seulgi, send back a suggestive or straight up nasty text? Seulgi might fight her but hey, doesn’t she need a bit of pranking to spice up her life?

me

not really, but it depends on what we’re gonna do tonight ;)

Wendy giggles, flailing her legs in the air after sending the text. “Seulgi is sooo going to kill me,” she whispers to herself. I’m really this bored, she thinks. Seulgi, you better show up now or you’re going to have a date in fifteen minutes. She waits for the reply, but nothing comes. She thought the person might have been put off by the aggressiveness. Oh no, I might have ruined Seulgi's chances instead.

“Hey!” Seulgi stops at the doorway, catching Wendy in the act, twiddling with her phone. She has just gotten out of the bathroom, hair dripping and soaking her pink cotton bathrobe.

“Who’s this random number asking you out, huh?” teases Wendy.

Seulgi spares no time to think and sprints towards Wendy to snatch her phone, causing the latter to immediately plop on her stomach on the bed, burying the phone beneath her. With no choice, Seulgi bends over her and runs her soft fingertips on her friend’s sides. Wendy bursts into a loud and shrill laughter, wriggling as Seulgi fervidly tickles to prise the phone away from her.

“Alright, I give up!” Wendy yells, stretching out her arm to Seulgi who quickly grabs her phone. Seulgi, flushed and disheveled, reads the text message.

Wendy, burdened by the weight of her friend sitting on her lap, says, “Move over.”

Seulgi realizes their position that she blushes before she gets up, then bites her lower lip. “Why would you do this?” she whines, pouting. She totally can’t comprehend the sent message either. Number one, she’s definitely not free tonight. Number two, she and Wendy are going to the fireworks party at the beach together with Joy later this evening. Number three, why… why would Wendy ignore the fact that she has no time for anyone else tonight but them, much less for a random person whose fingers just probably slipped and pressed the wrong number.

“Oh, c’mon now, loosen up,” Wendy urges, fixing stray strands of her brown hair. “You’ve been single since your conception. I think it’s time you go for it!”

Seulgi narrows her eyes. “What makes you think this person is pursuing me?”

“Well…” Wendy’s eyes dart around the cream and white laminate flooring and shrugs. “Are they not?” This is the problem with Seulgi: she’s unassuming. She’ll never be able to distinguish between kindness and romantic advances unless it’s outright stated, Wendy thinks.

“Look, whoever this is probably just made a mistake… if it was someone I know I would have had saved the contact number with a name,” explains Seulgi, staring dumbly at the message. The unknown number still hasn’t replied.

Wendy raises a brow in bewilderment. “What, you mean you didn’t give someone your number to text you…?”

“Oh wait-” Seulgi gasps, as if a switch is flicked in her brain.

She remembers now.