xv. “Open your heart. Someone will come. Someone will come for you. But first you must open your heart.”

― The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane

_____

It’s hard to open up. And I’m sure Jongdae knows that very well.

It’s more than hard. There’s fear. There’s uncertainty. There’s doubt. And it’s hard, it really is, but if there’s another thing, it’s also brave, it helps, it changes. Maybe he doesn’t notice, but I can see how difficult it is sometimes to express his feelings, talk about some things he’s buried for so long. At the same time, he probably doesn’t notice, but there’s a small shift every time he does talk about it, a relief, a newfound burden lifted that he’s never really known.

***

Jongdae shows up to school the next day, which I still think is an absolutely idiotic idea given that he looks like death and the medicine obviously hasn’t helped him recover fully, but there’s nothing I can really do when he drags himself into the Languages classroom.

Chanyeol doesn’t say a thing. He hasn’t talked to me since the hallway confrontation yesterday, which I suppose is a good thing, because I have nothing to say to him. Every time I see him is just a mix of guilt, then annoyance, then anger. I have half the mind to apologize about what I said (but I don’t, because I have a feeling that not only is he not going to accept the apology but turn it against me) and half the mind to whack him across the back of the head then and there. I don’t do either, though, because Jongdae slips by to where I’m sitting before class starts and blocks Chanyeol from my line of vision.

“Hey,” he says and gives me a slight smile. His throat is definitely still hoarse, but it’s a bit better compared to the rasp from yesterday. “Did we have any homework yesterday?”

I raise an eyebrow. “In this class? We didn’t have it yesterday.”

He blinks. “I could swear we did.”

“You’re actually still sick,” I shake my head. “You seriously shouldn’t have showed up today. It’s not going to get better if you strain yourself.”

Jongdae gives me a weak smile. “I’ll survive. I don’t think I should miss more school, though.”

“Do you really think you’ll get anything done when you can barely remember what classes you missed yesterday?”

His smile turns sheepish. “Better than missing?”

Before I can reply of Jongdae can say anything more, the door opens. The bell hasn’t rung yet, but Ms. Lim walks inside, gives our class her iconic once-over as if she can’t quite believe that she has to teach us—before her gaze lands on Jongdae, who’s going back to his seat.

“Jongdae,” she says. “I heard you were sick yesterday. Are you feeling better?”

He certainly doesn’t look better, I think drily, but Jongdae nods and smiles at Ms. Lim. “Thanks,” he says, giving her a smile. “It was just a bug. It’s not bad.”

She nods back. “I’m glad you’re better,” she says before turning back to the class.

In front of me, Chanyeol is once again blocking Jongdae with his height, though I see Baekhyun, who’s in the isle beside Jongdae, lean over and murmur something to his friend before he passes him something. I lean forward to see, though Jongdae’s accepted it before I can catch another glimpse on what it is, and Lim raps her ruler hard on the desk for order.

And so that’s that, and as class commences, I hope in my head that this is the last I’ll have to see of Chanyeol and his friends for the day.

***

It is not the last I see of Chanyeol and his friends, and it is not the last Jongdae sees of them either.

Jongdae has somehow packed the leftover chicken noodle soup for lunch in a thermos with another lunch box of cut cucumbers. He carries his backpack in his arms as he joins me to go outside, and we make it to the doors when Chanyeol quite literally corners Jongdae like he did to me yesterday. My first thought is, funnily, that we’re so close to getting out of the school yet he somehow manages to catch us here.

I can’t say I’m necessarily surprised, but my first thought is that the whole show he put up yesterday about me spreading rumours and how Jongdae was a victim of that was horribly faked because he sounds equally hostile and angry at Jongdae. Chanyeol points a finger at him, and Jongdae frowns, slinging his backpack over so he’s carrying it on his back again. “You’re either committed to the team or not,” he snaps. “I’m tired of you flaking out of everything. I’ve covered for your long enough with the coach, and I don’t have time for that. You’re either in or you’re out, and if you don’t want to pull your weight, then leave. No more bull about your wrist. If it’s injured and it’s badly injured, then stop playing. It’s as easy as that.”

Jongdae meets his gaze levelly. “Is that all you care about?”

Chanyeol does a double take, looking a bit surprised for a couple of seconds before he scowls. “What?”

“Basketball,” Jongdae replies. “Is that all this is about?”

The other boy falters. “O-of course not,” he starts, before he seems to regain control. “But right now? Make a decision. I don’t care what it is. And preferably make it without the influence of Anna.”

All of a sudden, it doesn’t matter as much as it did before that I should be the bigger person, because I half push past Jongdae so I’m standing in front of Chanyeol. He glares down at me, arms folded. I can see Baekhyun in my peripheral vision a couple of steps away, watching the whole scene with a frown on his face. At least he’s the only spectator this time.

“You’re an ,” I snap at him. “And you know what, Park Chanyeol? Maybe basketball’s not the only thing you give a damn about, but your friends obviously aren’t on the list. It’s always you want that or this or whatever, but have you ever even stopped for a moment to think about what others want and what they’re going through?”

Jongdae touches my shoulder, a bit hesitant. “Anna—” he starts. I bristle.  

“No, he needs to hear this,” I shoot back. Briefly, I note that I’ll regret if I speak out of anger, but I’m so angry that I can’t exactly stop myself. All the words manage to tumble out. “You’re just jealous,” I start furiously. “And this hasn’t started when I came along. I was just an excuse for you to vent all of that—”

“Jealous?” Chanyeol’s voice has grown, and I think that I’ve hit a sore spot. He takes a threatening step forward, which is slightly intimidating given his height, but I manage to stand still. “How the hell am I jealous?”

“Oh, I don’t know. He’s good at everything you want to be good at?” I think back on Sohee’s words. I know she hadn’t said them for me to use them against Chanyeol (in fact, it had been to put into perspective his point of view), and I know it’s a bad thing to do, but the words come spilling out faster than I can think. “Let’s see. Good at basketball, doesn’t need to try. That’s one. Good grades, too. Smart. Maybe we’re all jealous of him, but that’s okay, because everyone uses him anyway. You know what they say about Kim Jongdae. He’s smart, popular, good looking, athletic—”

“Anna.” It’s a warning this time, quiet but still forceful. I falter. It’s a fair warning. I’ve said too much. This isn’t my place to intervene, it isn’t my fight, it’s not even directed at me. But I’ve said so much that part of me feels like I can’t turn back anymore.

So I add, “Maybe Jongdae not showing up to practice isn’t the problem, Chanyeol.” His eyes narrow, I continue. “Maybe I’m not the problem either. You are.”

He looks like he’s actually going to hit me this time. I wouldn’t be exactly surprised, I’ve said more than I should’ve and it was much worse than it should’ve been, and even though the logical part of me regrets it, there’s petty satisfaction that I’ve made him so angry. It means, at any rate, that what I’ve said must have held some semblance of the truth.

Jongdae steps in front of us, literally, before anyone can say or do anything. “I’m sick,” he tells Chanyeol. “So no, I don’t think I can go to practice because unless you want to deal with me passing out on your watch, the whole team will be better off if I don’t go today. But I’ll go tomorrow.”

I know what he’s doing. Drawing the conversation back to the same reason Chanyeol confronted him (or at least the shallow excuse of a reason); basketball practice, the team. Solving the problem so he won’t have to talk about the rest of the things. Or maybe it’s to see who breaks first, who crumbles under the pressure and points out the actual reason the two have been unable to reconcile. I’ve said it, but between Jongdae and Chanyeol, one of them must.

But neither bend. Chanyeol’s attention is once more directed at Jongdae, and his expression hardens before he turns away. “I don’t know how sick you are,” he replies sharply. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if you had another excuse next time not to show up.”

With that, he turns on his heel and stalks away. Baekhyun follows his friend, though he stops slightly to look at Jongdae.

“Talk to him,” he says in a quiet voice. “Genuinely try to… talk to him.”

He jogs after Chanyeol’s retreating figure after that, leaving us standing alone.

***

“It’s not an excuse,” I snap angrily. “You’re sick. How the hell is that an excuse?”

Jongdae glances at me. He looks tired again as he screws open the cap of his thermos, where I can smell the faint scent of the chicken noodle soup from yesterday. He drops his spoon in, somewhat unenthusiastically, although I can’t blame him. I wouldn’t be hungry after what just happened. In fact, every time I talk to Chanyeol, everything seems to blend into many emotions—anger, regret, and a couple more that I can’t place a finger on.

“I have been skipping a lot of practices,” Jongdae