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Jongin paced outside of the infirmary. Back and forth. Back and forth. Rubbing a fist into his clammy palm. He was nervous. He was anxious.

The blinding sun burned his arm as he shifted. Went one way. Came back the other. The infirmary door was closed. On the other side his new sister was perhaps lying on one of the cheap beds.

Honestly, he didn’t know how to face her. Talk to her, anything at all. It had been so long since he’d met someone…he didn’t know at all. Basically, she was just a stranger to him, but also…family now. Calling her that felt foreign to him. She wasn’t his real sister. He didn’t even know where she and her mother came from.

Dami argued with their father when he announced he would be remarrying. At last after going through all those women in his life, he was settling down. With a woman they met for dinner just once.

Jongin didn’t know how he felt. He thought it was time his father married again. He was probably lonely after all these years. Dami was the opposite. Very adamant that he stay loyal to their mother even if she had died six years ago. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair to her. How could he betray her just like that? She would never accept the new girl and her mom!

His sister had already outed Namjoo. Coming to him to persuade, “You have to hate her, too. How can you let her mom replace our mom? Think about it Jongin! It’s not right! They’re not our family!”

Dami was right. They didn’t even share a drop of blood. The new girl’s mom seemed to try too hard to fit into their modest family. He’d woken up twice to the woman digging through their kitchen and rearranging cups, pans, and silverware. Smiling too widely that it looked pretentious when she saw him.

“Are you hungry?” she would ask then say as if he had walked into her house, “Come sit down. What would you like to eat?”

About her daughter…Jongin didn’t know what to think about her. She was too quiet and awkward. He had no idea how to interact with her, especially after pounding on the bathroom door assuming she was Dami. It was still an embarrassing memory.

Maybe it was Namjoo who thought he was weird. A ert. She hadn’t tried talking to him after the incident. Probably he had weirded her out.

Rubbing his fist harder into his palm he turned to the door. The big silver handle drawing him toward it. He stepped forward then away with a frustrated hiss, ruffling his hair.

What was he going to say once he entered the infirmary? Asking if she was ok was as stupid as asking if it hurt when one stepped on a Lego piece.

He’d seen her sulking in gym class. Feeling small like an outcast, so he’d gestured for them to send the ball her way. There was no way he knew she’d get hurt. Was this his fault?

Jongin didn’t know. He’d tried looking out for her the entire day. Peeking over his shoulder because she sat at the back of the classroom. Caught her staring out the window during lecture. He possibly couldn’t have made her day any better than it had already turned out.

Staring at the door he wondered if she hated her first day already, and if it was because of him. Jongin’s eyes widened when the door opened and the school nurse appeared.

“Are you here to see her?” she asked a little too loudly. Through the gap of her arm he spotted Namjoo turning to look at the door. He flushed embarrassed and nearly dropped both backpacks hanging over his shoulder.

“Uh…well…” he murmured.

With a motherly smile, the nurse explained, “She sprained her ankle, but it’s minor, so there’s nothing to worry about. Go on in.”

The nurse passed leaving the gaping doorway to him. Anxiety swarmed him. The infirmary was a small room with a desk on his left. Books and a two-inch binder arranged next to the huge desktop computer. The black computer chair cushion was as flat as the pillow on his bed. One of the two twin beds available for the students was occupied by Namjoo. Set by the wall underneath the window facing the backyard. The sunlight sprinkled down on her through the tree leaves like fireflies dancing on a warm summer night. Prettily and enamoring.

The second their eyes caught they both looked elsewhere. Shy. Embarrassed. Overwhelmed by a sense of self-consciousness.

Forcing himself to enter he stopped a width from the bed. Eyes not quite on her but on the creamy white wall. “I…I’ll take you home.”

“It’s ok.” Her voice was barely a squeak.

His throat felt dry. “The homeroom teacher said it’s ok. Dad is at work. I think…your mom is, too.”

A moment of silence weaved between them. His heart thumped nervously. Unsure how to go on from here. Then the bed creaked and Namjoo swung her legs over the side of the bed.

“I can take that.” Namjoo reached out for her backpack. He glanced down at her outstretched arm catching sight of the white bandaid wrapped around her ankle.

Jongin debated whether she needed help getting up. Should he ask? Should he wait for her to ask for assistance? What if he did too much and made her uncomfortable? Couldn’t forget the one fact that he barely knew her.

He turned away when Namjoo stood. Assuming she would manage he walked out first. Made his way down the stairs. Finally turning around at the front doors to see her a stairwell away. Hobbling. Guilt flashed through him. By the time she reached him he turned away. Embarrassed he hadn’t offered to help her beforehand. Now was probably too late.

“S…sorry,” she apologized. “You can go ahead without me…really…”

Jongin glanced at her once then continued. The thought egged him horribly until they turned down the road toward the cherry blossom tree lined road. Swinging his backpack to his front he crouched down and listened for her distorted footsteps.

“Get on.” He said when she neared.

“Oh…no…” her words tripped and rolled. “I…I can walk.” Speaking faster like the other night, she said, “It doesn’t hurt at all. Honestly, you can go ahead without me. I mean, I can go home myself.”

Peering over his shoulder he asked, “Do you even know the way home?”

Startled, she almost stumbled backwards. Scratching the side of her face her eyes slid to the street on their right where traffic came in blurs of colors. Certainly, that was a no.

Swiveling around he said, “I’ll carry you.”

Jongin was prepared to make another point before her arms slid over his shoulders lightly brushing his jaw as she climbed onto his back. His eyes became somewhat rounder when her weight eased against him. He felt his heart hammer. Hard.

Pushing up to his feet he gulped, hoping it wasn’t loud enough that she could hear. Heat bombarded his face. The temperature rising when he interlocked hands underneath the legs around his hips.

“S…sorry,” Namjoo muttered another apology.

“It’s…fine.” He managed.

He could hear the clock ticking above his head. Of how long he could carry her before he lost his will of strength. He’d die of shame if he collapsed al