First chapter

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Banknotes do not grow under stones, cockroaches do

 

 

"What would you do if you had 46 billion won?"

 

What is unknown cannot be desired. Just as the family in which one is born cannot be chosen.

 

At first, when I was a naive kid whose only concern consisted in staying in the park until the sun was completely gone, I did not mourn my own misery.

 

Puddles caused by torrential water and decaying sewers were effortlessly transformed into enchanted lakes. They were liquid masses with vibrating surfaces that alerted the presence of sea monsters.

 

Winter nights smelled of light stew and cinnamon biscuits. Every year, Mom made the promise in front of the battered fireplace that she would prepare them by herself the following Christmas. I believed her blindly, until I discovered that without an oven in which to toast them there would never be such a possibility.

 

White lie, one among thousands that had been accumulating over time to produce disappointment.

 

Every time they took me to the nearest public school, we crossed an uneven path made of stones and sand. Adventures haunted me and I kept thinking about how lucky I was that the city council had prepared the route expressly to stimulate my imagination. Now I know it wasn’t altruism, but insufficient tar to cover the neighborhood. That, and lack of interest in investing in neglected and abandoned areas.

 

The child in me was passionate about playing detectives, especially those endless afternoons in which I waited for my parents to return. For a kid as naughty as I was, following rules without being under the supervision of an adult became an impossible task. That’s why I kept meeting friends until the light faded and blackness reigned. The other infants always disappeared before the three street lamps were bright, aware that they illuminated as much as a single candle. I preferred to wait under the glare for the figure of my father to appear in the distance. He never punished me for disobeying him, on the contrary, he rewarded my patience with delicious bean cakes.

 

I haven't tasted them in years, although the sty in which I live remains the same.

 

My life would be more pleasant if that infant mentality had endured over the years. If those eyes had continued to be covered by a curtain of fantasy and fiction.

 

My life could have been easier if he hadn't shown up to muddy it up more.

 

But chance is not in the hands of perishable creatures either, and dreaming is nothing more than a practice reserved for idiots with too much time to waste and no intentions to work.

 

"Wooyoung!"

 

"Coming!"

 

She is aware it’s unnecessary to raise her voice, the walls are as thin as cardboard. But I have the feeling that my mother has the need to empty all the air accumulated in her lungs at once. Her morning cries are not just expected to say “good morning”, they are also an indication that the hot water is about to run out. We don't have more than an hour a day to shower; when the neighbor on the first floor turns on the water heater at seven-five in the morning.

 

Our house is tiny, narrow for three adults. A concrete den with three bedrooms and a third of what should have been a bathroom. Each year that passes it’s colder, more unpleasant and smaller.

 

We are no different from sewer rats.

 

Last to get ready and first to leave. Perhaps because it makes me uncomfortable to witness my mother's efforts to pretend that we are an exemplary Korean family like any other. Maybe because it makes me sick to live in a reality in which we don't even have enough brioches for the three of us.

 

"Son, aren't you going to eat anything before you go?" I hear her in the kitchen. I know my father is with her because it smells like watered down coffee.

 

I can't blame her, now I've learned to pretend too. I disguise my appetite and use it as an excuse to leave.

 

"I'm not hungry, I'll take an apple for later."

 

It is one of my tricks, empty words that I do not intend to fulfill. Like those promises that we spit without thinking when, in reality, there is no guarantee of being able to achieve them. Like those homemade oatmeal cookies that were never cooked and never will.

 

I don't enjoy lying, but we all know that not a single piece of fruit has been in the house for weeks.

 

"See you tonight, darling. Be careful.”  She says goodbye, kissing my forehead.

 

It is something similar to a protective mantra that will give me luck. The idea of ​​comparing my mother to one of those famous guardian angels always seemed very tempting, until I became a skilled performer. And the way she looks at me with deep sadness and guilt doesn't belong to a heavenly creature. It can only be human.

 

"WooWoo, I'm roasting sardines tonight, don't be late!" My father adds just as I finish fastening my skates.

 

Shoes with four wheels in which I invested the savings of my entire adolescence. My greatest relic.

 

"You're the ones here who don't know what punctuality is, Dad."

 

He knows that I have reasons to spare, so he snorts with amusement and I smile hopelessly. Although I hate our precarious situation, my family is the greatest treasure I have.

 

 ೋ•୨✿୧•ೋ

 

The streets of my neighborhood and the surrounding ones no longer seem the same. I can't say if their appearance has improved or worsened, but it is clear to me that despite being used to them, I repel them more and more every day.

 

My identity is left behind when I mingle with passersby. The school uniform allows me, it works like a second skin that camouflages reality. It openly indicates that I am part of an accepted collective, despite my short sleeves and baggy pants. I am one of those who overflow with daring and show off bravery, unless it comes to asking my parents for new clothes or confessing how ashamed I am of our lifestyle.

 

I don't see the need to dig into fresh wounds.

 

So I never talk about it.

 

I never invite friends over to my house, they don't even know exactly where I live. And I always make sure to set limits or not to leave a hint.

 

My father may be right, perhaps, unconsciously, I take every day a handful of minutes to get home. I suppose I have become a victim of the need to forget who I am and to continue pretending to be what I would like to become.

 

"Hey, Woo!"

 

Encounters with Jongho, my best friend, always begin with a scream that echoes in the surroundings and end with a high-pitched screech of wheels. Sometimes I find it hard to believe the infinite appreciation he has for his bike.

 

I also like to show my mastery with the skates, so I increase my speed as soon as I detect him out of the corner of my eye and stop sharply within inches of hitting it.

 

"I've already told you that your suicide attempts don't scare me, Woo." He reiterates, showing off those reflexes capable of containing even the slightest shock. I refuse to accept that in our five years of friendship he has not been impressed even once. “But I warn you, if one of these days you fail and can't stop in time, you know what awaits you.”

 

"Yeah yeah, you and that creepy thumb-snapping obsession. You'll have to work for it because this coconut is harder than steel.” I scoff, tapping with the forefinger my temple.

 

"I'll split your head open."

 

Jongho likes to emphasize his skills whenever he gets the chance, a hobby that I can tolerate and overlook, as he has done more for me than anyone so far. And best of all, he’s not even aware of it.

 

"Keep dreaming, muscles man. Although ... if you really want to be the center of attention, you should consider being part of the cast of a circus.” I say, trying to hold back a laugh at my own occurrences, because for the way he’s looking at me I must prepare to skate with all my strength. “You know? I bet instead of being a strong man, they would hire you first to be a clown. That suits you better…”

 

I don't take risks finishing the speech because as soon as I visualize him placing the shoe on one of the pedals, I slide like crazy away from his reach. It is a spontaneous and dangerous race in which I am risking my skin to get to class with all the bones intact. Unfortunately, Jongho is a bicycle fan, he learned to pedal before he learned to walk. That justifies him passing me in a few minutes of rushing.

 

"Have you ever heard that it's not very smart to bite the hand that feeds you, Woo?" He warns me from his position in front, with one hand attached to the handlebar and his face turned to me. His free hand moves near my face before I can recognize what he’s holding. 

 

It’s that small piece what calms our urge to run and allows us to carry on a conversation without stopping completely.

 

"I have no idea what you mean, little Jong." I know how much he hates that nickname, even though I'm a few months older than him.

 

"I was willing to pity you even with how disrespectful you have been, but you just lost all your rights, Jung Wooyoung. you, man.”

 

Decision that leaves me with the only option to earn the reward for myself. I know that if I’m proclaimed winner of the race on wheels, he won’t be able to deny me the prize, even if that means arriving to class drenched with sweat and with broken seams. I am willing to submit to the worst possible leg shaking because I know it will be worth it. Choi Jongho and the candy in his possession are worth the try.

 

Thus, I take advantage of having skates; the bicycle is, by far, more cumbersome when it comes to avoiding pedestrians. I take my role very seriously, that's why I don't stop even if I hear behind me a woman scolding my best friend. Incidents are part of the unforeseen and the competition is made up of them.

 

Today's victory is mine and Jongho will be able to do nothing but bow his head and assume it because even though he is as eager and competitive as I am, he enjoys the adrenaline of the moment and knows how to accept the defeats.

 

So when he finally reaches me in the parking lot reserved for two-wheelers, he throws at me what I long for.

 

"What the hell happened to this ?" I can't sound as demanding as I pretend because the cream puff still in the plastic is unrecognizable. Squeezed into an amorphous mass after being caught between the handlebars and Jongho's powerful fingers.

 

"Those are the consequences of your actions, do you take it or leave it?" He advises, with a raised eyebrow and a crooked face. "If you don't want it, I'll give it to the janitor's dog."

 

What he does not know is that the aspect of the food doesn’t concern me because I have a beast tearing my stomach from the inside and very little chance for it to fall back into a deep sleep if I do not feed it first.

 

" you, this is mine."


 

 ೋ•୨✿୧•ೋ

 

When I speak of the unusual resistance of my skull, I must add that the pinkish organ inside it also has its own characteristics. The ease at withholding information prevents me from studying for hours and fuels my expectations of being able to build a better future for myself. I should make good use of my abilities, but I have used up half my energy earning breakfast and trying to teach my best friend a lesson.

 

I need a break.

 

Slowly, I flop down onto the desk naturally before transforming my forearms into cushions. The teacher is too excited about breaking down math equations on the board to notice the thirty-third sleepy student in the back row whom she can barely see.

 

Years ago, the teaching hours had no comparison with the current ones. There was never a lack of toys to play with. I still remember the tantrums that I gave to the neighbor when she came looking for me, I left her no choice but to persuade me with sweets.

 

Another thing that I miss is the school cafeteria. I don't think I've ever eaten such amounts of food before. Most of the time the menu stunk, but it was edible. And best of all: they let me repeat as many times as I wanted while supplies last.

 

“Pst.”

 

Jongho feels like been a pain in the and I don't wanna become his hobby, so I ignore him, hoping he will leave me alone. But he’s insistent, stubborn like one of those faithful dogs that wait for their companions in the open, despite being aware of how their soul slowly leaves them by their snouts.

 

"You, Wooyoung. Don’t ignore me, damn it.” He just signed his own sentence by throwing me a piece of rubber that he must have torn off with those sharp nails that scare me so much.

 

I open only one eye, he is lucky my relaxed body renounces to sudden movements because otherwise I would have jumped to his neck in order to erase that annoying smile. He knows that he has disturbed my rest and he’s proud of it.

 

"You are as timely as Mingi opening his mouth when he shouldn't." And it is something natural in our peculiar group of friends, each individual stands out in their own way, I could not say if in a positive way though. “What do you want? Whatever you're going to tell me can wait for stupid math class to finish.”

 

"Sure, it can wait but I'd rather piss you off. It is unfair that you’re hiding there to take a nap while I have to put on a good face.” Because my place is the most strategic point of the classroom. I must thank the two classmates in front of me for being as tall as the Eiffel tower.

 

I reach out using my left leg with alarming precision to hit Jongho's chair squarely and drive him to the opposite end with a deafening screech. With satisfaction I witness how that single action has attracted all the attention of the class. The teacher seems to be waiting for some convincing explanation for the interruption, but I can't look away from my flushed-cheeked best friend, unable to react. I am sure he will spend the remaining forty minutes carefully planning my assassination.

 

 ೋ•୨✿୧•ೋ

 

As a punishment for my audacity in ridiculing Jongho, he didn’t speak to me again for the remaining class hours, so I was also left without knowing what the hell he needed. Oh, and without my nap too. After what happened, the math teacher began pacing around every corner, making sure no other student dispersed enough again to give her a show.

 

Normality returns when we leave the high school and deviate down the slope that leads to the park where we always meet. It is our favorite one because a large part of it is full of ramps, skating rinks and badly located benches. The others will soon join us.

 

"I bet my breakfast that the pages of the book have stuck to Mingi’s face again." I am the one who breaks the silence full of desire to start skating. If we haven’t already done so, it is because we prefer to wait for the rest of the team to arrive.

 

"Betting against that is losing money on purpose."

 

"But no one is betting money here, Jong." I reply with a malicious smile. 

 

“It's not that it bothers me to keep bringing you those cloying cream buns.” I still don't understand why he dislikes them so much, they are the very glory made into sugar. "Let's do it. Who knows, I might end up finding out what they feed you at home so that you’re getting thinner every day.

 

"What are you up to?" Yeosang arrives at the right time to bail me out. Jongho delving into my private life could turn into the worst of the nightmares, especially because I am aware that I must have left traces of it along the way.

 

"You know, the usual."

 

"Which means one of those stupid games." We grin guiltily, eyes following him until he sits on the ground in front of us, on his skateboard. “I'm in. I’m taking Jongho's side.”

 

"Why his!?" He wants to make me angry, but today I don't have the patience to keep quiet. "Yeo, you've dug your own grave."

 

Kang Yeosang is the only one among us who attends a different high school, a private one located at the end of the street. Personally, these institutions arouse negative feelings in me; envy and disgust. The kind of places I wouldn't want to visit, because despite dressing up as an ordinary student, I still wouldn't fit in there. Although he is not like those who go to that middle school, but an exception among hundreds of scholars.

 

When I come back to reality, I reconnect with my friends who have inadvertently come to check the pressure of the bicycle wheels. I consider sitting between them, mainly because I want to escape from the last rays of sun that hit me directly in the eyes. But before my brain sends signals through my nervous system to my feet, a cold, bluish can lands on my lap.

 

Jeong Yunho's favorite bubbly soda that almost gives me a heart attack right here.

 

"Should I be disappointed not to see your pants ripped yet from kissing the ground so much?" He lets out as a greeting. I drop my head back expecting to see him, but instead, I come across Mingi's face that has a red mark on its forehead.

 

" you all, I won!!!"

 

"Again with those stupid bets on poor Mingi? Give him a break.” Seonghwa, the most relaxed one of the six, takes the free seat next to me.

 

"How did you do that to yourself, Min?" Jongho doesn't give up. 

 

"I didn't fall asleep on the ing book, if that's what you want to know."

 

"Seonghwa and I checked," Yunho adds, hovering on his own skateboard.

 

"Come on, don't around. You are lying. There's no way Mingi will survive one of those boring History classes.” because if there is a possibility for him to survive, it has to be convincing enough to persuade me.

 

And having become the cynical liar that I am, I have a good eye for inconsistencies. Or so I think, until I hear a snort behind me. For the first time in four years I have no idea where it comes from because I am not able to associate it with any of my friends.

 

So I have no choice but to gently turn my head to instantly regret it. A few inches away is the biggest headache that will drag me into an eternal storm, the owner of my delusions and confusions. Who will force me to plunge into an insurmountable battle against myself. Possessor of the two most sparkling blackish spheres I have ever seen. Bearer of the smoothest wavy jet black hair on the planet and a smile capable of supplying electricity to all Seoul for several months.

 

He watches me with amusement and I wonder what great crime have I committed to run into someone whose even a simple sky-colored jeans with a white shirt look spectacular.

 

"I guess I'm the culprit." he says, as if he owes me some kind of answer. The truth is, I would have preferred him to keep quiet, because that luring, sing-song tone is worse than bleeding from the sharp point of an arrow piercing my chest.

 

"Is he the new boy?" Jongho blurts out without a hint of surprise. I have no doubt he was aware of this, but, just in case, he smirks at me.

 

"Yeah, this is San." Yunho abandons his frustrated attempts to flip the skateboard in the air and rejoins us while pushing back his sweaty bangs. "He has changed schools and is now Mingi's new deskmate."

 

If he’s here with us it can only mean a direct invitation to join the group, what else could it be? Although I can't complain, I would have done the same if I was the one taking care of the new student.

 

"Do you skate?" Yeosang asks, drawing attention.

 

It's his way of being nice and finding common interests with the new guy. But at this very moment I hate him with all my soul for eliciting an even more radiant smile, because if I was blocked before, now I don't even remember how to blink.

 

"Skater is my middle name."

 

The confidence that emanates from him makes me wish with all my being that he fails in every attempt. That way, I can laugh at his failures and ease the tension in my body. I will be able to destroy all the expectations that my mind has begun to build without consent. However, each new piece of information I learn from him pushes me more insistently to the bottom of a dark abyss from which I will no longer be able to get out.

 

San is the one giving me a hard time concentrating on what I do. Normally skating is an escape route that allows me to run away from all thoughts and roll onto the white concrete slipping under the wheels. But today, that technique doesn't work. The games proposed by Yunho or the objectives set by Seonghwa are of little use, the giggles and flattery of the new boy end up finding a way to reach me and sneak into my head. And then my legs threaten to give in to shaking.

 

I don't remember any other time that I have hugged the ground as many times as when I first became interested in skating. And before any of the others realize my lousy attempts, I'd rather let it be for today, even if I don't intend to go home just yet.

 

Barely a couple of minutes go by when the wooden planks sink next to me. I am hunched over, undoing my skates, and I am inwardly grateful for being able to calm myself in this position before moving on to face him.

 

Because I know who’s the one sitting there.

 

"A hard day?" He asks, as if he can see right through me.

 

“Yeah, I could say that.”

 

San no longer carries Yunho's skateboard with him, so the rest of the group have engaged in a kind of competition to find out who can perform more tricks without losing their balance. They are entertaining to watch. Or they would be if I didn't have someone capable of tense me with each exhalation.

 

"You are Wooyoung, right?" At first, the question seems strange to me, until I realize that he has had to learn a handful of names in a very few hours. And I don't mean to make things more difficult for him, so I nod.

 

However, I don't know what else to add to the conversation. I am in favor of shutting my mouth unless I have something interesting to say, except for my impulsive side taking control over me when it wants.

 

Naive of me to think that my rules apply to others, that their minds work like mine. San is not in favor of letting silence gain ground, so he destroys it and distracts me from the distant chorus of screams.

 

"Tell me, Wooyoung," he begins, staring straight ahead. There's no way he can't feel the weight of my gaze traveling every corner of his face. For some reason, there is something about his features that I find entertaining. Until he turns to petrify me and remind me of the intensity that he carries in his orbs. "What would you do if you had forty-six billion won?"

 

“Sorry... what?”

 

San's eyes transform into two crescents to accompany an honest expression. My bewilderment must have penetrated him, but it is what he has to get used to if he stuns me with his charms and then asks existential questions of such caliber. He has no idea that my brain decided to go on vacation the instant he set a foot in the park.

 

"You know, if you suddenly woke up with bundles and bundles of bills, what would you do with that fortune?" At this point, I don't know if he's judging my intelligence or playing a game.

 

"Well. if I had forty-six billion won...

 

“...I would buy a good apartment in the center of Seoul where the power isn’t cut off four times a day. It would be a flat with three bedrooms, hot water and a fridge full of fresh food. I would probably order a new tailored uniform and stop accepting Jongho's charity. I would invite all of you home without the fear of you leaving as soon as you find dead cockroaches on the floor.

 

If I had 46 billion won, we would grill quality pork chops instead of sardines. "

 

“...The truth is that I have no idea. I guess I would spend it on video games and stuff. What would you do?” I return the question, trying to hide my nervousness at the possibility of being discovered.

 

Any teenager in my place would get excited at the thought of wasting money at the speed of light. But I cannot expose every wish that has crossed my mind because then I would be exposed to the world.

 

"I..." He thinks about it for a few seconds as the corners of his lips rise. "I'm not going to tell you."

 

“What?”

 

"If I had forty-six billion won... I would invest it in an investigation capable of finding out what San is hiding under that suggestive smile."