세나: When I was younger, one thing that I had regretted very much was when I didn’t give that one last piece of chicken shot for Sungjae during my farewell-party for him. It didn’t really much bother him, but it did to me, and though he was out for the next few years the matter still haunted me. As a good friend it should’ve been my obligation to be generous, right? Shallow, yes, but that was by far the biggest regret of my life.

Until two nights ago.

The boys urged me to sleep since it was obvious that I couldn’t possibly get my job done even with their help so I obliged, thinking that a nap would recharge me but complying to what the oppas have said is the greatest, and will forever be, wrong of my life.

How dare they sneak up behind me and do that? Wait. But it’s not like they knew, right. Of course they didn’t! I had the username as the shield that safeguards my anonymity. But why—why—why now? Why here? Moreover, why did I even do that?

“Why don’t you join in, yourself?”

It’s kind of funny that only those words were what took me to actually put my premeditation in action. When Father Hong told me about it I did think of joining, but I shrugged it off, since I had many work to do though undeniably I had some plot hidden within the caverns of my writer’s mind. I have to admit, I kind of like the plot itself, since I know it would stand out from the other cliché stories but I never deemed it would go this far. The first chapter was a joke—let alone the title itself, but I got engrossed in the story and I couldn’t imagine not finishing it. Actually, I am taking this story personally.

He may or may not read it, but I dedicate this to him.

This is what I leave him before I leave.

Setting that aside, though, on another note; I have finally thought of accepting the offer of being a trainee—heck, the president of a company scouting you himself, saying you have potential (even you highly doubt it), doesn’t always happen. I had the choice of accepting or turning down an offer that presents itself to one in a million people.

But it’s not the offer itself that makes it tempting.

For the past few days the office has had been my work-place; mostly checking, composing, and proofreading letters or whatever that has got to do with literature had been my work, but mostly I do plain gallivanting around the café assisting the baristas, which isn’t very ideal for a 16-year-old that should be at school right now. Lately, I detected some of the trainees saying something about me that don’t quite please me. Whatever it is, it sure involves my value in this company and the issue about me prattling around, exercising some certain unofficial rights around here. That I really feel like the ‘daughter’ of the president, when in fact I’m just some out-of-school youth that does nothing but laze around all day and even has the nerve to turn down a precious offer they stuck their necks out for.

It’s not my fault that I’m lucky, right. They clearly don’t accept that fact.

I have actually put this decision into finalization and my verdict was that I should take it. Matter is, I haven’t told my best friend yet. I wish for him to be the first one who knows.

Maybe after the meeting, I think.

But what arises during the meeting is a more thrilling matter.

`

***

“Jae, really,” I whine, while tugging his arm and shaking it several times, bugging him for about the eighth time this day, asking which story they picked. “Come on, tell me!”

He just laughs, and puts his finger on his mouth, telling me to hush. “I’m telling you, it’s a surprise! The story’s really good. I know you’ll like it,”

“Yep,” Minhyuk-oppa walks with us. “We chose it especially for you,”

My shoulders hunch forward. There’s no use prodding on anymore. Besides, Jae knows of my taste so he most probably wouldn’t disappoint me. “Alright, but just one hint? Please?” I pout at them both, looking from left to right, utilizing my irresistible aegyo that I seldom use.

Minhyuk-oppa groans in frustration, totally killing the urge to tell me, but Sungjae beats him to it. “Alright, one hint: I’m in it.”

I snort. “Geez. Thanks,” like that really helped. If I know, there’s a huge percent of the fanfics where he’s the lead.

“You’re welcome,” he just hums, and together, along with the five other boys, we enter the meeting room.

Flash forward, the meeting starts and the President heads straight to the point. He asks whether we’re really sure if this is what we really want, and I give him a blunt answer that’s between yes or no. He construes it as yes, and the secretary roams around to give us the copies of the story. As assistant script-writer, it’s my job to take a look at it too.

But then again, when I look at the paper in utter shock, I find myself asking me, why do I have to…

When it’s my own story?

The Lunch Box

By pna502

There, at the centermost part of the page, is the title of the story, and the author’s username. I hear the president mumbling some things that goes along the lines of teenage love and intriguing something-somethings which fall as mere gibberish on my ears, as I look at the paper in hopefully invisible horror. All my saliva suddenly tastes like dust and my throat is as dry as sandpaper.

As soon as I recover the first thing that comes to mind that I should say is I am going to kill whoever chose this. Accompanied by some colorful cursing in the background.

“You like it?” Sungjae laughs, nudging me lightly, laboring under the delusion that I am actually reading the plot and the characters.

This is my story, you idiot. I think. I don’t know which sensation I should mind first—whether the fury or the shock, but I am pretty sure I want to reveal that it was—or is me, who wrote this. But then I can’t. Thoughts race into mind. What would they think? That’s the fundamental question finalized by a gargantuan question mark. Before I could ask who chose this and readying myself to hurl obscenities at whoever picked this Hyunsik-oppa says, which suddenly shuts down half of my being; my heart suddenly finding the quickest shortcut to the pit of my stomach.

“Peniel chose that,” he chuckles.

Well, crap.

Just crap.

I blink once, to get rid of the glare threatening to radiate out of my eyes, before I look at him. When our gazes meet he says in explanation, “Well, it’s not expedient. Please ignore the fact that I am the lead and besides, we all agreed so…yeah…” he loses his words when my fixated gaze stays on him, unintentionally scaring his wits.

“Okay,” I manage to say, that it should be counted as a miracle.

“I like the story,” the director remarks, and I feel my temperature rise by a degree.

“Me too,” the writer seconds, and my temperature meets the degree of a fever. “Let’s choose this,”

Just…let me die. Let me die now.

“Well, Se Na?” president looks at me with the inquisitive rise of the brows, and I answer, quite confidently, with a convincing nod of the head.

“Yes!”

“I knew it!”

“I knew Se Na would like it!”

All the other boys cheer, and the room turns festive instantly.

You okay? From across the table, the one who chose the story mouths, when he notices—or we both notice, at the same time, that my knuckles are turning white from holding onto the edges of the table and my palm is on my forehead.

I scrunch my nose, but I nod. Half-yes, half-no.

He gives me this look that he plans to talk with me later about it, whether there’s something I’m not pleased with, since most especially he was the one who chose it. I quickly avoid his gaze and try to recall where the closest fire exit to this room is.

Other people would say Why not? Shouldn’t you be glad that yours was the one that got picked? They would die just for theirs to be chosen, and I secretly wish that this chance had been theirs. It kind of makes me glad, I admit, that my work will not go unacknowledged; everyone will know about it—it will be known widely; that’s what every writer dreams of for her story, but The Lunch Box is just…something I’m not quite proud of. Though I do love it—I love each and every one of my stories, but in this story is just where I put my phantasms. My fantasies. Well not the wild ones, of course, but Sungjae had been teasing me in his name and this may be the product of how I picture my…what do you call this. Any romantic relationship with him? How I want it to be, how I want it to happen?

The first three chapters haven’t unraveled that much of the story yet, and I’ve got a whole lot of scenes and things prepared for this. I cannot promise not to totally release my thoughts on this story. It scares me what if someone sees through me? What if someone knows of it? Certainly I hope for one thing: no one would. No one should.

Because I am going to drop hints about myself here.

A little later, when the meeting’s over, the boys tell me that I should orient them on how to act out their parts. I’m pretty sure they already know how to do it—they just want to spend time with me. They really give off that feeling. Nonetheless I join them, in their favorite place. While we’re walking to it I whisper to my best friend, “Jae, I have something to tell.”

“Alright what is it?”

“Remember that offer for me as a trainee?”

“Yeah?”

We’re nearing the entrance to that part of the building now. “I decided to accept it.”

A look of surprise flashes across his face, just as I expected, but then he eyes the back of the person who walks in front of us. Then an expression of malicious joy takes over his looks, and he smiles at me with wicked interest. I get what he means.

“What? NO!” I say, totally yelling that it echoes across the hallway. All the boys look at me, and by all I mean everyone.

“Oh?” Eunkwang-oppa mouths.

I need an escape plan for this. I totally do. Playing on, I punch Sungjae’s arm and snarl at him, “It’s not what you’re thinking! We’ll talk later,”

The other six boys just look at each other, puzzled, and shrug their shoulders as I walk ahead of them.

That night, I find myself arguing with Sungjae over the phone with what may or may not be the most unjust charge of all time.

“OF COURSE NOT!” I yell, with the phone on my hand and ear. “I am not going to be a trainee just because of him!”

“Meh,” he brays from the other end. “You really expect me to believe that? It’s okay, Se Na. really. Fine, fine. You’re becoming a trainee not because you want to join in the auditions for the lead female role because Peniel-hyung is the lead male. Okay. I believe you,”

“SUNGJAE!”

“What?” he laughs. “I believe you already. What else do you want?”

“You don’t understand!” I kick the nearby chair. “Here’s the thing, Jae: the trainees sort of hate me right now. I just want to prove myself, that’s all. I want them to think that I’m not just taking advantage of Father’s kindness. I want to prove them I’m really worth something. Not because the line for the female lead role is getting longer, but because I want to prove myself,”

This seems to convince him a little. “Alright,” he sighs. “When’s the audition again?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“Okay. But Se Na…just one question: what if you do pass the audition for the role?”

“Jae, cut it out with the teasing, really.”

“No, no, no—I mean, wouldn’t it be too hard for you to assume two roles? Aren’t you the assistant script-writer also?”

He’s right. But I’ve got this figured out. “I talked to Father about this. He says it’s okay.”

“Really?”

“Really.” I sit on my bed. “Besides, it’s not like I should be the only female in the story around, right. There should be antagonists,”

“Which you think would suit you.”

I snicker. “Of course.”

We talk about certain matters after that, and we decide to call it a night. I’m about to go to sleep when my phone rings again. Annoyed, I still decide to pick it up.

“Yo-bo-sse-yo.” I grunt through the phone.

“Yobosseyo? Oh. Did I disturb you or anything, Se Na-ssi? I’ll just call again maybe tomorrow—“ wait. that voice. Oh my gosh.

“Oh, it’s you, Peniel-oppa.” I force out a chuckle, because truly, half of my annoyance had been abated since it’s him who called. “What is it? Why’d you call?”

“Well…you and Sungjae talk really long, don’t you,” he starts off awkwardly.

“Maybe because we don’t run out of things to talk about.” I get back to him. “You, what do you want to talk about?”

“I-um…I just wanted to ask how you feel about the story,”

The urge to yell at him suddenly is enraged inside me, but I try to clear my thoughts. He’s exonerated of what he’s done. He didn’t know of it at all. “You guys were really happy with it, so who am I to be against it?”

“I was just thinking maybe you didn’t like it very much.”

It’s not like that, oppa. I think. It’s not that I don’t like it. It just puts me in an uncomfortable, embarrassing, awkward position. The thought of confessing to him possesses me, and I ponder over this thought too long I realize I haven’t given him a reply.

“Se Na-ssi…?”

I blink several times, reminded I left him hanging. “Uh, yeah. I’m here. I was just thinking of something,”

“What is it?”

“Well…what if I tell you…” here goes nothing. “Oppa, what if I tell you…”

“…Hm?”

Wait. You can’t tell him! My brain goes frantic. Rainbows, squirrels! Say anything! “I…IwanttobeatraineeatCube!” I say in one breath, just in time.

Laughter comes from the other end. “Haha. What?”

“I said, I want to become a trainee. Father himself says I could be so,”

“Wow, that’s nice! Good luck, then!”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, but Se Na-ssi, are you going to join the casting for the lead female role?”

Oh, right. There’s that. “It’s compulsory for all the female trainees so maybe…yeah,”

“Okay, then.”

“You should really go to sleep now,” I say. “It’s, like, 2 in the morning,”

He laughs discreetly. “You’re right. You too, Se Na-ssi. But oh, can I say something?”

“Of course.”

“Maybe when we’re not really that busy…do you want to grab a cup of coffee some time? Same time, same place?”

Externally, I was sounding silent. Internally, I was imitating the sounds of a dying whale. “A-ah-aha…sure, sure.”

“Alright, then.” He sighs. “Good night, Se Na-ssi.”

“Ne, jaljayo,”

“jaljayo,”

And that’s where the call ends.

Several days later, the aforementioned coffee-drinking does take place, not because we want it to happen, but because I need it.

A depressing news meets me.