As usual, her mother had lied.  The stupid formal dinner at the Hwang’s was taking much longer than the promised two hours, and she could feel her lungs being squeezed by the ridiculously tiny dress her mother had chosen, until there was barely any air left.  Worse than that, she had not been able to eat a single bite because she was afraid the belt tied tightly around her middle would fly off like it had two weeks ago during a tea party – luckily, the only witnesses had been her grandparents, whose reactions had been to merely laugh, although not in the hurtful way her mother had.

All she had managed was a small bite of the delicious truffle spaghetti and a piece of broccoli forced into under her mother’s threatening glare.  Then a waiting maid had whisked the dish away to replace it with another.  Which, of course, she dared not even touch.  The hunger pangs were almost getting too much to bear by now, though, and she regretted not sneaking in several more mouthfuls while her mother had been distracted, busy engaging the courteous Mrs. Hwang in frivolous conversation she was certain the latter had no interest whatsoever in.

She really could not understand her mother’s obsession with the way she looked; at the age of twelve, mirrors still meant nothing more than a piece of reflective material in which one could check for food stuck in one’s teeth.  In her opinion, she didn’t look that different from the rest of her female classmates, an observation her adolescent mind translated into being acceptable.  Besides, her homeroom teacher had always made it a point to emphasize that inner beauty was far more important than superficial skin-deep appearances, and she agreed wholeheartedly – just two days ago in school, for example, everyone had rallied behind Song Sena instead of Kwon Yuri when they got into an argument, all because Sena was nice and Yuri was not.  Nobody cared that Yuri was obviously the prettier one.  If she ever ended up in a similar situation, she would much prefer to be in Sena’s position than Yuri’s.  Who wouldn’t?

With nothing to occupy her attention, she was on the verge of drifting off into sleep when she heard her name being called, then someone was tugging softly at her silk sleeves.  Roused from boredom, she rubbed away the tiredness from her eyes to find the Hwang daughter smiling hesitantly at her.  “Do you want to join us?”

Finally.  Returning the smile, she accepted the savior of an invitation, eagerness apparent in her tone, “Sure.  What’re you doing?”  Not that she minded, either way.  At that moment, anything was better than having to sit through a second longer of the torturous pseudo-dinner; as long as the excuse could get her away from the stifling table, she would gladly welcome it.  Mrs. Hwang seemed pleased that her only child was proactively attempting to make friends with a guest and, unable to object in that situation, her mother gave her permission.  Freed from her chair, the twelve year old hopped down without delay.

“Follow me closely, okay?  You might get lost since our house is quite like a maze,” the older girl laughed lightly, “Oh, I’m Miyoung, in case you forgot.  Don’t worry, I’m bad at remembering names too, so I don’t blame you if you didn’t catch it.  Sungjoon and Sungyeol are already in my study room.  We were thinking of playing a board game.  It’s kind of weird though, don’t you think – the four of us barely know one another, plus there’s an age and gender divide… I have no idea what my mom was thinking.”  Again, Miyoung laughed her charming laugh, and although the younger girl knew they were separated by a mere one year, she couldn’t help idolizing the mature elegance with which Miyong carried herself, how natural she was in the part of the capable hostess.  Here, she thought, was a person thoroughly likeable, someone she would want to befriend.  She couldn’t imagine anybody possibly harbouring hatred towards the kindly and warm Hwang heiress.

That day, the awkwardness between the four of them melted into a sort of comfortable acquaintance over a game of Cluedo thanks to Miyoung’s efforts in making them feel at ease: the sullen, perpetually slouching teenager, the tensed introvert, and the opinionated young girl.  They left the small dinner party having truly enjoyed themselves as opposed to the usual overwhelming sense of relief that came with the goodbyes and well-wishing and promises to meet up soon.  All that mattered then was that they had managed to escape yet another painful social event relatively unscathed, and it was enough.