One, two, three, four days passed. Mark diligently followed this newly established schedule of watching Jenni on the rooftop during lunch. As much as he did it out of free will, it also served the purpose of avoiding Jackson. Because even though Mark valued the friendship, he was tired of all the inevitable socialization that went along with it. It was Wednesday, and Mark had been listening to that enchanting guitar for well over a week.

      She was singing the same song as the first day. The one about how the ground was cold or something like that. She stopped abruptly.       "Fire-head! You can come out of hiding now."        Panic. Was she referring to him? Had he been caught? Of course he had, who else could appropriately be the said "fire-head"? He stepped out cautiously, and she looked him in the eye. His entire life, or lack thereof, flashed before his eyes. (how overdramatic) This is it. This is what a smuggler must feel when he's stopped at the border. This is what seeing the flash of a camera after running a red light must feel like. He braced himself.       "You can stop grimacing. Hand me your phone?" Jenni asked coolly. His hands seemed to have a free will of their own, one that cowered in fear in the presence of guilt. One that complied with everything this petite girl said. And so he watched as his hands surrendered the newest Samsung model in astonishment, for he should have certainly been running or making an awful excuse at this precise moment. However, he was paralyzed. Expecting his phone to be hurled into the bustling streets of Seoul, Mark prepared himself. (Yeah, this guy really did not have a lot of understanding  when it came to other humans.) She punched in a number and sent a text.       "Make sure to answer when I text, and always listen to my instructions. See you in class."