It took me half an hour, not the usual fifteen minutes, to get to Maestro Baek’s class and boy, was he furious. Blame the rain, bald guy; it’s not my fault that my umbrella got broken and was forced to stay under a convenience store’s shade for five minutes! Of course I arrived late, but I happened to glance at my reflection at a window so I spent around a couple of minutes to make my drastic look a presentable one.

I still looked unpleasing, which was probably another factor to why Maestro Baek’s infuriation was fueled up than the usual piano sessions. “Play the finger exercise,” he said, eyebrows crossed. Think on the bright side, maybe he woke up on the wrong side of the bed today? I don’t want to think about reality. He hates tardy people, and unfortunately, I was. I gulped and my mind turned into a red alarm, its imaginary sound pounding in both my head and my heart. My face scoured, because I wasn’t usually like this, but I really wanted to impress him since I practiced three times for this. Out of the whole week. But that was an unpleasant thought because I practiced for around thirty minutes, and I wasn’t even serious about it, so there’s no point anyway.

A short-haired chubby girl entered in the room and sat at the organ. She started out fast; no clumsy pin-clipping on the pages, sat with a good posture, and what I’m most envious of, the sound of her recital piece. I bet she’s going to do a classical one because she learned fast, while I’m going to play the “Roller Coaster Is Fun” piece. Right then I realized that I overestimated my ability, and that I’m not really serious about it.

I left Maestro Baek’s house, only getting a smile from him after an hour and a half, when I bid goodbye. I was hungry, but not in the mood to eat, although I went to a fast food place anyway. I was in a daze because of my failure to deem my favorite music teacher’s expectations, and the thought of being a somewhat accomplished pianist before this summer is going to be wasted due to my laziness, impatience, and uncommitted practice schedule. These caused me to spill noodles on the space between my legs; its clinging broth splattering on the denim that covered my thighs.

I was homebound after a messy early dinner, and if not for the overcrowded people that was also inside the bus that I rode in, I could’ve cried in my seat for four reasons: the two I stated before, the bittersweet movie I watched last night which because the ending wasn’t the conclusion that I wasn’t expecting (and even though I’m fine with another one, I sensed that the director ran out of budget, the production time was cut short, or some inside conflict happened in the set), and I recently texted my pals that I had to excuse myself from joining our whole-day amusement park trip due to the sudden change of date of the piano recital. The bright side thought wasn’t even working for me anymore since yes, it was going to be embarrassing to wear a dress and play a silly-sounding piece in front of your friends, but instead they’re at a fun place without me.

My shoulder bag was slipping out of my shoulder, adding to my anger meter. I took deep breaths while walking to my home, but I happened to glance at the park and it looked peaceful, so I sat at the bench that faced the grassy field. I was lucky at that time because there was only one unfamiliar guy dribbling his soccer ball. His eyes and cheekbones were intimidating, but overall he was handsome. Football is probably the only sport that I follow or watch whole-heartedly, and I could tell that the he was close to a professional. He did tricks; most were accurate while the hardest-looking ones were still with flaws. The unrequited looking session only lasted for a while, so I slumped my head on my lap and muttered incoherent words. I could’ve slept in that kind of position, when I heard a fast-moving object going towards my direction. I was hit in my left leg, but I remained in my position. He seemed to have jogged from where I was seated, and I was amazed that I could hear his presence through his cleats as they become heavier at an unimaginable speed.

“Sorry.” He briefly said, his voice baritone. I wanted to look up and reply back, but the leg that he hit was still stinging with pain. It wasn’t that bad, but I’m afraid that if I move, I might cringe in front of the new guy. “Are you okay?” He followed up, so I nodded slowly and tried to move my leg, which was now miraculously okay. An instant smile crept up on my face, which he probably saw, making me feel and look stupid. He smiled back, showing his crooked teeth, which somehow made me happy, since coming from Maestro Baek’s place, I haven’t seen a person with a bright appearance. Even the cat whose place I usually pass by looked grumpy.

I stood up, a bit elated by the pleasant disposition that he had somewhat passed on me, and without my brain’s consent, I shouted back at him, “I’M NOW FINE!” He stopped from what he was doing for the past fifteen minutes and waved at me with that smile that I have now saved in my long-term memory. I hope I did, because I surely need it when I feel down. Somehow he managed to catch up on me as I walked home, again with that now familiar sound of his cleats lightly tapping the ground. I wasn’t hesitant to talk to him first since he broke the ice first, and besides, I need a new friend in this neighborhood that I’ve been living since I was born.

“You kick prett-y hard. Let me guess, you’re a midfielder? Um, an attacker?” He seemed to like my question as his face brightened up and nodded his head.

“Most of the time, but on some games I get to be a forward. D’you play as well?”     

“Nope, I only watch with my dad. He’s like, so into it though he’s too lazy to play,” we both laughed and introduced ourselves. I have to say Yoon Doojoon’s way of introduction was really amusing, since he said his name while balancing his ball on the sharp tip of his nose and told his age and repeated his playing position by doing a diving header and kicking the ball with his heel, respectively. I could tell he’s a showoff, but the boy’s got skills and I haven’t heard a person ask me if I’m doing all right in a very long time. He told me that he’s new in town, so I joked that I tried to hint if he had a provincial accent, but to my dismay, he said that he was a Seoulite and that his parents wanted to live in a quieter neighborhood. I eventually knew that he’s proud and a physical bully (he hit me with his ball a lot of times), although I knew that he’d be a great chilling companion since he’s easy to talk with and likes to tell jokes.

“My state earlier was a drab, and you know those kinds of teachers whose class you don’t want to go to? I have to endure this because I know he’s the Mozart of my time.” I told Doojoon what happened this morning. He continuously laughed, and now his high-pitched chortles and chuckles were becoming an annoyance to me.

“I had piano classes for three years. I’m pretty sure you’re gonna improve if you practice a lot,” Doojoon said nonchalantly, his focus now on his ball. “It’s awesome when you open your book and read the notes effortlessly. It took me some time as well, like you did.” He stopped at the newly-sold house that used to be my childhood friend’s back in the day and told me that it was now theirs. I was on my way when he called me back, asking me if I wanted to have ginseng tea that his mom made. I thought, why not? I kind of want to see the renovation that the Yoons did inside, and why on earth did Mrs. Yoon make hot tea on an equally hot day. Well, the rain cooled the weather a bit, and the wind was chilly… okay, scratch that; today was miraculously fine in terms of the weather. I was expecting to see a woman in the kitchen, but Doojoon told me that both his parents were out, so we were alone in his new home.

“This place didn’t change much,” I pointed at different places, trying to name what piece of furniture and decors that were now in place of their own, when I noticed a black baby grand piano. I playfully cringed at the sight. “Oh man, don’t remind me of that.” Doojoon came out of the kitchen with two glasses in his hands.

“I changed my mind. I wanted Gatorade,” He must’ve noticed my surprised reaction and explained himself. “I made it with love, exactly two tablespoons of fruit punch powder and mixed it with water two centimeters below the-“

It was an understatement to say that that wasn’t the most hilarious thing that I’ve heard in my life from a grown teenager, so naturally, I laughed which echoed throughout the whole house. From the corner of one of my crinkled eyes, I saw Doojoon’s eyebrows furrow as he placed one cup on a table and screamed a defensive “HEY!” at me after drinking his “well-loved drink.”

“If you’re not drinking it, I will!”

“Did I say anything referring to me not drinking it?” I retorted.

He growled another “HEY!” which made me laugh again. I sat next to him probably too close because if we were cheek-to-cheek right now, I could imagine his jaw line slitting mine. I gulped my drink, thinking that possibly, in the future, I may have a liking to him. Well, that’s probably lame and destructive, because he’s the best candidate for my future boy best friend.     

“As you may know, Kang Hyesun, these hands are not only made for juice-making–“

“You mean mixing instant juice concentrate with powder.” I cut him off. This is the start of a long-term fight.

His eyes seemed snarled at me. “BUT,” Doojoon’s voice raised. “Also for the piano, which, as your good friend, will teach you.”

“Woo, I’m totally honored.” Deep inside, I really was, although I still have to know if his showing off was really worth the pride talk that we shared earlier to get to know each other. I stood behind him and observed as he took his time to read the notes, and played them continuously without any flaw. He turned to me with a half-smile and I clapped; my mind suddenly becoming a light bulb. Now somebody could teach me this piece! Doojoon patted the space on his left onto which I sat.

“I’ll start at the lower C while you’re gonna be on the middle C.” Doojoon said, and my right hand automatically went to the middle part of the piano while the other rested on the space between us. I felt something warm on it, which turned out to be his hand, carry mine and placed it on my lap. He patted it and reprimanded me like I was a five-year-old, telling me that he’d guide my left one on his part. If I could separate my soul from seeing what was happening between us, I was certain that this scene is a rip-off of some old romance film, and even though I’m sure of his intentions, I know Doojoon was only helping me out.

In a short while I had a hang of it, thanks to him constantly lifting of my finger (he said I had stubborn fingers) and advice on how to improve my note reading. I didn’t notice him leave until I heard the continuous thump sound that distracted me from playing, and it turned out that Doojoon was playing football inside the house.

“Focus Hyesun, like what I’m doing!”

“Inspiring.” I snorted to myself, although I was glad of his motivation. In every mistake that I commit, Doojoon enthusiastically reprimanded me. It was impressive that he can make remarks about my errors by ear, and although I found it annoying, there was less feeling for that than the relief of knowing that I now have the motivation to practice, just like the juice-making guy playing on my left with his soccer ball.