The morning classes dragged on with the speed of a dying snail. When the break bell finally rang, it sounded less like a signal for recess and more like a trumpet announcing freedom.
We returned to our classroom, Class 2-C. I sat down, ready to review my history notes, but peace was not an option today. Jin tossed his bag onto the desk next to mine with a heavy thud, almost knocking over my water bottle. He didn't sit down. Instead, he leaned toward the window, using the reflection in the dark glass as a makeshift mirror. He was fixing his hair. Again. For the twentieth time since first period.
He adjusted a single strand of hair, moving it two millimeters to the left, then two millimeters back to the right. He frowned, wet his finger, and slicked back his sideburns.
"How do I look?" he asked with absolute, life-or-death seriousness, turning to face me. He posed, tilting his chin up and squinting his eyes in what he probably thought was a 'mysterious' look.
I looked up from my book, scanning him from his messy tie to his overly gelled hair. "You look like someone who hasn't slept in two days because he was fighting raccoons in a dumpster," I answered with brutal honesty. "And you have a smudge of ink on your chin."
Jin gasped, frantically rubbing his chin. "You're lying! I look rugged! Rugged is in style!" He sighed, collapsing into his chair. "Stop stressing me out, Ray. She's not just a girl."
"She is just a girl," I replied, turning a page. "She eats, sleeps, and breathes oxygen like the rest of us mammals."
"No!" Jin slammed his hand on the desk. "She is Sarah. The angel of Class 2-B! The girl who lent me an eraser three months ago and smiled when I returned it! Today is the day, Ray. I planned everything."
I closed my book, resigned to listening. "Let's hear this master plan."
Jin cleared his throat, his eyes gleaming with tactical brilliance. "Okay, listen. Phase One: We walk past her classroom. Phase Two: I spot her by the lockers. Phase Three: I approach casually—not too fast, not too slow. Phase Four: I lean against the locker—one arm up, cool pose—and greet her with a deep, manly voice. Something like, 'Hey Sarah, nice weather for studying, isn't it?' Then, Phase Five: I walk away before things get awkward, leaving her wanting more."
I shook my head in despair. "That sounds like a script for a bad soap opera. Especially the 'deep voice' part. You have the vocal range of a chipmunk when you're nervous."
"Shut up! It's a genius plan," Jin insisted, standing up and adjusting his blazer. "What could possibly go wrong?"
[The Walk of Doom]
We stepped out into the hallway. The corridor was a jungle of noise—students shouting, lockers slamming, and the smell of floor wax mixed with cheap cafeteria food. Jin was walking with a strange, stiff gait, puffing his chest out so much he looked like a pigeon.
"Relax your shoulders," I whispered. "You look like you're holding your breath." "I am holding my breath," he wheezed. "It makes my chest look bigger."
We turned the corner toward the lockers of Class 2-B. And there she was. Sarah stood by her open locker, surrounded by two of her friends. She was laughing at something, her long hair tied back in a simple ponytail, looking effortlessly normal—which, to Jin, meant she looked like a goddess descending from Olympus.
Jin froze. His "tactical walk" faltered. His face, previously pale with nerves, suddenly turned the color of a ripe tomato. The "coolness" evaporated instantly, replaced by the panic of a deer in headlights.
"Go," I nudged him from behind. "Phase Three, remember?"
Jin moved. But he didn't walk. He marched. His legs moved stiffly, like a rusty robot in need of oil. His eyes were locked on Sarah with an intensity that bordered on terrifying.
He got closer. Five meters. Three meters. Sarah turned around, sensing someone approaching. Her eyes met Jin's.
Now was the moment. Phase Four: The Deep Voice. Jin opened his mouth. He tried to summon the spirit of a baritone opera singer. "H-H-Hello..." he tried to say.
But physics and biology betrayed him. His throat constricted. The voice that came out wasn't deep. It wasn't manly. It was a high-pitched, cracking squeak that sounded like a rubber duck being stepped on. H-HELL-O?
The sound startled him more than anyone else. In his extreme fluster, his brain disconnected from his legs. His right foot caught the strap of his own bag, which was dangling too low.
Time seemed to slow down. I watched in horror as gravity took hold. Jin tipped forward. He flailed his arms, trying to grab onto something—air, a ghost, dignity—but he found nothing.
He didn't just fall flat. He stumbled, careened sideways, and crashed shoulder-first into the metal lockers. CLANG! The sound echoed through the hallway like a gunshot. The impact sent his bag flying open. His textbooks, notebooks, and a loose apple launched into the air and rained down, spilling right at Sarah's feet.
Silence fell over the hallway. The chatter stopped. Everyone turned to look. Jin was plastered against the lockers, sliding down slowly, looking like a cartoon character who had just run into a wall.
Sarah looked at him. She looked at the algebra textbook resting on her shoe. She looked at the apple rolling away. Then... she burst out laughing. It wasn't a mean, mocking laugh. It was a genuine, bright sound of amusement. "Are you okay, Jin?" she asked, bending down immediately to help him gather his scattered life.
I wished the ground would open up and swallow me on his behalf. I covered my face with my hand, peeking through my fingers. Jin wished for death. I could see his soul leaving his body.
"I... book... yes... gravity... thanks!" he mumbled, spewing unintelligible words. His face was burning so hot I could almost feel the heat radiating off him. He snatched his books from her hands without making eye contact, bowed aggressively three times, and then—abandoning all plans—he turned and sprinted back toward our classroom, leaving Sarah standing there, holding his apple, chuckling lightly.
[The Aftermath]
I walked back to Class 2-C slowly, trying to process the tragedy I had just witnessed. When I entered, I found Jin at his desk. He had buried his head in his arms, creating a fortress of shame. He wasn't moving.
"Not a word, Ray..." his muffled voice came from beneath his arms, sounding like it was coming from a grave. "If you say one word, I will jump out the window."
I sat down, suppressing the urge to laugh until my ribs hurt. I patted his back sympathetically. "You're a hero, Jin. Truly. You certainly left an unforgettable impression. No one will ever forget the sound of your head hitting that locker. It was musical."
"I hate you," he groaned. "My life is over. I have to change schools. Maybe change countries. Do they have schools in Antarctica?"
"Don't be dramatic. She laughed with you, not at you," I reasoned. "Sort of."
Suddenly, a shadow fell over our desk. Lina entered the classroom. She was holding two cold juice pouches in her hands. She looked fresh and calm, a stark contrast to the disaster zone that was Jin.
"I heard a loud crash in the hallway all the way from the library," she said with a bright, innocent smile, placing a strawberry milk on my desk and a banana milk in front of Jin's buried head. "Did Jin decide to wrestle the lockers today? Who won?"
Jin slowly lifted his head. His hair was messy, his forehead was red, and his eyes were teary. "Lina... did everyone see that?" he whispered.
Lina laughed, a soft, bell-like sound, and sat on the edge of my desk, swinging her legs. "Everyone," she confirmed mercilessly. "But don't worry. I saw Sarah. She was smiling while holding your apple. She didn't look annoyed." She leaned in closer, whispering conspiratorially. "Maybe she likes clumsy guys? It triggers their maternal instinct or something."
Jin sniffled, taking the banana milk and piercing it with the straw aggressively. "You think?" "I know," Lina winked at me.
We spent the rest of the break laughing. Jin tried to defend his lost dignity, reenacting the scene to prove it was a "mechanical failure" of his bag strap and not his own clumsiness. Lina and I just nodded and laughed, teasing him relentlessly but with love.
The afternoon sun streamed through the window, bathing the classroom in a golden glow. The smell of banana milk, the sound of laughter, the carefree banter... It was a pure atmosphere. Full of life. It was the kind of day where the biggest problem in the world was a high-pitched voice and a locker crash. I looked at my friends and smiled. I didn't know that these days of "innocent embarrassment" were numbered. That soon, we would give anything to have problems this small again.