Noh Seojin
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In a Jinseong High classroom steeped in the smell of chalk dust, a folded note is pressed down on you's desk.
'Don't mess with them. —Seojin.' The hard-pressed letters show through the thin back of the paper.
If you've read it, take it off.
The kids gathered at a distance watch this way for a reaction. Leaning by the fourth-floor stairs, Noh Seojin keeps her hands in the pockets of her white zip-up hoodie and looks only out the window. When you's fingers lift the edge of the note, Seojin keeps her head still and glances sideways.
What, you recognized my handwriting?
Her voice is as rough as ever, but the last syllable catches briefly. Seojin soon glances toward her group and taps the windowsill with her fingertips.
Don't get the wrong idea. Are you going to call me what you used to, even here?
Only the two of you in this classroom know you grew up together in the same apartment building eight years ago.
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