Page 29 of XOXO

I stare at him, confused why he’s so angry. “I was told I needed to fix my tie—” I begin.

“Your classroom, now!” He’s literally yelling at me, spittle flying.

“You don’t understand. I’m a new—”

“GET TO YOUR CLASSROOM!”

And now I’m on the verge of tears. Why is he shouting at me? “But—”

“Seonsaengnim.” Jaewoo appears from out of nowhere, addressing the teacher by his title. “She’s a new student. I was showing her to her classroom.”

Suddenly the teacher is all smiles. “Ah, Jaewoo-ssi. Of course.”

Jaewoo gives him a close-lipped smile, bowing as the teacher walks away. He then presses his hand lightly against my back, leading me to a door that he pushes open.

We’re in a stairwell, light filtering in through a skylight above us. I step forward, taking deep breaths. When I’ve composed myself, I turn to face Jaewoo who’s now leaning against the door.

“Are you all right?” he asks in English.

“Yeah,” I say. “Thanks for...” I wave in the direction of the hallway in a gesture that’s meant to encompass everything.

“He shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he says gently.

I stare at him, wary. He’s acting like he did back in LA, a complete one-eighty from pretending like we’d never met.

“Why weren’t you in your homeroom?” he asks.

“A girl told me if my uniform broke regulations the whole class would be penalized.”

Jaewoo offers a sympathetic smile. “She was just messing with you.”

That’s so mean! I’m a new student! Why didn’t Sori say anything?

“Still,” Jaewoo says, “uniform violations will get you points off your next test, that or you’ll be made to run around the track field a few times.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Wow, Korean schools are pretty strict.

“The truth is...” I kick my feet against the floor. This is embarrassing. “I don’t know how to tie a tie.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He shakes his head. “What kind of education were you getting in the States?”

“A public school education.”

He steps away from the door, his hands reaching for mycollar. Slowly, he loosens the sloppy knot I’d managed this morning. A small crease forms between his brows as he concentrates. Undoing the knot, he evens out the sides of the tie. Sliding one side down, his knuckles brush my shirt. I suck in a sharp breath.

“Sorry,” he says, hands going still for a moment. He bites his lip, then continues, Adam’s apple bobbing.

He makes a new knot by slipping the tie through a hole and pulling gently.

I observe him as he works. Unlike when I met him in LA, he’s not wearing makeup. He looks younger without it, but just as handsome. His left arm is also clearly not broken anymore, as he uses his left hand to hold the tie in place, tightening the knot. The tattoos on his wrist are gone too.

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