The Crown | myg

twenty-four

Fourth period comes flying by and, as promised by Mr. Park, I've been the supply teacher for all of the boys in the gang. This final class, however, has all of the boys in it at the same time. English class, the one class I could actually teach if I had to.

"Hello, everyone," I say in English as I walk into the room, my fake accent causing me to fit in as a teacher who learned English as a second language rather than a teacher who was raised by a Korean father and an American mother.

I guess the way I spoke made it seem like I knew the most basic of the language because, almost immediately, the gang in the back begins to try to hit on me in English with the assumption I wouldn't understand.

"Hey, teach, you're pretty sexy," one growls, his accent nearly as thick as my fake one. It's easy to tell that his flirting vocabulary came from watching movies and erotica. "You sure I haven't seen you working the corner before?"

The boys around him chuckle, but I chuckle as well.

"Bold of you to assume that I don't speak English," I say in Korean. Their eyes widen, but quickly narrow again. I chuckle and change to English. "You can either stop making snarky comments about me, or you can go to the office."

"Either you can sit on my face, or you can get to the lesson and leave me alone," the same boy chuckles.

I place my hands on the teacher's desk and narrow my eyes at him and his laughing friends before letting out a loud laugh that causes them to jump and be quiet.

"I can tell that your extensive knowledge of the English language comes from constantly watching porn, a good old date with your right hand," I make a jacking off motion with my hand. "I'm sure you understand the words I'm speaking, to a certain point, but I also guess not."

The boy is silent for a moment, but he speaks again, this time in English, an innocent and confused expression plastered to his face. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that in Korean?"

He genuinely has no idea what I said, which will make the translation much more fun to say.

"I said," I growl, changing to Korean as fast as he requests. "I can tell that your extensive knowledge of the English language comes from constantly watching porn, a good old date with your right hand," I make a jacking off motion with my hand to repeat myself. "I'm sure you understand the words I'm speaking, to a certain point, but I also guess not."

The class bursts into a low fit of laughter before the boy stands up and screams, a movement that gets them all to stop being annoying and loud.

"Go to the office," I say. "You and your little gang."

They all stand up and begin to leave the room, so I quickly grab the walkie-talkie that I brought for Yoongi, Beomgyu, and myself.

"Code three," I say before running down the hall after the boys.

"Code what?" Yoongi responds with confusion.

"They're going to the office, dumbass," Beomgyu says, already panting from running to the office from his classroom. "Get in your position."

I laugh at Beomgyu's remark, but I don't respond to them, I just continue to run down the hall until I meet up with Beomgyu at one of the crosses between two sets of hallways as they intersect.

The sight of only Beomgyu causes me to pull my walkie-talkie out of my pocket. "Yoongi, we're at the meeting point around the corner from the office, where are you?" The device beeps in my hands as I let go of the button. Beomgyu and I stand in the middle of the silent hallway awaiting his response, nothing to be heard.

"Yoongi, it's been long enough, we're gonna lose our window," I speak as I look at Beomgyu with confusion in my eyes.

"Maybe his walkie-talkie died," he suggests.

"They're brand new, that's the issue," I say as I begin to walk down the hallway towards the office, Beomgyu following behind me at half the pace I'm moving. "I took them out of the package this morning and put in brand new batteries."

I change my pace to a light jog, as does he, and we move down the hallway and into the office with no time to waste. Something could be very wrong and our plan could be soiled, so I better think of a new one once we get in the room.

As the two of us walk into the office, we see no sign of the grey-haired receptionist that was sitting at the desk when we arrived, just a silent room with no one to be seen. As I begin to walk back to the principal's office, I can already tell something is very wrong when I see two teenage hooligans with poorly made leather vests standing in front of the door with their arms crossed.

"Sorry, tutz, the principal is a little busy right now."