OUR HEARTBEAT [BEOMJUN] ✅

one

The sky was perfectly blue. Not a single cloud marred its surface. I lay on my back on the seat of my WaveRunner, my feet up on the handlebars. I let my hand drift down to the water and skim along the surface.

“You’re teasing me, aren’t you?” I asked the sky. “Today of all days.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and took a picture of the sky. I posted it online with the caption In denial.

My phone rang and I startled, nearly dropping it into the lake. I sat up and answered.

“Hello?”

“Beomgyu. Where are you?” Mom asked.

“Um …”

“It wasn’t a hard question,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Out on the lake, huh? You have to leave for school in twenty minutes.”

“Ugh.” School. I’d been trying to pretend it didn’t start today. If my school were in Lakesprings, the town where I lived. But there weren’t enough permanent residents in Lakesprings to support a school. So my high school was thirty minutes down the mountain in Oak Court.

“Come on,” Mom said. “It’s your brother and your cousin’s first day of high school. Don’t make them late.”

“I’ll be right there,” I said. I hung up and powered on the WaveRunner. Just then, another WaveRunner passed me by, sending a spray of water over my entire right side.

“Hello! Distance!” I shouted. I hated when people who clearly saw me drove too close.

I wiped off the screen of my phone on my left sleeve, tucked it back into the pocket of my board shorts, and steered back toward the marina.

Mom was waiting on the dock as I pulled up. People often said I looked exactly like my mom. Not really what a sixteen-year-old wants to hear when her mom is forty.

“Fifteen minutes now,” Mom said, giving my wet swimsuit a once-over.

I flashed her a smile. “I just have to change. I’ll be fine.” I pulled up to the dock and she reached for the WaveRunner to tie it off.

“This one is rented out starting at eight a.m.,” I told her.

“Does it need gas?”

“Probably,” I said. “I can fill it.”

“School, Beomgyu.” Mom gave me a side hug.

Sometimes school felt so pointless when I already knew what I wanted to do with my life—run this marina with my parents.

“Okay, okay.” I kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Have a good day!” she called after me.

I walked across the street, around the corner, and through the front door to our house. A short person ran past me, followed closely behind by another little kid screaming, “Uncle Chan said it was my turn!”

Here is the thing about our living arrangements: My grandparents grew up in Lakesprings. They owned both the marina and the five acres of land across the street from the marina. When they decided to retire, they gifted the marina and the land to their three kids, who then divided the lot and built three houses next door to one another. My aunt and my uncle, who had other jobs, sold their shares of the marina to my parents, who had already been managing it. And that is how we ended up with a marina we ran while living on a family commune.

I rushed down the hall to my bedroom and quickly changed. I ran a brush through my hair; it was still damp, but it would dry on the drive to school. Then I grabbed my backpack and hurried out of my room.