Hide & Seek

Just Another Day

"Oh." I shift the phone from one shoulder to another while juggling my files. Our school's annual singing competition is coming up soon so it means our publishing team is overloaded with demands for posters and articles on it. Beacon, they had called it this year. It's a bit less, well, obvious that last year's Sing!, but I've never thought it a good idea to put an English name as the title of a South Korean school competition. Most of us can't pronounce Beacon and I couldn't either, till Chanhee made it a point to correct me.

"No, no. It's alright, Jongup. Do your best, okay?" I say, still distracted by the amount of paperwork in my arms.

Nowadays, I kind of regret volunteering to be the design head, what with the workload and everything. It's a bummer too that my position isn't officially recognised by the school since they only count in two leaders in every extra curricular student organisation, which translates to only the chairman and the chief editor being acknowledged.

Jongup's stuck with remedial classes today. We were planning to head home together, maybe go for a movie too, but I guess not. I turn on my heels, weaving through the small horde of students in the hallway, and stroll towards the school gates.

Who am I? I'm Yoo Youngjae, a junior in high school. That's all I can really say about myself. I don't have any particular qualities that make me stand out, aside from the fact that I'm a bit of a tech geek and I love graphic designing. But most of us students have a passion, anyway, so I can't count it as something unique. Compared to a bunch of others with much more spectacular niches, I'm just as dull as dishwater.

There's a difference between someone who dances on stage before a crowd of hundreds and someone who works behind the computer to make a poster for a snazzy event. Designs are, for the most part, static, so it's natural people are more inclined to more dynamic interests. It doesn't help that I'm an amateur, so I don't stand out at all.

Being a wallflower, though, has helped me escape the ranking system of our school's social hierachy. I've never been striking, ever since I was young. I keep to myself most of the time and I don't know how to talk well. I'm not smart either—I fare average on my tests and that's about it. Adding on the fact that I'm far from owning a good physique or a handsome face (compared to many other boys in my school), I'm about as invisible as the school walls.

The walk to the train station is soothing, especially with all the work piling up recently. There aren't any students around since most of them have already gone home, except for some student strolling quite far behind me. I pick up my pace upon seeing the arrived train, settling by a pole with my earphones in.

The number of applicants this year is a lot bigger than the last time. Having to incorporate so many photos into a design is giving me a headache, but at least most of them are of a good quality. Perhaps I should make an arena design instead of the usual columns and rows. I drift off in my thoughts, conjuring up more possible designs.

A sudden jolt tugs me out of my thoughts and I stumble, my papers scattering across the floor. I hastily drop to my knees and apologise to the surrounding commuters in embarrassment, flimsily clawing the sheets up. Someone kneels down to help me gather them.

He extends a hand full of papers as I perk up, staring at him. Oh, I think he's the student who was walking behind me just now. He darts his dark eyes away, licking his thick lips.

"Oh, thank you," I blurt, still embarrassed by what happened. I quickly take the stack from his hands and struggle to stand. The boy moves back to the corner, eyes trained on the floor. I wonder what year he's in. He looks extremely familiar, but then again, I don't know the school population well.

Both of us exit the train at the same stop, walking down to the exit. I fall behind him in the large crowd, gaze fixated on him. The familiarity bugs me but I just can't seem to put my finger on it.

Oh, we take same train to school. I guess it slipped my mind after the two months long holidays, him being amongst the many students who I've seen around but still don't know. The thought is quickly wiped away when the boy turns back, meeting my gaze and sharply turning away.

I probably seem like a creep now. Shrugging it off, I head out of the station, clasping tightly on the application forms.