TSESHR 11

Chapter : 11

“Sorry, kids. My hand slipped…”

“What the hell, that’s hilarious. Why are you talking down to us?”

“Exactly. We don’t even know you. Ajumma, do you know us?”*
(*ajumma = middle-aged woman)

“You’re just some lady selling tteokbokki at the market. Acting like you’re an adult? Boomer much?”

“…I’m sorry, students.”

“Not ‘I’m sorry.’ Say ‘I apologize.’”

At Song Yeoreum’s words—which sounded like she was correcting some dumb kid—Mom didn’t answer.

She pretended not to hear and wiped the spilled sauce off the floor. Watching that, Song Yeoreum and her crew burst into giggles again.

“Yo, yo. Film it.”

They blatantly shoved their phone cameras toward us.

Kids half Mom’s age were treating her like dirt, and all she could do was act like she didn’t hear. That was her best option.

“So? When are you giving us wet wipes?”

“Aren’t you supposed to clean my shoes for me?”

Honestly.

Isn’t dragging someone’s parents into it crossing the line?

“…Look, student. I tried to let it go, but you stuck your leg out as I passed. I avoided you, but then you stretched your leg out and I hit your foot and fell… that’s why I dropped the food.”

“Wow, she ‘let it go.’ Sounds like a market ajumma did us a favor.”

“Who asked you to hold it in? Don’t bother.”

“Hey, Song Yeoreum.”

I cut her off.

“Did you trip my mom?”

I tried to keep my voice steady, but it shook. Yeoreum smirked and said:

“And if I did?”

“…”

“So what? You gonna call the cops?”

“…”

“You can’t. This dump doesn’t even have CCTV.”

Yeoreum shoved her face toward mine, daring me to try it.

“…”

If I were twenty-nine, I really would have called the cops.

Reported them for destruction of property and business interference. Called in their parents—the ones responsible for supervising them—made them pay for the broken dishes and everything else. Told them to raise their kids properly.

Made those little brats understand how it feels when their parents are humiliated because of them.

Kids like that act like getting dragged to the police is a badge of honor and they’re not scared of their parents?

Yeah, they say that—until it actually happens.

Kids who think they can stay cool while becoming criminals?
In reality, most of them are nothing but neighborhood punks.

Usually they hide behind the parents they pretend to despise, too scared to even say their own names properly.

That’s what I would have done.

If I were twenty-nine.

But right now I’m eighteen.

If I whip out my phone and yell about calling the cops, Mom won’t back me up—she’ll stop me saying, “Why call the police over something like this?” And the cops will ignore me because I’m a student.

Not like I haven’t experienced that. Like on CSAT day…

I’d marched in with my bruised face to report that old man, and the officer just said,
“Looks like you’re upset about doing poorly. Go home and rest.”

…Wait.

Being dismissed because I’m a student?

“Ugh, how do I tag this location? I wanna upload it to our school page.”

One of Yeoreum’s giggling sidekicks said, wearing that loud hoodie that suddenly looked cheap to my eyes. She pointed her white phone—with the stupid pink bunny-ears case—right at me and Mom.

I grabbed the Coke can rolling on the floor, popped it open, and poured it all over her brand-new phone.

“Ack!”

She jumped up, dropping the phone.

“WTF?! What the hell?!”

“Are you crazy?!”

“F* f*** f***…”**

Panic-stricken, she tore off the case and tried to turn the phone back on. But it was already dead.

Wow, phones ten years ago really had no waterproofing, huh.

Also—

Is “f*” seriously the only word you know to express emotions? Pathetic vocabulary.**

Funny how getting angry can make you calm.

While I was thinking that, Song Yeoreum shot up from her seat.

Her precious shoes—the ones she bragged about—were drenched in coke and tteokbokki sauce. Definitely not “new” anymore.

“Kang Dahye…”

Yeoreum said my name, voice shaking like mine earlier.

“These cost over a million won. Can you pay for them?”

I answered calmly.

“And why should I pay?”

“…What?”

“Got proof? Your shoes. Her phone. You got proof I ruined them? Like you said—no CCTV.”

“Wh—”

“I’m not paying. If you’re mad, you call the cops.”

I held my phone out.
Told her she could use mine since hers seemed broken.

She didn’t take it, so I explained slowly.

Like I was teaching a slow kid.

“You always call me lame and pathetic. But the thing you think looks lame? Adults see it and call it dependable.”

Even cops who usually ignore students will act differently if they have someone to contrast.

“If you report me, I’ll deny everything. I’ll say you trashed our shop. It’ll be my word—the kid helping her mom in school uniform—against yours—the girl obviously skipping around. Whose story do you think they’ll believe?”

With no evidence, it’s purely credibility.

“Go ahead. I’m curious.”

I smiled.

Seeing my smirk broke her first.

As expected, things played out from there.

Her quieter sidekick freaked out—“If I go to the police again I’m dead!”—and pulled on Yeoreum.
The ruckus drew nearby shop owners, who pretty much drove the girls out.

As Yeoreum fumed toward the door, I called out:

“Pay before you go. 21,500 won.”

In this economy, 21,500 won…
They really ordered a lot just to mess with Mom.

“What?”

“I’ll be generous—I won’t charge you for the broken plates.”

Oh, also—

“If your shoes turn you pale over a little sauce, you shouldn’t buy stuff you can’t afford. Take the lesson. Don’t buy them next time.”

* * *

“Dahye, no matter what, they’re still customers…”

“Customers get value. They only broke stuff.”

“Still, you dumped coke? Do that and you turn into them.”

“Mom, how is a punch and a counterpunch the same? So invaders and Admiral Yi Sun-shin are equal too?”

“That’s not what I meant…”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Just go inside and rest.”

I pushed Mom gently into the kitchen.

I cleaned—tables upright, floor mopped.
When I came in, Mom was sitting dazed by the fridge.

I made a point of making noise as I walked so she’d hear me coming.
She wiped her eyes with her palm and stood up.

Trying to act normal, drying her hands on her apron, she asked:

“Did you eat?”

“Not yet. You? Ate?”

“You eat. I’m fine.”

“Eh, I came to eat with you. Mom, do you know rosé tteokbokki?”

“Rosé what?”

“Hold on. I’ll make it.”

After that, silence.

I ran around buying ingredients from the corner store, cooked, and we finally sat down facing each other. Mom kept her head down, looking gloomy.

“…It’s good.”

“Right?”

More silence.

I slid extra quail eggs into her bowl.

“Mom, when I get into a good college and make tons of money… let’s travel abroad.”

“Abroad, my foot.”

“Come on. Somewhere far. How about America? Ever been?”

“Would I have? Eat.”

“Let’s fly business. I’ll make enough to take you.”

When I started bragging about spoiling her, Mom finally smiled.

“I mean it. I’ll make your life easy.”

“I should be the one making your life easy. You just live well. That’s enough.”

“…”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you what other kids get.”

Plop.

A tear hit the back of Mom’s hand.

“My girl is so smart. You’ve got dreams and ambition. If you’d been born into a better family, you’d be so much happier now.”

What’s with this sudden melancholy?

“…You’re right, I want to do a lot.”

I want to get on a plane.

I want to eat fish and chips at that bright blue shop in Sydney Seojagyeom visited over break.

I want to walk into some fast-talking Manhattan café and place an absurdly complicated order.

One of the things I want is to make it on my own.

“Like you said, I’m smart. So even without help, I can do it.”

This second life I got—I’ll try everything I ever wanted, without giving up.

“So instead of being sorry, cheer for me. Give me strength.”

“…Okay.”

“Mom, this is seriously good, right? Should we sell it? Rosé tteokbokki?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Wow. Harsh.”

* * *

The next day.

“Ugh, I forgot to ask her for money for the workbook.”

Yeah, yesterday definitely wasn’t the mood for that.

Okay, priority list:

“Ask Jisoo if it’s okay to eat with Do-yeon today…”

Jisoo’s nice—she’ll say yes—but still, I should ask.

Thinking that, I crossed the road. As soon as I turned up toward the school gate, I saw a familiar back.

“Oh—Jisoo.”

Some things never change.

I waved instinctively—but froze.

Seo Jaegyeom was walking beside her.

He was carrying Jisoo’s huge backpack for her, naturally.
Their eyes met, he grinned and said something.

Jisoo burst out laughing.