AS OYIN TAKES THE mandatory first term snapshots of them, Park sees her as the first day he met her. The first day their parents pitted them against each other. The first day they decided to stick it out and become friends in spite of the competition looming over their heads. 

In 8th grade, they fist bumped each other for having the initiative to be friends and at the time, Park tried guessing whether Oyin was making fun of him because they hadn’t taken the initiative, she had. Friends for nine years, fierce competitors for six, they’ve been through thick and thin, supporting each other in just about everything.

“One try and it came out pretty good.”

Smiling, she shows him the phone but Park doesn’t agree with her assessment.

The lighting is too sharp, the angle is off and Oyin’s puffy afro ponytail blocks half of his face. She’s shining and smiling so bright, the sun hitting her brown skin just right: her makeup, the sun and the filter did a very good of hiding her eye bags.

“I look dead.”

“Keen eye. I’m sending the photo to you. Post it to your gram.”

“Let’s take another. You only made yourself look good.” He brings out his phone but she turns around and starts walking toward the school. “Hey, not fair.”

“I’ll edit it. Stop whining. Where’s our trusted umbrella?”

Twisting around, Park brings it out from the pocket by the side of his school bag. “Right here. No one is giving me a black eye today.”

Beginning of the term is always frenzy and crazy, some of the students thinking the school’s compound is their acrobatic playground.  

Satisfied, they begin walking, Oyin tapping away on her phone, WJP vast double doors a welcoming sight. The students around him, not so much.

They sure are a sight, nonetheless. From the senior girls who cut their skirt too short and the boys who sew their trousers too tight to the girls who cut their skirt too short thinking they’ll get away with it like the seniors. 

Some of them try to hide it by the black stockings they wear but William Jameson Preparatory School is known for many things, eagle eyed teachers included. Before lunch, most of them will be sent to the school’s tailor to have it altered. 

“Be still my heart. Is that my wife?”

Whipping his head at the sound, Park isn’t surprised to find the popular redhead. The husband and wife. They’re at it again. Every term, they never fail to proclaim their undying love to each other as if the rest of the school hasn’t had enough. 

They’ve been doing this since the redhead enrolled in the school at 9th grade, some three plus years ago. It’s starting to get old but still annoying.

“That IB admission test kicked my ass. I’m excited to start some real challenge. What about you?” without waiting for his answer, Oyin continues. “Everyone’s saying JHU requires minimum of thirty seven (37) points but I’m aiming for a perfect forty (40). See?”

Opening her task app, she shoves her phone screen in his face. “My goals for the next two years.”

On the screen reads Task Accessing Perfect Preparatory Goals for the next two years

“A bit long, isn’t it?”

“I call it TAP for short.”

Oyin has filed them under high priority (immediate).

Be voted President of the NAM club

“As President-elect, you’re basically a shoo-in.”

“My parents say that they don’t give birth to last. I win properly this year.”

Become Distinguished Member of the STEM CLUB

WJP boasts of how innovatively different they are to other schools. What they do innovatively differently is slap on a fancy title on positions. 

“You’re Excelled Member, part of the top three.”

“But second to you. I can’t be your co-partner again this year.”

It is really not that big of a deal. Park doesn’t say that. That’ll earn him a smack and a lecture. The last time he did he got an earful on how he’s the ‘Leader’ representing the team at tournaments and competitions. Oyin doesn’t like accepting that on that podium, they’re one regardless of the badge they wear. 

And under medium priority (important!!!!) 

Score 40 IB points and earn that diploma

Shoot for a 1570 SAT score 

“You’re not aiming for a perfect sixteen hundred (1600), are you?”

“If I said I was, would you change your goal?”

“I should. We’re competitors, aren’t we?”

And their parents will never let them forget it. Entering the hallway, they’re greeted with the sickening, pungent smell of detergent and bleach.

“Ah. That sweet hospital smell,” like a psycho, Oyin takes in a deep breath. “Smells just like your parents clinic.”

He starts to nod but the strong smell of the acid swells his head like a balloon. Shaking it off, he breathes through his mouth but opening his mouth makes the sensation worse. 

“Parkinson. What’s up, buddy?”

He is jerked forward and the umbrella falls. “Sorry, buddy.” 

Lucas picks it up and shoves it in his chest. He doesn’t look apologetic.

“You don’t look too good. Is anything—”

Park shoves Lucas out of the way and strides away, trying to shake off the headache slithering in.

“Whe—”

“I’ll see you later.” He awkwardly pats Oyin on the arm and speeds up, trying to hold himself from running. 

**********

Not everywhere reeks of bleach for which Park is grateful for. The Guidance Counselor’s office smells like fresh sunshine, adequate sunlight and soft feminine perfume.

He stands in the corridor and inhales, the mixed fragrance calming him. The door opens and he composes himself, about to greet but stops himself when it’s the popular redhead, his head hanging as low as it can get.

Park wonders if the redhead finally got reprimanded for disturbing the peace of the students but that will be a teacher’s job and not Ms. Sterling’s. Forgetting about him, Park rounds the corner and softly knocks, and enters when he’s called in.

“My favourite Park.”

“I think that’s racist.”

“My favourite Korean Park.”

“I think that’s worse.”

Laughing, Ms. Sterling ushers him a seat. He hides a smile of his own, bewildered that this is how they greet each other. 

“What do I owe this visit? You never visit unless I call for you.”

Ms. Sterling’s office reminds Park of a particular child therapist he had followed his sister to once: all bright colours, eccentric art and sunny flowers. The space though small is smartly organized without making anyone feel claustrophobic. Even Ms. Sterling’s desk doesn’t have that cluttered feel.

“I wanted to inform you that as of today, I’ll be quitting Orchestra club.”

“The Conductor should be informed. But why are you quitting?”

“So I don’t get hounded by you like last time.”

Ms. Sterling chuckles. “I didn’t know about the situation. No one informed me.”

“That’s because no one would think you’ll be invested in my tutoring attendance.” A meaningful pause. 

“I’m also quitting the tutoring program.”

Rather, the Student Tutoring Advanced Club, a tutoring program run by gifted students for academically struggling students. 

Or according to the enraged school’s newspaper last year, a ‘club that is a shame of what it used to be: a club run by entitled, condescending brats who advertise their tutoring slots as a package only legacy students can afford. A club that prides itself on ridiculous admission processes that aren’t only rigged and shouldn’t be permitted but unattainable.’ 

“Is it because of what happened with Killian? I told you, he transferred out. He won’t be—”

“It’s not because of him. I’m quitting everything.”

Ms. Sterling has never looked so perplexed in his life.

“What is the problem? Why? You are aware colleges will consider all of your academic successes.”

“I’m aware.”

Ms. Sterling shakes her head slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“This is why you’re the first to be informed. When I drop them, I don’t want you—”

“To hound you. But Park,” out of words, Ms. Sterling sweeps her hair back, scattering her immaculate bob. 

“Has your Mother being informed?”

“Yes.” 

“I need you to think this through.”

“I have.”

“Is there something you aren’t telling me?”

“Should I be telling you something else?”

Narrowing her eyes, Ms. Sterling leans back into her chair. “I was there during the three day summer coaching.” At his confused nod, she continues. “Did the seniors scare you? It was a program to enlighten your class on what to expect from IB. I think they overdid it. Do you think you won’t be able to keep up? Is that what this is?”

WJP is the only school Park knows of whose IB classes are mandatory for eleventh and twelfth graders. Mandatory for overachievers like Park.

“If you need help with time management—”

“I don’t. I know what I’m doing.”

Ms. Sterling gives him a do you? look.

“What about STEM?”

“Not dropping that.”

Relieved, Ms. Sterling sighs. He waits until she’s beaming before revealing, “I’m withdrawing my application to be President of the STEM Club.”

“Park!” She shouts and springs up. Her yell shocks them both. Sitting down, she apologizes. “You’re in the top running.”

“I expect by next week my withdrawal applications will be processed.”

“It’s too early for jokes, Park.”

“I’m not a comedian. That’s not a smart career path.”

“And you’re smart, aren’t you? You’re too smart for this…stunt.”

There’s nothing left to say and so Park doesn’t. 

“Oyin isn’t quitting.”

When everything else fails, remind Park of his six year long competition with best friend. To Ms. Sterling’s aghast expression, Park stands and bids her good-bye.