THREE YEARS LATER
Why is getting ready in the morning such a hassle?
I quickly fix the collar of my unbuttoned shirt, my gaze sweeping across my bedroom. In mental pain, I grimace when I imagine the pending scolding from my mother when I get back home from school. Her whole thing is constantly worrying about all the bacteria accumulating under all the clothes strewn around my bed and the scrunched up papers previously tossed in the general direction of my bin.
I cannot understand how it gets so messy in two days when I tidied up during the weekend.
Also, where the hell is my watch?
While bent down, I search for it underneath my bed.
Suddenly, my door opens loudly. I curiously peek over at the agape doorway underneath my armpit and catch the upside down frame of my youngest brother standing there. His hands come up and he signs something, a little too quickly for me to interpret.
"What?" I muse, furrowing my eyebrows in confusion.
Dismissively, he waves me off and jogs away from the doorway without even closing my door.
I irritably stretch my leg over to nudge the door closed.
Eventually, I find my watch and wrap it around my wrist, only able to pin it to the first hole on the strap.
My aunt gifted me this Dora the Explorer gadget two years ago. The thing is both childish and not age appropriate, but my mum always insists that I wear it. She claims it would be disrespectful not to make use of a gift given with love.
At first, I tried everything to get rid of it.
Pawned it off to Chu Hua who retorted with and I quote, "I'm not your idiot, Seong Jin."
Yang Jin rolled his eyes and literally threw me out of his room.
Even sweet Ji Ho refused.
So year nine was spent either wearing long-sleeved shirts or with the watch buried in my bag as soon as I hit school grounds. Now, I hardly give a shit what people think of me so I flaunt it around with pride.
Let Dora smile.
I toss on my blue jersey, sling my orange bag over one shoulder and shove my phone into my back pocket. Headphones are already grabbed and draped around my neck—I refuse to suffer another bus ride without them.
One time I forgot them, and the chaos on that bus nearly broke me.
My ride options vanished overnight when Yang Jin graduated. I tried to convince Taylor, but she gave me a look straight from hell and declared that she was not a chauffeur. Year ten was all Franklin. Year eleven started strong with Edward until he started dating my best friend. Now he leaves early to pick her up, even though she has her own car.
So yeah, I take the bus.
My camera sits patiently on my desk, strapped to the tripod. I scoop it up, sling the strap over my shoulder and let it settle at my side.
Heading out of my room, I wonder if it's too late to join the photography club. Maybe I can snap pictures for the school newspaper or yearbook to stay busy during my final year in secondary school. I missed club sign ups because of course I did. I tried picking a sport to shed the extra pounds, but the thought of sweating on purpose nearly sent me into cardiac arrest.
I glance at my watch and curse under my breath.
I barely have enough time to eat breakfast before the bus leaves. If I miss it, my options are either to beg Franklin for a ride before his shift or somehow convince Yang Jin to drive me. The latter is likely to occur when hell freezes over. He only ever does favours for our sister now. Pretty sure I have been demoted to an optional sibling.
Hurrying down the stairs, I catch my mum in the living room area drinking her daily cup of what I would assume is coffee.
When I sneak a peek at the telly, I'm not even surprised to catch her watching a medical show. Some drama that has something to do with anatomy.
She is way too obsessed with this show. Well, more so critiquing the medical validity in it. She will even go as far as compromising a few minutes of sleep for it. No matter how tired she may be, she will never miss an opportunity to infuriatingly point out how stupid it is that defibrillators are pulled out before doing chest compressions.
"Joh-eun achim-ieyo," I greet her in Korean, bowing respectfully.
This is sort of practice for whenever we go over to visit Halmeoni. She can be very strict about speaking to her in the language she was brought up speaking.
When she averts her gaze from the television, I ignore the dark circles underneath her eyes and the tiredness that is causing them to slightly droop. Her black hair is trimmed short, a few strands slightly covering her hazel brown eyes.
She just tugs the corners of her mouth up tiredly.
"Rough night?" I muse knowingly, leaning against the doorway. I bring my camera up to record her. "Or should I say rough morning because it is looking rough."
She shoots me a dry look. "I would love to explain to my uninterested son about how I revived a person after twelve hours of chaos, but I don't have the energy for it."
"And you want me to be a doctor?" I scoff, stopping the recording. "I mean, I've seen you hit rock bottom before and I mean no offence, but this is a new low."
"You don't have to be a physician. There are easier paths like being a GP," she says, sipping her coffee. "Let's be real, you're not nearly as bright as I was at your age."
"Hey!" I glare.
She smiles behind her cup. "No offence."
"That doesn't make it less offensive."
"Exactly."
When I hear the piercing sound of a joyful squeal echo across the house, I quickly pivot on my heels just in time to catch sight of my sister barreling toward me. Her dark pigtails flap like flags in the wind. Her smile is wide, radiating pure delight that lights up her entire face.
Moments before she reaches me, a fleeting tension courses through my body. I have to consciously resist the instinct to draw back in surprise by her unrestrained joy as she wraps her small arms around my leg, holding on tight. It is a rare sight to witness her so exuberantly enthusiastic about my presence.
Did she maybe just stick a slap-me note on my back?
I check. Nothing.
She's in her favourite rock band tee and those Disneyland trousers Franklin bought her on her fifth birthday—still unfair, by the way, no one offered me Disneyland for any of my birthdays.
I grin cautiously.
She rarely hugs me these days, thanks to Yang Jin whispering poison in her ear. He got jealous because Ji Ho likes me more, which he actually admitted during dinner. I nearly cried. Yang Jin lost it and suddenly dubbed Chu Hua his favourite in retaliation.
Finally, I ask, "Why are you touching me?"
She beams innocently. "Cause you're the best brother ever, oppa."
I squint.
Well, that's a blatant lie.
Not that I'm not the best brother; I can be... but she's only saying that because she definitely wants something from me.
When our mom walks past and coos about how sweet we are now that we're finally getting along, we both beam at her innocently. The second she's out of sight, I drop the smile and glare at Chu Hua.
"Alright," I say, deadpan. "What do you want?"
Her sweet act evaporates and she huffs, tilting her head as if I'm the problem here.
I bite down the urge to roll my eyes.
She keeps doing this thing where she pretends she's smarter than me with her fake compliment routine when she's actually not.
I catch her sneaky glance at my camera before she plasters on that innocent smile.
"Okay, fine," she begins sweetly. "I have this scrapbooking project due, and I was hoping my generous brother might lend me his—"
"No."
"Please?" she pleads, blinking at me desperately. "I swear I won't break it,"
I grip the camera tightly. "Not happening, Chu Hua."
"Fine, but can you at least help me?" she asks after releasing a defeated sigh. "I cannot fail Art. I'll be the butt of the joke."
I pause, considering her plea. "Sure, I'll help you."
She perks up. "Really?"
"On one condition."
Her entire face instantly drops. "What condition?"
"You clean my room for a week."
Her face twists in horror, the colour draining from her cheeks. "Absolutely not."
"Well, have fun being the butt of the joke when you fail Art." I feign walking off.
She panics and grabs my arm. "Okay, three days."
"Four."
She groans. "Deal."
I kneel to her level and offer my hand, grinning.
She clenches her jaw angrily, but shakes my hand anyway.
"Start today," I tell her with a smug grin. "Open the windows—my room is a sauna. Also, water the hydrangea and the rose. Thanks."
She groans and drags herself upstairs like I asked her to scrub the entire house.
"Don't touch my private stuff!" I shout after her.
She tosses a death glare over her shoulder and silently mouths back something mocking.
I smile, slightly amused.
"Seong Jin," Amma calls when she returns, voice full of judgment.
I glance over, eyes widening guilelessly. "What?"
She just hands me her cup after shaking her head, definitely not amused.
Heading into the kitchen with the coffee mug, I almost trip over my own feet when I catch a rare sight. Blinking does nothing to change the scene. I still catch his groggy figure hunched over the sink, the sound of soapy water sloshing around along with the clatter of cutlery.
Yang Jin is washing the dishes.
I skipped out on dish duty last night, faking sudden symptoms of a mysterious illness. Yang Jin, ever loyal to the "not my turn" code, refused to pick up the slack. Franklin tried volunteering—bless him—but Amma launched into an angry monologue about lazy hands and this household not being a hotel. The twins were unconscious logs by then, so the dishes I was supposed to wash just... marinated in the sink overnight.
And now here stands Yang Jin.
Doing my chores.
Did someone bribe him? Threaten him? Is this a dream sequence?
More shocking than the dishwashing is the fact that he's vertical before nine. Post university, Yang Jin had made sleeping in his new legal right.
This—this breaks all precedent.
"Uh... you're doing the dishes?" I muse slowly, going over to the pantry to get a granola bar. When I find the milk chocolate one, I shut the door closed with a screech. "And you're awake?"
"You know," he starts without even turning around to face me, "for someone who just got left by the bus, you're acting awfully comfortable."
I look over at him in confusion.
Flicking my wrist, I quickly check the time and relief replaces my panic. My eyes glare into his back venomously.
There he goes again with the lying.
Yang Jin will never change, will he?
I remember when we were both still young, he convinced me that playing outside in the rain was a good idea. Deep down, I knew we were going to get in trouble when Amma returned home from work even after he promised me she wouldn't scold us. It didn't come as much of a surprise when, later that night, we were both standing in puddles, being stared down by our mum.
"The bus only comes at seven thirty," I proclaim and pick a seat on one of the stools so I can enjoy my granola bar in peace. Throwing my bag on the island, I peel the chocolate open and continue, "I have about six more minutes to relax before it arrives."
"Apparently you haven't seen the bus's new schedule," he echoes to me and finally turns around, using a dry dishcloth to wipe his damp hands. "Some kids from your school apparently complained about having to walk miles to catch the bus, so it has to pass by here earlier to get those kids. You just missed it."
I pause mid-chew and watch his face for any sign of flippancy. There is zero, nothing like playfulness breaking into his eyes.
Over the past sixteen years of my life, I have learned that my brother is the sort of person who has mastered the art of being earnest even when he's joking. He's a person who is very good at keeping his emotions in check when he is trying to be deceitful. He is the reason why I didn't drink milk for a long time until my mum finally reprimanded him for telling me that unclear drinks contain bugs.
So this too must be because he's trying to fool around with me... right?
"You're lying," I state with a flat stare thrown at him.
"Am I?"
Leisurely, Yang Jin walks over to the fridge. He dismantles a paper that was stuck on the door using a magnet. Holding the paper out to me, he smirks in amusement and arches his eyebrows up.
For the first few seconds, a challenging stare is shared between us and I try to decipher how hard he's bluffing. Curiously, my eyes flicker down to stare at the paper and for some mysterious reason, I start feeling nervous. Again, my gaze moves up to meet his.
He seems pretty confident.
Quickly, I spring up out of my chair and rip the paper out of his grasp, disregarding the smug look on his face from my fold. Rapidly, my eyes shift around as I read what is written on the paper.
Attention students,
Starting next Monday, all buses will arrive 10-15 minutes earlier at each stop to accommodate students walking long distances—especially from Queen Victoria Street. Please plan your morning routine accordingly.
Thank you!
"What the—" My eyes widen fearfully and I glance back up at the satisfied look Yang Jin has painted across his entire face. "How long have you known about this?"
Nonchalantly, he says, "Oh, I've known a couple of days now."
"And you didn't think to tell me?"
"I did. Why do you think I'm up so early?"
"I think you're about ten minutes too late since I already missed the bus." Then pleadingly, I say, "You're gonna have to drive me to school."
He scoffs deliriously and then spins around to dry a ceramic bowl. "I'm busy if you couldn't quite tell. I'm washing someone else's dishes."
Realisation hits me like a train in the face and in my shock, I murmur, "Oh, my God."
"What?"
"You did this on purpose, didn't you?"
"What are you talking about?" he muses, blatantly feigning oblivion.
"You purposefully didn't tell me about the bus changes so the bus would leave me. That's the real reason why you're up so early."
He neither confirms nor denies my accusation, but the little shit-eating grin on his face is telling.
"So, this is all about me skipping dish duty? Is that it?"
"Yeah, pretty sure it is."
I look at him in disbelief. "You're so petty."
"And proud," he adds.
"Yang Jin, you cannot do this to me. Not today. Not ever. I haven't been late once this year. My attendance record is flawless. Do you know how rare that is? If you refuse to drive me, you're personally ruining my perfect streak!"
Yang Jin barely looks up from his dishwashing duties. "I'm sorry, Seong Jin, but these plates aren't gonna clean themselves. Maybe if the guy who faked being sick last night had washed them," he shoots me a pointed look with a smug little smirk, "I'd have time to be your chauffeur."
I blink at him, stunned. "You're actually evil."
His grin only widens.
He's enjoying this.
"Fine, I'll just ask Franklin."
As I spin dramatically to storm off, his vainglorious laughter follows me to the doorway like a victorious drumroll which forces me to pause at the doorway, my face pinching in irritation.
Then I roll my eyes and turn back to face him. "What?"
"Franklin left early to open the diner," he says with the kind of smile that belongs in evil movie posters. "Geurigo uri eommaneun? How did you describe her... looking rough? So unless you plan on asking our exhausted mother to drive you—"
My soul leaves my body.
"You're the worst human alive," I hiss, eyes narrowed into daggers.
"Love you too," he calls cheerfully. "Drive safe, namdongsaeng!"
Snatching my car key from the empty fruit bowl, I scrunch my nose in annoyance at the audacity and leave the house through the door leading into the garage.
In frustration, I flick the switch on the wall up which causes the garage door to slowly rise into the ceiling. The outside light spills in, emphasising the beast within with a washed out grey sheet draped over it. It stands proudly and majestically in the same spot it has been in for the past few months.
I remember when I woke up on my sixteenth birthday and opened the door to find Yang Jin standing on the other end looking at me with excitement in his eyes—it was the most emotion I had ever seen on his face.
We then rushed downstairs with him dragging me in my still sleepy daze. When we got to the living room area, I was instantly ambushed by my mum, Franklin and my other siblings who immediately started singing the happy birthday song whilst holding a chocolate cake in my face and... talk about awkward.
The usual birthday fare from my mum and siblings arrived right on schedule—gift cards tucked into handcrafted letters, sweet and predictable. But then came the present from Franklin. When I opened the box, I was confused at the sight of a lone key nestled in the box.
No note.
When I anxiously asked him what the key was for, he smiled softly and mischievously said, "Why don't you go outside and check for yourself?"
So I did.
And parked in the front yard was a brand new car. My car. Sleek and shimmering in the morning sun, just waiting for me to slide behind the wheel and take it anywhere I wanted.
Except I couldn't because I had never taken a driver's test.
Over time, I chipped away at the milestones. Learner's permit. Driver's license. I passed the tests, memorised the rules, even parallel parked under pressure. But the idea of driving alone was still petrifying.
The freedom to drive was always there, but the courage to do so was always MIA.
So I always ride the bus. It's loud and rowdy, but it gets me to and from school and that's all that matters.
Gingerly, my fingers curl around the sheet, pulling it off dramatically just like how they do it in the movies. The sheet unfortunately ends up going over me, momentarily blinding me in the darkness. I kiss my teeth in amusement and punch the darn thing off, letting it pool around my feet.
And I see it... my baby.
It's not as majestic as it used to be.
It just looks like an ordinary silver sedan large enough for me.
I'm glad it's not big because handling something bigger than this would actually give me a panic attack.
I will never be able to decipher why men feel the need to own big cars. Apparently, and I quote directly from Franklin, "Big men need big vehicles."
Whatever that means. I just think that's his ego speaking.
Pressing the unlock button, the blinkers flash orange quickly and the locks click open loudly, announcing my impending doom.
Intense nerves make my stomach twist anxiously and I suddenly feel that granola bar coming back up. Luckily, I manage to keep myself from hurling with a quick swallow. After a while of just standing out here and watching the car, I finally find the courage to pull the door open and slip into the seat before I can second guess my decision.
No turning back now.
Behind the wheel, my heart flips and immediately broadcasts the news to every organ on duty.
Attention! Seong Jin Lee is driving solo. Repeat, no supervision in sight.
Panic spreads through me like gossip in a group chat. If organs could scramble, mine would be playing musical chairs. I wouldn't be surprised if my kidneys had temporarily relocated to my chest in solidarity with my fluttering heart. Not to calmly hang out either—they are spiralling out of control.
I suck in one last deep breath to steady myself. The seatbelt clicks across my chest, and I slide the key into its designated hole. My brain immediately clocks the innuendo and tries to get a laugh out of me, but I'm too on edge to entertain it.
When the engine roars, it's like hearing an old friend after months of radio silence. I can't believe she's still alive even after sitting idle for a couple of months.
Honestly, I suspect Yang Jin has been sneaking out with it when he gets bored of riding his motorbike. Which, to this day, remains one of the most baffling choices he has ever made. He sold an actual functioning car to buy a glorified death wish on two wheels.
But it's Yang Jin. I don't ask questions anymore.
The day he brought that thing home is etched into my memory. Instead of the familiar hum of a car rolling into the garage, we were hit with the throaty growl of a motorbike. We all sprinted out, confused and mildly concerned only to find him tugging his helmet off, grinning as if he did not just sell the car our parents got for him.
For a bike.
Amma was livid.
My hand trembles slightly as I grip the handbrake and ease it downward. The car jolts alive and I slip the gear into drive, my foot hesitating before pressing the pedal. I grasp the steering wheel with white knuckles, every muscle in my body bracing against the unknown.
The car suddenly lurches forward too quickly place.
When a figure materialises from thin air in front of me, I instantly slam on the brakes. The tyres screech as though screaming on my behalf. A sickening thud echoes through the frame and then—silence.
My breath catches.
My heart completely forgets how rhythm works.
My eyes widen and unblinkingly, I whisper, "Oh shit."
The quiet stretches, cold and merciless.
And then louder, I exclaim, "Oh shit."
Did I just...?
Did I just kill someone?