When Bae Suzy's autistic brother comes to her private school, she's determined not to let anyone know they're related. Even if that means losing contact to all her closest friends, including the charming football player Oh Sehun. But she just couldn...
On Tuesday night, I was too emotionally spent by the end of my speech to even think about how it received. But, as someone who's won all those ribbons, certificates, and awards my mom has kept, I should've known my underlying tendencies would reveal themselves. Curiosity gets the better of me, and the next morning before school, I log on to the contest website.
The results are posted. I didn't win first place, or place as second or third. But I'm a bit flabbergasted to find that out of twenty-six participants, my name is among the three listed as honorable mentions.
A photo of the winners accompanies the list. I recognize several of those boys in the suit and ties wearing medals on striped ribbons around their necks. The honorable mention winners are among them, holding small winner's cups.
I wonder if my recognition was attributed to the content of my speech or my presentation of it, and I hope it's a little bit of both. I feel the slightest bit og regret that I didn't make myself stay. On one hand, I finished what I set out to achieve - I proved myself to myself, even if I haven't yet proved myself to the people I care about. On the other hand, it would've been sort of nice to have the moment captured on film. So I could remember that sometimes it pays off to speak up.
Maybe the contest organizers will mail me my trophy or something. I'll put it away but I'll be able to look at it from time to time. And that will be the end of the contest.
Except, as it turns out, that's not the end of it. Not at all.
When I walk into study hall that afternoon, Mrs. Lim asks to see me in the hallway. She grabs a small red gift bag off her desk, and I follow her, trying to ignore the feel of Sehun's curious eyes on my back.
Once we're alone, she smiles brightly and hands me the bag. "Congratulations, Suzy!"
I peek inside the bag. There sits my trophy.
There's a handwritten note beside it.
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It is signed "Yoon Solbin, Professor of Social Psychology, Gwangju University."
I remember one of the female judges, sitting at the end of the table, in a wheelchair. My instincts tell me it was Solbin.
I smile a little bit, thrilled at this tyoe of acknowledgment. From a professor! At a real university!
"The secretary said someone dropped it off this morning," Mrs. Lim tells me. "She said the woman passes the school on her way to work. Since I was listed as your sponsoring teacher, it made its way to me. I was excited to see your trophy in that bag. What an accomplishment."
I blush and mumble a thank-you, twiddling the handles of the bag in my hands.
Then Mrs. Lim looks back toward the classroom. "That being said, it's pretty obvious that you aren't particularly comfortable sharing about this experience." She points toward a recognition bulletin board on the wall where she has posted noteworthy student achievements. The newspaper article about Sehun's playground is among them. "I would love to give you the recognition you deserve, but . . ."
She looks at me for an explanation.
I look down at the floor. "It was really a personal thing."
I hope she doesn't press.
Luckily, Mrs. Lim has always been kind and understanding, and she lets the topic drop. But first she pulls a slim, square case from behind her back. "She sent this, too." I reach out to accept the DVD she offers. "Just know I'd love to watch it someday if you ever change your mind." She chuckles. "I'm proud of you, that's for sure, even if I can't fully understand why."
I place the DVD into the gift bag with the trophy and Professor Yoon's note. "I know it doesn't make sense that such a public thing I'd actually do private and personal, but . . . it just is."
She puts a hand on my shoulder. "It's your experience. You don't have to explain yourself to me."
We went back inside the classroom without further discussion. Sehun continue to stare as I shove the red bag quickly into my backpack.
When I sit back up . . . he's still looking at me.
Sehun hasn't looked at me, not really, since he walked away from me at the playground over a week ago. But now he's looking at me again and he looks sad. His face is constricted and his lips are parted, like he was going to say something, sitting right there on the tip of his tongue.
But this time around, it's Sehun who remains speechless. He gives me one last pained look before dropping his head and returning back to his work.
