My Light, My Jimin

Chapter 2: New Professor

"Alright, that's all for today," Professor Min says as he opens the door for us. We file out one by one, with me being the last in line. As I walk past Professor Min's desk, his dark eyes scan me, narrowing at my face.

My brows rise as I glance at him, taking in his long, sleek black hair and black turtleneck, then back to the line. Something about his stare makes my insides tighten, heat surging up my cheeks. I don't like being stared at, so when I give him a cold glare, he backs off, pretending to stack papers.

I grip the straps of my backpack as I leave. Then I remember watching him teach, how he never once looked in my direction, how he let go of the syllabus like it was on fire when handing it out to me. A room full of students, and yet he avoids me.

Weird. And kind of rude.

Shaking my head, I ignore it. There would be no point in making an enemy out of a teacher I'm stuck with for four months. He'll have to put up with me too, so we're even.

The hallway is empty except for me, the stray. Taehyung and Jungkook are already on their way to the next class, holding hands in their disgustingly cute way. I wonder how long I'll have to endure this, if Taehyung will ever take the hint that I'm not smiling as much as I used to, or that his house is much more quieter without me laughing with him. It's hard to think all those memories will be wiped out by some kid from Busan.

It doesn't take me long to find my next class. I'm put in geometry honors, which is a nice way of saying I have the math skills of a toddler. It's not supposed to be condescending, but it is.

When I enter, the classroom smells like dead plants and lingering coffee. On the blackboard in all capital letters spells out a name:

Professor Kim Namjoon

In the corner sits a small podium, no desk, and a tall man occupies the space as he fidgets with a paper under a camera, the image of the paper being blown up on the big white screen to our left.

"Psst! Jimin!"

I turn and find Hoseok already sitting at a desk, gesturing for me to take the empty seat beside him. I don't tell him how much I appreciate the consideration after being with Taehyung and Jungkook for an hour. I just give a nod and sit down.

"How was the first class?" He asks me.

"Eh. I think my professor hates me."

He makes a wild expression, eyebrows raising to his hairline. "Who could hate you? Who's the teacher?"

"Professor Min."

At that, he lifts his head. "Oh, yeah. I've heard he's on the strict side. Don't take it too personally. I'm sure he'll warm up over the course."

I shrug. Not all teachers have agreed with me, and that's okay. They have dozens of students come and go, all over their lives, and sometimes connections are made. I shouldn't take offense that a teacher ignored me, but somehow I do.

The first few minutes of class immediately dive into Pythagorean theorem to "warm up our brains." Even though we're not even halfway through, my brain is fried. Professor Kim teaches like he's in a hurry, enunciate words, and spit them out like a rapper. He goes around the tables asking if we have any questions. No one says anything, which means no one is brave enough to ask. We work on the seven pages he hands us until the very last second. Then he shoos us out like we're caged birds being set free.

"That was a whirlwind," Hoseok says, mimicking a cartoon with stars spinning above his head. We fall in step together and walk along the open path to the nearby campuses. Hoseok walks with a bounce in his step, like his shoes have tiny trampolines in the soles. He's always been chipper ever since we met on a tour of Daegu University. We were in different high schools, but talked like we knew each other forever. That summer, we ended up spending nights together and gaming until one of us passed out on a phone call with the other.

Whatever we did, we always managed to have fun. It was a longing that was satiated after months of being without Taehyung. I only confided in him about it after he shared the story of when his parents divorced the night he graduated from middle school.

"Did the Korean barbecue restaurant ever respond to your application?" Hoseok asks.

"No. Honestly, it's fine." At least I saved up from birthday and Christmas cards, but I doubt it will be enough to keep me afloat. The cost of textbooks alone was enough to make me hesitate. I looked for a part-time job but realized quickly that if I wanted a paying position that was flexible with work hours, I couldn't be picky.

"Have you checked around campus? Maybe someone needs help with tutoring," he says. "You're good at explaining things in an easy way."

I've thought about that, too. Tutoring would be easy money, but that would also come with random people; never knowing which one will be patient enough to sit through half an hour of someone without a teaching degree comprehend what the subject asks for. "I don't know. Maybe."

He smiles. "Think about it. They have fliers about it in the library."

"How many more classes do you have after this? Do you want to go together?"

"Just three more, but I'm needed at the Quan's for pet-sitting after this. We can go later if you want."

"Oh, sure," I say, "sounds good."