The pink kind with handles slightly chewed from nervous chewing, its middle blackened from scraping the pavement every lunch break. Yeji had just learned to skip with both feet—no stumbles, no missteps—and she was quietly proud of herself. She stood in the corner of the courtyard, sleeves rolled up, pigtails bouncing gently as she jumped in rhythm.
“Thirty-six… thirty-seven…” she whispered to herself, her voice barely louder than the slap of the rope against the ground.
She didn’t notice the shadow behind her until the rope went slack mid-air. A hand had snatched it from her grip.
Yeji stumbled forward and caught herself awkwardly. She blinked at her now-empty hands.
“Hey—!” she yelped, her voice high and startled.
A fourth-grade boy towered in front of her, gangly and grinning, her rope dangling loosely from his hand. “This is kinda cool,” he said. “Thanks.”
Yeji’s heart thumped. “It’s mine.”
The boy shrugged. “You left it lying around. That means it’s fair game.”
“I—I didn’t! I was using it—please give it back…”
Her voice wavered near the end. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides, but she didn’t know how to make them stop. She wasn’t loud. She wasn’t the kind of girl who shouted back or screamed for help. Instead, her eyes just started to sting.
The boy chuckled. “Well, you don’t look like you’re using it now.”
She lunged forward—quietly, desperately—but he lifted it above his head, sneering.
All around them, the playground seemed to slow. A few kids stopped chasing their balls and skipping ropes, drawn to the sound of trouble like moths to a flame. Whispers started floating.
Yeji’s cheeks burned. Her lips pressed together tightly, and she quickly looked down so no one could see the tears gathering in her eyes.
And then—
“Let go of it, idiot.”
A second-grader’s voice cut in, sharp and angry.
Wooyoung.
He stood just a few feet away, chest rising with quick, heated breaths. His white uniform shirt was half-untucked, a grass stain blooming across his right knee. He must’ve run straight from the monkey bars.
The older boy laughed, not taking him seriously. “What, is this your girlfriend or something?”
Wooyoung didn’t answer.
He just charged.
It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t fair. But it was fast. He slammed into the fourth-grader’s side like a boulder made of knees and elbows, sending them both crashing to the gravel. The jump rope flew into the air like a ribbon and landed a few feet away.
Screams and gasps broke across the yard like firecrackers.
“FIGHT!” someone yelled.
A whistle shrieked.
“HEY! BREAK IT UP!” two teachers bolted toward the scene.
Yeji stayed rooted to the ground, her hands clasped together tightly, eyes wide with shock. She hadn’t expected him to come. She hadn’t even seen him nearby.
The teachers pulled the boys apart, Wooyoung squirming like a furious cat. His cheek was scraped raw, and there were tiny bits of gravel stuck to the side of his forehead. The fourth-grader was yelling, “He’s crazy! He jumped me! I want my mom!”
“Principal’s office,” snapped a teacher. “Both of you.”
—
Yeji was made to sit outside at first.
She clutched her jump rope to her chest, now dirty and tangled from the scuffle. Her fingers trembled around the handles. She kept her head low, trying to be small and silent, but it didn’t stop the tears. They fell in slow, soundless drops, trailing down her cheeks and onto her skirt.
She hated crying. But she couldn’t help it.
She hated making people worry. But she couldn’t stop.
Eventually, someone opened the door and let her inside. She shuffled quietly to the bench across from Wooyoung.
He sat there swinging his legs, an ice pack pressed lazily to his face. His knuckles were red. His uniform shirt was untucked on both sides now. He looked like trouble.
He glanced at her.
“…You okay?” he asked.
Yeji didn’t answer right away. Her voice was still caught somewhere in her throat. She sniffled.
“You’re stupid,” she whispered, not quite looking at him.
Wooyoung raised an eyebrow. “Probably.”
“You could’ve gotten in serious trouble.”
“Definitely.”
She looked at him. His cheek was swelling. His hair stuck up in odd places from the fall. Yet somehow, he was grinning.
“But you got your rope back, right?”
Yeji looked down at it again—muddy and messy and completely hers.
She nodded once.
“You’re still stupid,” she muttered, softer this time.
Wooyoung leaned back against the wall, wincing.
“Yeah,” he said, eyes closing. “But I’m your kind of stupid.”
Yeji didn’t say anything.
Instead, she reached out and quietly placed the jump rope on his lap.
He opened one eye and looked at it.
“I’ll let you borrow it next time,” she murmured.
Wooyoung smirked, not saying anything. But he kept the jump rope in his lap. And when the principal walked in moments later, neither of them moved.
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