"you've been home real late lately," bomin's mother commented.
the boy shrugged. "school is busy."
"what are you doing in school?" his mother narrowed her eyes, went closer to him. "it's only your third day."
"schoolwork?" bomin grinned, trying his best to keep his distance. too late.
"your breath reeks, bomin. have you — " her eyes widened, "have you been smoking?"
"no," he replied, too quickly. "i mean — okay, don't freak out."
his mother was all ears, standing rooted with crossed arms.
"i've been hanging out with these seniors — ow!" his mother hit him on the head.
she sighed heavily. "three days in and you've already made the wrong friends."
"no, mom! listen," he paused, looking her in the eye. "they're good people. bad habits, but good people. on the first day of school, everyone picked on me and teased and bullied me — "
"what?"
"wait!" he brought his hands up to his head to defend himself. "but then, those seniors came and helped me. i mean, they just beat them up, but that's besides the point. they saved me, mom."
his mother scoffed. "look at you. thinking you have to sacrifice your life just because they saved you a few hits."
not just a few hits, mom.
"they're sad kids, mom," bomin continued. "they've got problems. i want to help."
his mother reached her hand up, patted him on the head. her eyes softened, her voice did too. "i know you want to be liked, but giving in to smoking and whatever-else they do isn't the way."
bomin pressed his lips together. she didn't understand. "i want to help them," he repeated.
"they can't be helped, bomin. broken kids are the way they are for a reason. they won't change." her hand stroked his head. "no matter how much you want them to."
"it's still worth a shot," he mumbled, then continued in a louder voice, "i can help them, i will. i'll give them all the love they've never had. all the reasons to live."
"bomin." she watched her son. a good person, too good. "love can't glue a person back to the way they were. you can't — "
"i can try."