Friendship Speaks Louder Than 话
Title: Friendship Speaks Louder Than 话
Rating: pg
Pairing: TaoSoo
Warnings: n/a
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, written just for fun.
Summary: Kyungsoo didn’t expect to meet a friend as cool as Zitao in his town, and who knows what the future holds for them but he is looking forward to discovering it together.
A/N: written for Kyungsooperior 2015!
A slim brown fist knocks on his desk.
“你好. 你会说中文吗?”
Kyungsoo looks up and stares. A shy smile peels back from the pursed lips in the pinched face in front of him. The kid is new, or at least Kyungsoo has never seen him around town before. And his hair is dyed a deep, unnatural shade of red most parents in this conservative town would never let a thirteen year old try. The only kid in their grade with salon treated hair is Krystal, who is also incidentally the only other Korean American in the eighth grade.
“你是哪国人?” the boy says.
“전학생 맞죠?” Kyungsoo asks, even though he’s already pretty sure this kid must be a transfer student. He smiles when the newbie just blinks at him, betraying no sign of understanding nor confusion. “Can you speak English? At all?”
The boy shakes his head, a wistful slant to his lips twisting his smile. Or maybe it’s just the change of angles as his head turns, Kyungsoo thinks. The guy has unique features, a sloping nose and prominent cheekbones. His face would be a challenging portrait to draw in charcoal.
“That’s okay,” Kyungsoo says to reassure him, remembering at the last second to smile again. His brother is always telling him to smile more or people will think he eats nails for breakfast instead of Corn Pops. “Here, you can sit with me until Ms. Jenkins comes in. No one uses this desk during first period.”
The boy hesitates, the straps of his leather satchel sliding down his shoulder, but takes a seat once Kyungsoo pats the wooden chair once more. “Zi...Tao…” he says, pulling his lips wide as he sounds out the word. He points to his face and repeats.
“Oh - your name? Tao?”
”Zi Tao,” the newbie corrects Kyungsoo’s clumsy pronunciation, but his eyes light up with appreciation all the same. He points to Kyungsoo next, eyebrows disappearing into his wispy fringe in a silent question.
“I’m Kyungsoo,” Kyungsoo says, “Kyung… Soo…”
Zitao repeats the syllables in a whisper and nods twice. Kyungsoo picks at the fraying cardboard corner of his sketchbook cover and waits for the bell to ring. He’s never been good at making small talk even when there are no language barriers to complicate things, but Zitao seems content just to sit beside him, humming to himself as they wait.
Ms. Jenkins bursts into the classroom just as the bell sounds. Her peacock feather earrings bounce against her shoulders as she hurries to put her coffee mug down and shimmy out of her rain slicker. “Good morning, guys! Is the new student already--? Oh, there he is! I see you’ve already made friends with Kyungsoo, Zee-tow?”
“Yes ma’am, we’re introduced, I guess,” Kyungsoo replies, even though the question wasn’t directed at him. “Is it alright if Zitao sits here?”
“Well, since it’s the only empty desk in the room, I don’t see why not!” Ms. Jenkins chuckles as she reaches for her coffee. “Alright, guys! No big announcements for today, I don’t think I have to remind you that tomorrow is--”
“Valentine’s! Whoo!” a freckled boy named Charlie hollers from the back row. Kyungsoo is grateful his new seatmate is not as loud as Charlie, the soccer goalie and reigning 4th of July hotdog eating champ. The seat beside him has only been empty for a few weeks anyway, just since Aggie Taylor had an unexpected move to her Dad’s place at the beginning of the semester.
Honestly, Kyungsoo hasn’t minded having the small buffer of unoccupied space between himself and the rest of the rambunctious class, but it kind of feels nice to have a quiet presence beside him again. As long as Zitao doesn’t have seasonal allergy issues like Aggie’s constant sniffles, this new seating arrangement should work out fine.
“Oh!” Ms. Jenkins whirls on her heel, turquoise skirt flaring out like the flash of her dark eyes. “I almost forgot I’m supposed to remind you guys that if anyone is planning on bringing treats to school tomorrow, your parent or guardian needs to have submitted a form and they’ll have to drop off the snacks to the front office. Sound good?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the class drones in bored unison. Most of the students are excited for the party tomorrow afternoon, but no one cares about the administration’s rules for food safety they had to bring home on purple xeroxed fliers two weeks ago.
The parents who always send cupcakes and chocolate covered pretzels for special events have known the drill since their kids were in kindergarten. Kyungsoo’s mom is of the efficient variety, she just sends a giant bag of M&M and Skittles packets to avoid questions and paperwork.
“And I hope you all finished your decorating your mailboxes last time! The glue should be dry by now. Does someone want to go by the art room later and check?” Ms. Jenkins raises her own hand as she swivels on her heel to scan the room for volunteers, as if the gesture will inspire reciprocal hand movements among the student population.
There is an awkward moment of silence before Vera Lynn raises her hand and tosses her blonde braid over her shoulder. “I’ll do it, Ms. Jenkins. I have to go by the art room later anyway, to borrow spray sealant from Mr. Kim.”
Kyungsoo rolls his eyes at the name drop. It’s obvious that Vera Lynn still has a crush on the art teacher, though Kyungsoo doesn’t blame her or any of the other girls who giggle in the halls when Mr. Kim flounces past in a cloud of sandalwood perfume. He can pull off the most flamboyant hairstyles, from rainbow spikes to his current shoulder length waves dyed a shade of red that’s just a tad brighter than Zitao’s.
The art teacher has even been known to wear lipgloss to school, a stunt that raised a few eyebrows but no adults mention it to his face because they know he comes from the exotic wilds of New York. Some people are just inherently crazy, and there’s no use trying to talk them out of being that way.
That’s the argument Kyungsoo’s heard people use to excuse his own oddball behavior, like the fact he prefers sketching airplane models in the library to the rough and tumble thrill of soccer games. Kyungsoo doesn’t mind what people think of him though, as long as he has enough peace and quiet to keep doing what makes him happy.
“Thank you, Vera Lynn.” Ms. Jenkins rolls her eyes a little too, which makes Kyungsoo smirk in sympathy. “Okay, guys! Time to review for your History quiz.” The teacher snaps her fingers as she rummages along the cluttered fringes of her desk for a piece of chalk. “We stopped on page 37, I think?”
Kyungsoo spreads his textbook open on top of his sketchpad and motions Zitao to scoot his chair closer, so he can read off the page. Kyungsoo underlines the passages with his pencil eraser as Ms. Jenkins reviews them so Zitao can follow along, but he’s not sure how much of the classroom discussion the new student can understand.
Zitao has an electronic pocket dictionary he uses to look up vocabulary like “resettlement” and “pioneer”, but that can only help so much. Even a top student like Kyungsoo struggles to remember the spellings of unfamiliar names that dot the pages in bolded text, and he’s been speaking English his whole life.
They go their separate ways after class, Kyungsoo to physical science lab and Zitao disappearing off to who knows where. He should be okay finding his way around school, even though it’s his first day. There’s only one student building on campus and it’s not difficult to navigate. Even if Zitao manages to get himself completely lost there should be someone around to point him in the right direction.
Most of the kids at this school are nice, especially to guests or a new kid, Kyungsoo tries to tell himself, but he can’t stop the stubborn bubble of worry from rising up in his throat like a helium balloon no matter how many times he punches the feeling back down into the pit of his stomach.
The uncomfortable wobbling feeling wedged between his lungs doesn’t go away until lunch, when Zitao plunks himself down on the narrow bench beside Kyungsoo and without a word starts shoveling canned corn into his mouth. Kyungsoo watches with an amused smile for a moment, then looks up with a start when Yixing kicks him in the leg.
“Who is this? A world famous runway model going to pose for our figure drawing class?”
“Xing, no. He’s the new guy in our class. I just told you about him two minutes ago.” Kyungsoo smirks across the table at his friend as he takes a bite of baked potato. Kyungsoo doesn’t often hang out with his classmates after school, but he eats lunch with Yixing every day since he never gets awkward about lapses in conversation, and he doesn’t mind that Kyungsoo doesn’t talk much.
Probably because Yixing spends most of his time pondering the important questions of the universe, like whether dark matter smells more like licorice or like blackstrap molasses, and whether Ms. Jenkins’ head to toe outfit color coordination extends to her underwear, but Kyungsoo isn’t one to judge.
“New guy, eh? Did Jenkins make him sit next to you ‘cause he’s Korean, too?” Yixing tugs on the strings of his hoodie and hunches closer to peer at Zitao’s face.
“Nope. I think he’s Chinese. Or at least he speaks Chinese. You should talk to him, find out.” Kyungsoo waves his plastic between them before he stabs the seal on his jello cup.
“I don’t speak Chinese,” Yixing reminds him with a subtle frown. “I only understand it, sometimes.”
“I know, but see if you can figure out anything he says.” Kyungsoo scoops out half of his blue jello and lays it on Yixing’s tray as an offering. “Please? You’ll do better than me.”
“Hey, where you from?” Yixing starts in English, then mumbles a sentence in clumsy Mandarin that makes Zitao’s face light up with recognition nonetheless. Zitao’s mouth moves faster than Kyungsoo can chew as he spews a string of questions at Yixing.
“Whoa, whoa! Slow down there!” Yixing pants, but he’s laughing in surprise and before Kyungsoo knows it, he and Zitao have joined in too.
Zitao repeats his spiel a little slower this time. Yixing nods as he listens and gives a low hum every so often.
“What’s he saying?” Kyungsoo hisses in impatience, but Yixing just holds up a hand.
“He said he’s from Qingdao, mainland China. And his parents just moved here from Shanghai. And he wants to know if there’s a hiphop dance studio in town, I think.”
“Hiphop?” Kyungsoo turns to give their new friend a once over with fresh eyes, taking in the punk red hair and baggy jeans. His pink and gray knitted scarf looks more BoHo chic starving artist than urban dancer, but the steel studs in his ears sure mean business.
“Hiphop,” Zitao says, his smile wider than Kyungsoo has ever seen it before.
“I told him we don’t have a legit studio with classes or anything in this town, but I said I’d introduce him to some people this weekend.” Yixing winks at Zitao, who explodes into a high pitched giggle.
“What? What?” Kyungsoo demands an answer, but Yixing just shakes his head, lowering his eyelids to blink in demure silence at Kyungsoo’s surrendered jello as he shovels it into his mouth.
Zitao’s eyes widen, as if he just remembered something important. He turns to rummage in his satchel and pulls out a crumpled flier that he hands to Kyungsoo. “What?” he asks, pointing at the clip art cupid swathed in excess yards of sheeting for photoshopped modesty.
“Ah, it’s about our classroom party tomorrow,” Kyungsoo tries to explain. “You’ve heard of Valentine’s Day before, right? Like, at least on TV or something? I don’t know about in China, but they have it in Korea too, but there it’s just for couples, I mean mostly for adults. Here, most kids give cards and chocolate to their friends and families, too. So tomorrow during homeroom we get to have a party, exchange candy and valentines and stuff.”
Zitao looks between Kyungsoo and Yixing, blinking in a languid rhythm like a cat just disturbed from a nap.
“Uh, can you translate that?” Kyungsoo asks, kicking Yixing back this time.
“Hah! Good luck translating yourself, I’ve got to get to the studio early today,” Yixing says, his voice garbled as he chews half of his potato in one mouthful. “Mr. Kim is showing us some new screenprints he made over the weekend.”
“Ah, alright. Take some pics for me if he says it’s okay? I have to take Zitao here to his next class.” No teacher actually told him he has to show Zitao around, but Kyungsoo realizes as soon as the words are out of his mouth that it just feels like the right thing to do.
“Gotcha.” Yixing nods before draining his milk carton in one long swallow. “Later, dudes.” He scoops up his lunch tray and his bag and waves goodbye.
Zitao pushes his own tray over and replaces it with his schedule. “Where?” He points to the next listing on the itinerary under the LUNCH subdivider.
“Oh, you understood me? Cool.” Kyungsoo taps the sheet with the end of his spoon. “You have English next, with Mr. Plummer. His classroom’s right next to my Spanish class, I’ll show you the way.”
“English?” Zitao’s eyes narrow as his teeth bite into his lower lip.
“Don’t worry, okay? You don’t have to do anything but show up and listen today, so take it easy.” Kyungsoo smiles again, this time his lips curving up on impulse without having to think about it. Zitao smiles back but he still looks a bit nervous so Kyungsoo gives him his milk carton to take with him as a sort of lucky charm. Zitao accepts it with a nod and slips it into his satchel before they clean up their trash.
“Come on, partner,” Kyungsoo says, daring to sling his arm over Zitao’s shoulder as they head out to the hall. “Let’s go introduce you to Mr. Plummer.”
Kyungsoo doesn’t notice Zitao come in the next morning until his new friend is sliding a white paper box onto the desk beside his.
“Oh, good morning.” He slides the drawing he was adding some shading to back under the cover of his sketchbook and waves back.
Zitao asks something in Mandarin and taps his fingertips on the smudged cover of the book.
“What’s in the box?” Kyungsoo asks, hoping to distract Zitao’s attention from his sketchpad.
Zitao shakes his head and raises his eyebrows as he mimes opening the cover of the notebook. May I?
Kyungsoo sucks in a sharp breath but slides his arms off his desk, leaning back in his seat to allow Zitao access. Kyungsoo closes his eyes and holds his breath as the swish of turning pages echoes like radio static in his ears.
The thing he hates even more than making small talk with strangers being forced to show off his drawings. He can’t stand hearing the cooing and undeserved praise of his mother and her friends any more than he likes answering their obvious questions. Is this a dog? Oh, I guess it must be since you labeled it that way, ahaha!
Unlike most adults, Zitao doesn’t say anything as he looks through the sketches, much to Kyungsoo’s relief. He doesn’t even hum as he flips the pages at a steady but thoughtful pace. After a long minute spent trying to visualize Zitao’s facial expression Kyungsoo finally opens his eyes to see for himself.
Zitao’s gaze is zeroed in on a sketch of Kyungsoo’s grandmother’s house, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He looks picture perfect himself just now, light from the window highlighting his brow bone with filtered gold. Kyungsoo’s fingers itch for his chalk pastels.
“Where?” Zitao points to the drawing in question as soon as he notices Kyungsoo has recovered from the worst of his embarrassment.
“That’s my grandmother’s house. In Korea.”
“Wah!” Zitao’s eyes get big as he shifts his gaze back to the gentle curves of the tile roof receding from the foreground in sweeping layers.
Kyungsoo’s execution of all the individual lines was a bit messy, but he had moderate success in capturing the shadows of hazy heat that hung in the leafy tree branches around the house with his shading tools. He drew the house last summer on a family reunion visit for his cousin’s wedding, well over a year ago.
“Here, let me show you some portraits. I like drawing faces best.” Kyungsoo flips a few pages until he finds what he’s looking for, an ink sketch of his brother’s sleeping face.
Zitao laughs aloud when he sees Seungsoo’s mouth hanging open, his jaw slack and his eyes rolled back in his head. “You should come over to my place sometime, my brother’s face looks even more ridiculous in person,” Kyungsoo jokes as he starts to pull the sketchpad away. It’s about time for the bell to ring.
“Wait--” Zitao says something coaxing in Mandarin, fixing Kyungsoo with a shy smile until he relinquishes his grip on his sketchpad.
He ends up showing Zitao the rest of the drawings, even the sketches of his brother’s pet rat, Princess Jingles, that he did at the beginning of last year. They’re towards the back of the book but they’re the oldest drawings in the sketchpad and frankly, they suck. Somehow Kyungsoo doesn’t feel embarrassed showing his messy work to Zitao, though, and Zitao just smiles in appreciation and continues his slow flip through the pages.
“Alright guys! Somebody - somebody help me with this door?” Ms. Jenkins puffs her way into the classroom, elbowing the door open as she balances a pile of decorated shoe boxes against her chest. “Here’s half of the mailboxes! The rest are in the hall, go grab your own if I don’t have it here, okay?”
Nobody bothers to answer the teacher as the classroom empties in a mad rush for the door. Kyungsoo hangs back by the window, content to wait for the traffic flow to lighten before he goes to claim his own. Zitao stays beside him, fingering the corner of the white pastry box balanced on his desk.
Kyungsoo realizes his new friend probably has no idea what’s going on, but he has no idea how to explain why a cool kid like Charlie Mendez is dancing around with a shoe box decked out in paper lace doilies and hot pink glitter glue.
“Ah, Zee-tow, good morning! That’s your name, right?” Ms. Jenkins sidles up to the window carrying the straw basket she keeps on her desk to collect merit tickets in. “Here, you can use this as a mailbox. I can’t promise that all of your classmates remembered to bring you valentines, but hopefully most of them did!”
“Thanks, Ms. Jenkins,” Kyungsoo tells her. Zitao thanks her with a stiff bow and she giggles as she glides away to disentangle a dispute at the front of the room.
“What…?” Zitao taps the rim of the empty basket.
“It’s a mailbox,” Kyungsoo says. “You know, like email? But just mail, not electronic?” He shakes his head in dismissal when Zitao smiles in confusion. “It’s okay. Here, I’ll just show you.”
He pulls the stack of small rectangle cards out of his backpack and snaps off the rubber band keeping the corners lined up neatly. He drops the top card in the basket. It has Zitao’s name written in English on the envelope. Kyungsoo made it yesterday afternoon as soon as he got home from school.
“Me?”
“Yes, for you. Happy Valentine’s Day,” Kyungsoo says, feeling a hot blush start to creep up under his collar. He feels suddenly shy even though the Star Wars themed card has nothing on it but a dumb pun about friendship and a one minute sketch of a puppy Kyungsoo drew. Somehow, Zitao seems like a dog person, even though Kyungsoo hasn’t known him long enough to know what kind of pets he likes, or if he even likes animals at all.
“Thanks you,” Zitao whispers. Kyungsoo nods furiously and turns away to distribute the rest of his cards before Zitao can watch the flush spread to the rest of his face.
Both of their mailboxes are full by the time Kyungsoo returns, Zitao’s small basket nearly overflowing. Kyungsoo sighs in relief, glad that their classmates remembered to include Zitao even on the short notice. Nothing feels worse than being left out of a special celebration, whether or not it’s unintentional.
As soon as everyone is settled with their stuffed mailbox, Ms. Jenkins pulls out the tupperware cartons of cupcakes to pass out the pink and red frosted treats with heart shaped paper napkins. As soon as she reaches their row Zitao hops up and carries the white box over to the teacher. He whips off the lid and points to the stack of napkins, but Ms. Jenkins shakes her head.
“Sorry, kiddo, but I can’t pass these out. I don’t know what’s in them, and you didn’t register ahead. Next time, okay? Whatever those… things are, they sure look… delicious!”
“They’re just rice cakes, Ms. Jenkins,” Kyungsoo explains. Even without asking Zitao about the ingredients he recognizes the chewy sweets as almost identical to the ones his grandmother fills with red bean and black sesame paste. “There are no allergens in them.”
“That may be so, but we gotta stick to the rules. Sorry, guys.” Ms. Jenkins shrugs and hands them each a cupcake.
Zitao puts the lid back on his box and slides it under his desk. He doesn’t seem too disappointed when he bites into the peaks of pink frosting on his cupcake, but Kyungsoo pats him on the shoulder anyway.
“Wow, you really understood everything I said yesterday? About students bringing snacks for the party?” Kyungsoo asks in amazement. “Or maybe you went home and googled Valentine’s Day. Either way, that was really nice of you to bring those for our class. You - nice,” he repeats, and grins in pleasure when Zitao smiles in understanding.
The rest of the day goes by in a hurry. They’re no longer grade school kids who can spend half the school day enjoying a class party. After homeroom period they sweep candy wrappers and sticky napkins into the trash and go their separate ways.
Kyungsoo doesn’t see Zitao again until lunch, and even then it’s only long enough to wave at him in the hall. On Fridays Kyungsoo has early lunch so he can spend some extra time in the art studio, and since they get to see Mr. Kim’s new screen prints this time Kyungsoo doesn’t want to miss out on a minute of the display.
By the time the last bell rings the day feels like any other Friday. Kyungsoo yawns as he stuffs his organizer and his homework sheets into his backpack and checks the window to make sure the gray clouds haven’t burst into a rain storm.
He wraps up in his muffler on the way out the door, more than ready to get home and spend his weekend recuperating from the noise and commotion that bombard him at school every weekday. Kyungsoo pulls out his mp3 player and slows his pace a bit as his stiff fingers struggle to untangle the earbud cords. Then a sharp yell stops him halfway down the front steps.
“Kyungsoo! Wait--!”
It’s Zitao, his satchel and the pastry box balanced on one arm as he waves with the other. Kyungsoo waves back and pulls his muffler down around his neck so he can hear better.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Here - you.” Zitao skids to a stop on the steps next to Kyungsoo, the flow of students vacating the main building diverting around them.
“What’s this?” Kyungsoo accepts a yellow star cut out of glossy paper and flips it over in his hands. On the back a few words are traced in painstaking calligraphy, Thank you friend.
“Is this a valentine? From you? Thanks, dude.”
Zitao just grins and hands him a rice cake from the box. Just as Kyungsoo suspected, the round cake is made of chewy rice flour and filled with fragrant red bean paste. It tastes almost as good as his grandmother’s recipe. He gives Zitao a thumbs up of appreciation because his teeth are too stuck together to tell him.
“This is so good, Zitao!” Kyungsoo says as soon as he swallows the first bite. “Did your mom make them?” There’s no bakery in town that sells sticky rice cakes, and Kyungsoo can’t imagine that Zitao’s family had time to drive all the way to the Asian bakery in the next county last night.
“No, me!” Zitao laughs when Kyungsoo chokes on a trickle of the powdery rice flour in his surprise.
“You made these? This is so good!” Kyungsoo laughs too, because who would have thought he’d meet another guy in the eighth grade who likes making sweets more than soccer. “Hey, do you want to come over to my place and teach me how? I can show you how to make chocolate chip cookies too, if you want.”
Zitao gives him a thumbs up and hands Kyungsoo another rice cake before cramming one in his own mouth. He links one of his arms through Kyungsoo’s elbow and tugs him down the rest of the steps and onto the sidewalk. They both hum in contentment, teeth stuck together with the glutinous sweet rice as they head for Kyungsoo’s neighborhood, the open box of cakes balanced between them.
Kyungsoo didn’t expect to meet a friend as cool as Zitao in his town, and even though it takes a bit more effort to communicate with him than talking to Yixing or Charlie does, Kyungsoo is excited to get to know his new friend better. Maybe Zitao will even let him draw his portrait later. Who knows what the future holds for them, but Kyungsoo is looking forward to discovering it together.
Rating: pg
Pairing: TaoSoo
Warnings: n/a
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, written just for fun.
Summary: Kyungsoo didn’t expect to meet a friend as cool as Zitao in his town, and who knows what the future holds for them but he is looking forward to discovering it together.
A/N: written for Kyungsooperior 2015!
A slim brown fist knocks on his desk.
“你好. 你会说中文吗?”
Kyungsoo looks up and stares. A shy smile peels back from the pursed lips in the pinched face in front of him. The kid is new, or at least Kyungsoo has never seen him around town before. And his hair is dyed a deep, unnatural shade of red most parents in this conservative town would never let a thirteen year old try. The only kid in their grade with salon treated hair is Krystal, who is also incidentally the only other Korean American in the eighth grade.
“你是哪国人?” the boy says.
“전학생 맞죠?” Kyungsoo asks, even though he’s already pretty sure this kid must be a transfer student. He smiles when the newbie just blinks at him, betraying no sign of understanding nor confusion. “Can you speak English? At all?”
The boy shakes his head, a wistful slant to his lips twisting his smile. Or maybe it’s just the change of angles as his head turns, Kyungsoo thinks. The guy has unique features, a sloping nose and prominent cheekbones. His face would be a challenging portrait to draw in charcoal.
“That’s okay,” Kyungsoo says to reassure him, remembering at the last second to smile again. His brother is always telling him to smile more or people will think he eats nails for breakfast instead of Corn Pops. “Here, you can sit with me until Ms. Jenkins comes in. No one uses this desk during first period.”
The boy hesitates, the straps of his leather satchel sliding down his shoulder, but takes a seat once Kyungsoo pats the wooden chair once more. “Zi...Tao…” he says, pulling his lips wide as he sounds out the word. He points to his face and repeats.
“Oh - your name? Tao?”
”Zi Tao,” the newbie corrects Kyungsoo’s clumsy pronunciation, but his eyes light up with appreciation all the same. He points to Kyungsoo next, eyebrows disappearing into his wispy fringe in a silent question.
“I’m Kyungsoo,” Kyungsoo says, “Kyung… Soo…”
Zitao repeats the syllables in a whisper and nods twice. Kyungsoo picks at the fraying cardboard corner of his sketchbook cover and waits for the bell to ring. He’s never been good at making small talk even when there are no language barriers to complicate things, but Zitao seems content just to sit beside him, humming to himself as they wait.
Ms. Jenkins bursts into the classroom just as the bell sounds. Her peacock feather earrings bounce against her shoulders as she hurries to put her coffee mug down and shimmy out of her rain slicker. “Good morning, guys! Is the new student already--? Oh, there he is! I see you’ve already made friends with Kyungsoo, Zee-tow?”
“Yes ma’am, we’re introduced, I guess,” Kyungsoo replies, even though the question wasn’t directed at him. “Is it alright if Zitao sits here?”
“Well, since it’s the only empty desk in the room, I don’t see why not!” Ms. Jenkins chuckles as she reaches for her coffee. “Alright, guys! No big announcements for today, I don’t think I have to remind you that tomorrow is--”
“Valentine’s! Whoo!” a freckled boy named Charlie hollers from the back row. Kyungsoo is grateful his new seatmate is not as loud as Charlie, the soccer goalie and reigning 4th of July hotdog eating champ. The seat beside him has only been empty for a few weeks anyway, just since Aggie Taylor had an unexpected move to her Dad’s place at the beginning of the semester.
Honestly, Kyungsoo hasn’t minded having the small buffer of unoccupied space between himself and the rest of the rambunctious class, but it kind of feels nice to have a quiet presence beside him again. As long as Zitao doesn’t have seasonal allergy issues like Aggie’s constant sniffles, this new seating arrangement should work out fine.
“Oh!” Ms. Jenkins whirls on her heel, turquoise skirt flaring out like the flash of her dark eyes. “I almost forgot I’m supposed to remind you guys that if anyone is planning on bringing treats to school tomorrow, your parent or guardian needs to have submitted a form and they’ll have to drop off the snacks to the front office. Sound good?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the class drones in bored unison. Most of the students are excited for the party tomorrow afternoon, but no one cares about the administration’s rules for food safety they had to bring home on purple xeroxed fliers two weeks ago.
The parents who always send cupcakes and chocolate covered pretzels for special events have known the drill since their kids were in kindergarten. Kyungsoo’s mom is of the efficient variety, she just sends a giant bag of M&M and Skittles packets to avoid questions and paperwork.
“And I hope you all finished your decorating your mailboxes last time! The glue should be dry by now. Does someone want to go by the art room later and check?” Ms. Jenkins raises her own hand as she swivels on her heel to scan the room for volunteers, as if the gesture will inspire reciprocal hand movements among the student population.
There is an awkward moment of silence before Vera Lynn raises her hand and tosses her blonde braid over her shoulder. “I’ll do it, Ms. Jenkins. I have to go by the art room later anyway, to borrow spray sealant from Mr. Kim.”
Kyungsoo rolls his eyes at the name drop. It’s obvious that Vera Lynn still has a crush on the art teacher, though Kyungsoo doesn’t blame her or any of the other girls who giggle in the halls when Mr. Kim flounces past in a cloud of sandalwood perfume. He can pull off the most flamboyant hairstyles, from rainbow spikes to his current shoulder length waves dyed a shade of red that’s just a tad brighter than Zitao’s.
The art teacher has even been known to wear lipgloss to school, a stunt that raised a few eyebrows but no adults mention it to his face because they know he comes from the exotic wilds of New York. Some people are just inherently crazy, and there’s no use trying to talk them out of being that way.
That’s the argument Kyungsoo’s heard people use to excuse his own oddball behavior, like the fact he prefers sketching airplane models in the library to the rough and tumble thrill of soccer games. Kyungsoo doesn’t mind what people think of him though, as long as he has enough peace and quiet to keep doing what makes him happy.
“Thank you, Vera Lynn.” Ms. Jenkins rolls her eyes a little too, which makes Kyungsoo smirk in sympathy. “Okay, guys! Time to review for your History quiz.” The teacher snaps her fingers as she rummages along the cluttered fringes of her desk for a piece of chalk. “We stopped on page 37, I think?”
Kyungsoo spreads his textbook open on top of his sketchpad and motions Zitao to scoot his chair closer, so he can read off the page. Kyungsoo underlines the passages with his pencil eraser as Ms. Jenkins reviews them so Zitao can follow along, but he’s not sure how much of the classroom discussion the new student can understand.
Zitao has an electronic pocket dictionary he uses to look up vocabulary like “resettlement” and “pioneer”, but that can only help so much. Even a top student like Kyungsoo struggles to remember the spellings of unfamiliar names that dot the pages in bolded text, and he’s been speaking English his whole life.
They go their separate ways after class, Kyungsoo to physical science lab and Zitao disappearing off to who knows where. He should be okay finding his way around school, even though it’s his first day. There’s only one student building on campus and it’s not difficult to navigate. Even if Zitao manages to get himself completely lost there should be someone around to point him in the right direction.
Most of the kids at this school are nice, especially to guests or a new kid, Kyungsoo tries to tell himself, but he can’t stop the stubborn bubble of worry from rising up in his throat like a helium balloon no matter how many times he punches the feeling back down into the pit of his stomach.
The uncomfortable wobbling feeling wedged between his lungs doesn’t go away until lunch, when Zitao plunks himself down on the narrow bench beside Kyungsoo and without a word starts shoveling canned corn into his mouth. Kyungsoo watches with an amused smile for a moment, then looks up with a start when Yixing kicks him in the leg.
“Who is this? A world famous runway model going to pose for our figure drawing class?”
“Xing, no. He’s the new guy in our class. I just told you about him two minutes ago.” Kyungsoo smirks across the table at his friend as he takes a bite of baked potato. Kyungsoo doesn’t often hang out with his classmates after school, but he eats lunch with Yixing every day since he never gets awkward about lapses in conversation, and he doesn’t mind that Kyungsoo doesn’t talk much.
Probably because Yixing spends most of his time pondering the important questions of the universe, like whether dark matter smells more like licorice or like blackstrap molasses, and whether Ms. Jenkins’ head to toe outfit color coordination extends to her underwear, but Kyungsoo isn’t one to judge.
“New guy, eh? Did Jenkins make him sit next to you ‘cause he’s Korean, too?” Yixing tugs on the strings of his hoodie and hunches closer to peer at Zitao’s face.
“Nope. I think he’s Chinese. Or at least he speaks Chinese. You should talk to him, find out.” Kyungsoo waves his plastic between them before he stabs the seal on his jello cup.
“I don’t speak Chinese,” Yixing reminds him with a subtle frown. “I only understand it, sometimes.”
“I know, but see if you can figure out anything he says.” Kyungsoo scoops out half of his blue jello and lays it on Yixing’s tray as an offering. “Please? You’ll do better than me.”
“Hey, where you from?” Yixing starts in English, then mumbles a sentence in clumsy Mandarin that makes Zitao’s face light up with recognition nonetheless. Zitao’s mouth moves faster than Kyungsoo can chew as he spews a string of questions at Yixing.
“Whoa, whoa! Slow down there!” Yixing pants, but he’s laughing in surprise and before Kyungsoo knows it, he and Zitao have joined in too.
Zitao repeats his spiel a little slower this time. Yixing nods as he listens and gives a low hum every so often.
“What’s he saying?” Kyungsoo hisses in impatience, but Yixing just holds up a hand.
“He said he’s from Qingdao, mainland China. And his parents just moved here from Shanghai. And he wants to know if there’s a hiphop dance studio in town, I think.”
“Hiphop?” Kyungsoo turns to give their new friend a once over with fresh eyes, taking in the punk red hair and baggy jeans. His pink and gray knitted scarf looks more BoHo chic starving artist than urban dancer, but the steel studs in his ears sure mean business.
“Hiphop,” Zitao says, his smile wider than Kyungsoo has ever seen it before.
“I told him we don’t have a legit studio with classes or anything in this town, but I said I’d introduce him to some people this weekend.” Yixing winks at Zitao, who explodes into a high pitched giggle.
“What? What?” Kyungsoo demands an answer, but Yixing just shakes his head, lowering his eyelids to blink in demure silence at Kyungsoo’s surrendered jello as he shovels it into his mouth.
Zitao’s eyes widen, as if he just remembered something important. He turns to rummage in his satchel and pulls out a crumpled flier that he hands to Kyungsoo. “What?” he asks, pointing at the clip art cupid swathed in excess yards of sheeting for photoshopped modesty.
“Ah, it’s about our classroom party tomorrow,” Kyungsoo tries to explain. “You’ve heard of Valentine’s Day before, right? Like, at least on TV or something? I don’t know about in China, but they have it in Korea too, but there it’s just for couples, I mean mostly for adults. Here, most kids give cards and chocolate to their friends and families, too. So tomorrow during homeroom we get to have a party, exchange candy and valentines and stuff.”
Zitao looks between Kyungsoo and Yixing, blinking in a languid rhythm like a cat just disturbed from a nap.
“Uh, can you translate that?” Kyungsoo asks, kicking Yixing back this time.
“Hah! Good luck translating yourself, I’ve got to get to the studio early today,” Yixing says, his voice garbled as he chews half of his potato in one mouthful. “Mr. Kim is showing us some new screenprints he made over the weekend.”
“Ah, alright. Take some pics for me if he says it’s okay? I have to take Zitao here to his next class.” No teacher actually told him he has to show Zitao around, but Kyungsoo realizes as soon as the words are out of his mouth that it just feels like the right thing to do.
“Gotcha.” Yixing nods before draining his milk carton in one long swallow. “Later, dudes.” He scoops up his lunch tray and his bag and waves goodbye.
Zitao pushes his own tray over and replaces it with his schedule. “Where?” He points to the next listing on the itinerary under the LUNCH subdivider.
“Oh, you understood me? Cool.” Kyungsoo taps the sheet with the end of his spoon. “You have English next, with Mr. Plummer. His classroom’s right next to my Spanish class, I’ll show you the way.”
“English?” Zitao’s eyes narrow as his teeth bite into his lower lip.
“Don’t worry, okay? You don’t have to do anything but show up and listen today, so take it easy.” Kyungsoo smiles again, this time his lips curving up on impulse without having to think about it. Zitao smiles back but he still looks a bit nervous so Kyungsoo gives him his milk carton to take with him as a sort of lucky charm. Zitao accepts it with a nod and slips it into his satchel before they clean up their trash.
“Come on, partner,” Kyungsoo says, daring to sling his arm over Zitao’s shoulder as they head out to the hall. “Let’s go introduce you to Mr. Plummer.”
Kyungsoo doesn’t notice Zitao come in the next morning until his new friend is sliding a white paper box onto the desk beside his.
“Oh, good morning.” He slides the drawing he was adding some shading to back under the cover of his sketchbook and waves back.
Zitao asks something in Mandarin and taps his fingertips on the smudged cover of the book.
“What’s in the box?” Kyungsoo asks, hoping to distract Zitao’s attention from his sketchpad.
Zitao shakes his head and raises his eyebrows as he mimes opening the cover of the notebook. May I?
Kyungsoo sucks in a sharp breath but slides his arms off his desk, leaning back in his seat to allow Zitao access. Kyungsoo closes his eyes and holds his breath as the swish of turning pages echoes like radio static in his ears.
The thing he hates even more than making small talk with strangers being forced to show off his drawings. He can’t stand hearing the cooing and undeserved praise of his mother and her friends any more than he likes answering their obvious questions. Is this a dog? Oh, I guess it must be since you labeled it that way, ahaha!
Unlike most adults, Zitao doesn’t say anything as he looks through the sketches, much to Kyungsoo’s relief. He doesn’t even hum as he flips the pages at a steady but thoughtful pace. After a long minute spent trying to visualize Zitao’s facial expression Kyungsoo finally opens his eyes to see for himself.
Zitao’s gaze is zeroed in on a sketch of Kyungsoo’s grandmother’s house, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He looks picture perfect himself just now, light from the window highlighting his brow bone with filtered gold. Kyungsoo’s fingers itch for his chalk pastels.
“Where?” Zitao points to the drawing in question as soon as he notices Kyungsoo has recovered from the worst of his embarrassment.
“That’s my grandmother’s house. In Korea.”
“Wah!” Zitao’s eyes get big as he shifts his gaze back to the gentle curves of the tile roof receding from the foreground in sweeping layers.
Kyungsoo’s execution of all the individual lines was a bit messy, but he had moderate success in capturing the shadows of hazy heat that hung in the leafy tree branches around the house with his shading tools. He drew the house last summer on a family reunion visit for his cousin’s wedding, well over a year ago.
“Here, let me show you some portraits. I like drawing faces best.” Kyungsoo flips a few pages until he finds what he’s looking for, an ink sketch of his brother’s sleeping face.
Zitao laughs aloud when he sees Seungsoo’s mouth hanging open, his jaw slack and his eyes rolled back in his head. “You should come over to my place sometime, my brother’s face looks even more ridiculous in person,” Kyungsoo jokes as he starts to pull the sketchpad away. It’s about time for the bell to ring.
“Wait--” Zitao says something coaxing in Mandarin, fixing Kyungsoo with a shy smile until he relinquishes his grip on his sketchpad.
He ends up showing Zitao the rest of the drawings, even the sketches of his brother’s pet rat, Princess Jingles, that he did at the beginning of last year. They’re towards the back of the book but they’re the oldest drawings in the sketchpad and frankly, they suck. Somehow Kyungsoo doesn’t feel embarrassed showing his messy work to Zitao, though, and Zitao just smiles in appreciation and continues his slow flip through the pages.
“Alright guys! Somebody - somebody help me with this door?” Ms. Jenkins puffs her way into the classroom, elbowing the door open as she balances a pile of decorated shoe boxes against her chest. “Here’s half of the mailboxes! The rest are in the hall, go grab your own if I don’t have it here, okay?”
Nobody bothers to answer the teacher as the classroom empties in a mad rush for the door. Kyungsoo hangs back by the window, content to wait for the traffic flow to lighten before he goes to claim his own. Zitao stays beside him, fingering the corner of the white pastry box balanced on his desk.
Kyungsoo realizes his new friend probably has no idea what’s going on, but he has no idea how to explain why a cool kid like Charlie Mendez is dancing around with a shoe box decked out in paper lace doilies and hot pink glitter glue.
“Ah, Zee-tow, good morning! That’s your name, right?” Ms. Jenkins sidles up to the window carrying the straw basket she keeps on her desk to collect merit tickets in. “Here, you can use this as a mailbox. I can’t promise that all of your classmates remembered to bring you valentines, but hopefully most of them did!”
“Thanks, Ms. Jenkins,” Kyungsoo tells her. Zitao thanks her with a stiff bow and she giggles as she glides away to disentangle a dispute at the front of the room.
“What…?” Zitao taps the rim of the empty basket.
“It’s a mailbox,” Kyungsoo says. “You know, like email? But just mail, not electronic?” He shakes his head in dismissal when Zitao smiles in confusion. “It’s okay. Here, I’ll just show you.”
He pulls the stack of small rectangle cards out of his backpack and snaps off the rubber band keeping the corners lined up neatly. He drops the top card in the basket. It has Zitao’s name written in English on the envelope. Kyungsoo made it yesterday afternoon as soon as he got home from school.
“Me?”
“Yes, for you. Happy Valentine’s Day,” Kyungsoo says, feeling a hot blush start to creep up under his collar. He feels suddenly shy even though the Star Wars themed card has nothing on it but a dumb pun about friendship and a one minute sketch of a puppy Kyungsoo drew. Somehow, Zitao seems like a dog person, even though Kyungsoo hasn’t known him long enough to know what kind of pets he likes, or if he even likes animals at all.
“Thanks you,” Zitao whispers. Kyungsoo nods furiously and turns away to distribute the rest of his cards before Zitao can watch the flush spread to the rest of his face.
Both of their mailboxes are full by the time Kyungsoo returns, Zitao’s small basket nearly overflowing. Kyungsoo sighs in relief, glad that their classmates remembered to include Zitao even on the short notice. Nothing feels worse than being left out of a special celebration, whether or not it’s unintentional.
As soon as everyone is settled with their stuffed mailbox, Ms. Jenkins pulls out the tupperware cartons of cupcakes to pass out the pink and red frosted treats with heart shaped paper napkins. As soon as she reaches their row Zitao hops up and carries the white box over to the teacher. He whips off the lid and points to the stack of napkins, but Ms. Jenkins shakes her head.
“Sorry, kiddo, but I can’t pass these out. I don’t know what’s in them, and you didn’t register ahead. Next time, okay? Whatever those… things are, they sure look… delicious!”
“They’re just rice cakes, Ms. Jenkins,” Kyungsoo explains. Even without asking Zitao about the ingredients he recognizes the chewy sweets as almost identical to the ones his grandmother fills with red bean and black sesame paste. “There are no allergens in them.”
“That may be so, but we gotta stick to the rules. Sorry, guys.” Ms. Jenkins shrugs and hands them each a cupcake.
Zitao puts the lid back on his box and slides it under his desk. He doesn’t seem too disappointed when he bites into the peaks of pink frosting on his cupcake, but Kyungsoo pats him on the shoulder anyway.
“Wow, you really understood everything I said yesterday? About students bringing snacks for the party?” Kyungsoo asks in amazement. “Or maybe you went home and googled Valentine’s Day. Either way, that was really nice of you to bring those for our class. You - nice,” he repeats, and grins in pleasure when Zitao smiles in understanding.
The rest of the day goes by in a hurry. They’re no longer grade school kids who can spend half the school day enjoying a class party. After homeroom period they sweep candy wrappers and sticky napkins into the trash and go their separate ways.
Kyungsoo doesn’t see Zitao again until lunch, and even then it’s only long enough to wave at him in the hall. On Fridays Kyungsoo has early lunch so he can spend some extra time in the art studio, and since they get to see Mr. Kim’s new screen prints this time Kyungsoo doesn’t want to miss out on a minute of the display.
By the time the last bell rings the day feels like any other Friday. Kyungsoo yawns as he stuffs his organizer and his homework sheets into his backpack and checks the window to make sure the gray clouds haven’t burst into a rain storm.
He wraps up in his muffler on the way out the door, more than ready to get home and spend his weekend recuperating from the noise and commotion that bombard him at school every weekday. Kyungsoo pulls out his mp3 player and slows his pace a bit as his stiff fingers struggle to untangle the earbud cords. Then a sharp yell stops him halfway down the front steps.
“Kyungsoo! Wait--!”
It’s Zitao, his satchel and the pastry box balanced on one arm as he waves with the other. Kyungsoo waves back and pulls his muffler down around his neck so he can hear better.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Here - you.” Zitao skids to a stop on the steps next to Kyungsoo, the flow of students vacating the main building diverting around them.
“What’s this?” Kyungsoo accepts a yellow star cut out of glossy paper and flips it over in his hands. On the back a few words are traced in painstaking calligraphy, Thank you friend.
“Is this a valentine? From you? Thanks, dude.”
Zitao just grins and hands him a rice cake from the box. Just as Kyungsoo suspected, the round cake is made of chewy rice flour and filled with fragrant red bean paste. It tastes almost as good as his grandmother’s recipe. He gives Zitao a thumbs up of appreciation because his teeth are too stuck together to tell him.
“This is so good, Zitao!” Kyungsoo says as soon as he swallows the first bite. “Did your mom make them?” There’s no bakery in town that sells sticky rice cakes, and Kyungsoo can’t imagine that Zitao’s family had time to drive all the way to the Asian bakery in the next county last night.
“No, me!” Zitao laughs when Kyungsoo chokes on a trickle of the powdery rice flour in his surprise.
“You made these? This is so good!” Kyungsoo laughs too, because who would have thought he’d meet another guy in the eighth grade who likes making sweets more than soccer. “Hey, do you want to come over to my place and teach me how? I can show you how to make chocolate chip cookies too, if you want.”
Zitao gives him a thumbs up and hands Kyungsoo another rice cake before cramming one in his own mouth. He links one of his arms through Kyungsoo’s elbow and tugs him down the rest of the steps and onto the sidewalk. They both hum in contentment, teeth stuck together with the glutinous sweet rice as they head for Kyungsoo’s neighborhood, the open box of cakes balanced between them.
Kyungsoo didn’t expect to meet a friend as cool as Zitao in his town, and even though it takes a bit more effort to communicate with him than talking to Yixing or Charlie does, Kyungsoo is excited to get to know his new friend better. Maybe Zitao will even let him draw his portrait later. Who knows what the future holds for them, but Kyungsoo is looking forward to discovering it together.