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Yours Sincerely, Wasting Away (SNSD) for compatable
Title: Yours Sincerely, Wasting Away
Recipient: compatable
Fandom: SNSD
Genre/pairing: gen, ot9
Rating: PG
Summary: The short life cycles of nine Academy students. AU based on Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Fo (aka the film with Keira Knightley, Carey Mulligan, and Andrew Garfield).
At age five, Hyoyeon draws her first portrait.
It’s simple. She’s one of the last girls to get to the marker box, and by then only black and purple are left. Yoona begs for the purple, pointing across the room to her intricate drawing of an alien, and Hyoyeon succumbs. Black is good, she thinks to herself, but can’t help envying the big green marker in Yuri’s hand. Green is the color of grass, leaves, the little salads they ate at dinner, the bugs Sunny shoves in their faces during playtime. What in the world is black?
Hyoyeon leans over the desk, and that’s when she sees her own hair, the same color as the marker, drooping over her piece of paper. All of them have hair like this, she realizes, some longer, some shorter, but all as black as the marker’s shiny cap. Hyoyeon smiles, begins to draw herself, and then realizes that there’s no mirror in the room.
It’s then that Taeyeon walks by, looking to trade her brown for Sooyoung’s more exciting blue. Her hair’s different, Hyoyeon thinks, with bangs across her forehead so thin that they almost look drawn on. “Hold still,” she says, softly, and Taeyeon gives her a quizzical look before continuing her pursuit. Hyoyeon’s eyes follow her across the room, looking down every few moments to keep track of her drawing. She draws her head and hair with the black marker, and then Tiffany lends her pink for the dress. Tiffany beams when she sees the finished product, but for some reason, lost to Hyoyeon now, she never shows Taeyeon the drawing.
As far as anyone remembers, Hyoyeon is the first girl to get a piece of artwork taken to the Gallery. It’s supposed to be an honor, but Hyoyeon brushes it off, saying it matters more that the other students like her work. She buys a set of forty markers at the first school sale, and from then on it never stops. Over the years, she draws all nine of them, hundreds of times. She draws the cafeteria, the playground, the dorm rooms, their classrooms. The only things as sought after as her drawings are Taeyeon’s tapes.
Jessica wishes now that she’d kept some of them. She’s beginning to forget what the place looked like.
--
The epiphany happens when one of their teachers shows them Dead Poets Society, to see what “other” boarding schools are like (“Equally miserable,” Jessica concludes). None of the others think about that-Seohyun decides she’s moving to Vermont, Yuri and Sooyoung are determined to put on their own version of the movie, and Tiffany becomes fascinated by the seemingly simple idea of the power of good teaching. “I want to be that,” she declares at dinner, setting her cup down with aplomb. “A teacher so good the students salute me.”
“As if anyone could take you seriously,” Jessica scoffs, which results in a pout from Tiffany’s end. Sooyoung takes the opportunity to steal all of her kimchi.
“No one asked you,” Tiffany sniffs, and returns to her daydreaming. At the humble age of eight, she has no idea what she’s good at, or what she’ll teach, just that she’ll be awe-inspiring, with a desk covered in apples from her students. As she’s planning out what her classroom will look like, it occurs to Tiffany that the idea of being something in the future hasn’t crossed any of their minds before.
She doesn’t bring it up until their next class. After Jessica’s teasing, she’s uneasy to ask any of her friends, and instead raises her hand during a break. “Mrs. Kim,” she says, “What do I have to do to be a teacher like you?”
Their teacher is young, though she seems old to them at the time, with perfectly manicured nails and flowing print dresses. This is the only time they’ve ever see her look so unnerved. “What do you mean?”
Tiffany frowns. “I want to be a teacher, like you,” she repeats. “What should I do?”
The woman sighs, pulling up one of the tiny chairs to sit next to Tiffany. “Darling,” she says, the word feeling strange and not at all comforting on her tongue, “you can’t be a teacher.”
None of them had expected Tiffany to go through with her dream, but the idea that she can’t brings everyone’s attention to Mrs. Kim. “Why not?” Tiffany asks. “You’re a teacher.”
“Yes, but-“ she stops. “You can’t be one, Tiffany. That’s not what you’re made for.”
Tiffany folds her arms. “Then what am I made for?”
“You know that answer,” Mrs. Kim says. “You live for your bodies, girls. You live your short cycle lives so that others can live forever.” She gets up from her chair and walks back to the chalkboard. “Now, back to our grammar lesson.”
Tiffany closes her mouth and opens her textbook.
--
They start a sort of mimicry of normal life when they turn eighteen. They move into an Apartment downtown, rent paid and a monthly allowance provided by the Academy, with their lengthy code of conduct shortened to one rule. Every Academy graduate is to have the least amount of contact with non-graduates possible, meaning no friends, no jobs, and no hookups. Every conversation, they’re told, is a risk.
Not that this stops Yoona and Yuri, who become acquainted with the Seoul subway system before they’ve even put sheets on their beds. Everyone, even if they don’t want to admit it, is curious about their first foray into the city, and they’re bombarded with questions when they saunter back late at night.
“There’re restaurants everywhere,” Yuri starts. “And makeup stores, and these cafes where they have dogs and cats to play with-“
“And an amusement park!” Yoona squeals, which delights Sunny and Sooyoung. “And movie theaters bigger than this whole apartment building, and-“
“and--“
“And what?” Tiffany asks, on the edge of her seat.
“A daycare,” They say in unison, hopping up and down. Tiffany suddenly loses interest. “It’s a block away.”
Taeyeon shakes her head slowly. “You can’t work there,” she pleads, though it’s obvious she doesn’t care for the rule. “It’s not allowed.”
“I’m not,” Yoona says, smiling. “I’m volunteering.” It’s a flimsy excuse, but no one, not even Taeyeon, has the strength to tell Yoona no.
It starts innocently enough. Yoona disappears for a day and brings back a shiny new red Polaroid camera and a stack of photographs of toothless smiling children. She holds up the photos and blabbers to anyone who will listen, meaning Yuri. “This is Yoojin,” she says, “And this is Sunhwa, and this is Minhye and Minho, they’re twins and they’re the cutest things in the world.” Yuri coos appropriately, and Yoona spreads out more pictures, this time of her with the children or helping them to build castles of cards and sticks. Seohyun makes the mistake of walking by and gets roped into helping Yoona make a collage, which she then frames and puts in their living room. Taeyeon sighs sadly every time she sees it.
Their first Chuseok in the city is a few weeks later, and Yoona decides to make rice cakes for each of the children. The issue with this, of course, is that none of them, let alone Yoona, has ever actually made a rice cake. “How hard can it be?” she says, cracking her knuckles, and locks herself in the kitchen, dragging Hyoyeon along for the ride when she can’t even find the ingredients.
Five hours and countless displeased shrieks later, her rice cakes are lumpy, each with a unique, fungus-like shape. “Well,” Sooyoung says, after her first and last bite, “A kid will still eat it.” Yoona beams and starts packing them up.
They all know it’s going to happen, but none of them know exactly when. Listening to Yoona talk about the children is an exercise in keeping quiet, in not shaking her shoulders and begging her to be careful. “This isn’t going to end well,” Taeyeon moans when Yoona’s not in the room. They all know, but no one has the heart to tell her.
It’s like a weight off their shoulders, almost, when Yoona finally comes home in tears, burying herself in the couch below the collage. “It slipped out,” she wails into the cushion. “I didn’t mean to tell them, I just, I don’t know, felt so comfortable, and then I said the Academy and-I’m stupid. God, I’m so stupid.”
Comforting her comes naturally, but they find themselves missing her simple happiness already. “It’s okay,” they all say, sitting next to her. “We’re here.”
--
Sooyoung and Sunny have been inseparable for as long as any of them can remember. It’s funny, seeing them together, Sooyoung with her long legs and Sunny with her curves, the top of her head barely reaching Sooyoung’s chest, but it’s impossible to imagine them apart, either.
Everyone at the Academy knows them. The teachers recognize their craftiness, their not-so-hidden giggles in the back of the classroom. The lunch ladies recognize Sooyoung’s appetite, and the boys know their sharp tongues and spot-on impersonations. They’re overwhelmingly charming, but they never branch out; other than the other seven girls, the only person they truly treasure is a quiet, equally witty boy named Sungmin.
It’s Sungmin that tells the nine of them the rumor that certain Academy kids can delay their donations. He doesn’t know the source, nor does he have any proof, but it’s a concept so bizarre and enticing that they’re all drawn in. Sooyoung and Sunny exchange wide-eyed looks, the cogs in their mind turning, and then glance back at Sungmin. “Are you going to apply for a delay?” Sooyoung asks, bluntly.
He shakes his head. “I’m graduating soon, it’s too late.”
Sooyoung turns to Sunny. “There’s still time,” she says. “We can do it.”
“You’re kidding,” Jessica scoffs. “There’s no way they’d let you delay donations, let alone leave the country.”
The whole room stares at her in silence, and Sunny finally shrugs. “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”
They calculate their trip to the last dollar, giving themselves a week in each country to see everything. The president of the Academy’s a busy man, so Sooyoung leaves their “application” in his mailbox, and the two of them wait, fingers crossed, for a response.
It takes a year to get anything back, and by that time they’ve moved into the Apartments. Shaking, Sunny reads the letter quietly, and then turns to Sooyoung.
“The rumor’s true,” she says “but it’s only for people who get sick.” She sighs. “We can’t leave the country.”
Sooyoung frowns. “Then what’s the next best thing?”
“Everland,” Sunny mutters. “Or we could defect to the North.”
“No thanks,” Sooyoung says, shivering. “I’d rather stay here where there’s food.”
“True.” Sunny starts to put the letter back in the envelope, and then jumps off the couch. “Food! That’s it.”
“What’s it?”
Sunny pulls Sooyoung up next to her. “Okay, imagine this: Sunny and Sooyoung’s Culinary Tour of the Universe. We’ll go to the bookstore and buy cookbooks and order wine from Italy, and I know we’ve never really cooked, but it’s all the adventure we’re going to get, right?”
It doesn’t take long for Sooyoung to think about it. “I’m in.”
It’s a disaster more times than it is a success. The kitchen’s quickly infested with odd spices and strange smells, and there’s more burnt slabs of meat than actual meals most nights. None of them complain about it, though, and when Sooyoung uses a hundred-dollar bottle of wine to put a fire out, she sighs and says, “At least we’re living.”
--
“What’s this?”
Yuri looks up at Jessica, then curses under her breath when she sees the magazine in her roommate’s hand. It’s last month’s Maxim Korea, which had been under the pillow the last time Yuri had seen it. She might as well have written her name on the cover.
“Um…a magazine,” she states simply.
“Don't be coy,” Jessica says, a tight-lipped frown on her face. She looks down and flips the magazine open to one of the pages Yuri’s dog-eared then holds it up for Yuri to see. It’s a model in a maid outfit and thigh highs, smiling wide; Yuri had thought she looked a little like Yoona. “I see the way you look at that pale boy next door. This isn’t your thing.”
“How do you know?” Jessica rolls her eyes.
“I read the articles,” Yuri blurts out defensively, but it comes out like a question.
“You didn’t bookmark those.”
Yuri pushes herself off the bed, snatching the magazine from Jessica. “This isn’t your business,” she snaps.
“I’m your roommate,” Jessica says. “I’m supposed to keep an eye on you.”
“Well,” Yuri folds her arms. “That doesn’t mean you can be nosy.”
“Hm.” Jessica turns around and starts to walk to the door. Yuri averts her gaze pointedly until she adds, “That was just a stupid thing Jungsu and Hyukjae made up, you know. Academy students aren’t made from porn stars and strippers.”
Yuri purses her lips; she didn’t know anyone else had heard that story. “But it makes sense,” she says. “The stripper part, at least. They’d be the most desperate for the money.”
“It’s not about money,” Jessica says. “It’s about living longer, and everyone wants that. Strippers, businessmen, actresses. And you know what they tell them, Yuri-they say they’ll never even see us.”
“You don’t know that-“
Jessica frowns. “It’s a more likely story, don’t you think?” Yuri says nothing, it’s all too ingrained in her head. “Look, who would you rather believe, me or some smelly idiots?”
Yuri shrugs because she isn’t good at being wrong. “I’m going to go talk to Hyoyeon.”
Later, they all watch a movie, some import from Japan that Sooyoung’s been begging them to watch for days. For a split second, there’s a shot of an extra looking straight into the camera, and Tiffany says, “Wow, she looks just like Yuri.” Her nose is a little crooked and she’s not quite the same height, but that’s all Yuri wants anyway-to believe that she has some semblance of a mother.
--
The first piece of music Seohyun learns is a theme song from a Saturday morning cartoon. The Academy holds a recital every spring where the students taking music classes perform: Seohyun picks this song, plays it on the piano and sings. In retrospect, it’s not a particularly good performance, but that hadn’t mattered then. Even now, it’s probably the one song she’s practiced the most.
Thanks to the grades she skipped, she’s sixteen during her last recital before they move into the Apartments. She considers singing an aria, showing off everything she’s learned here, but she’s done that for years now. Everyone knows Seohyun has a beautiful voice. She wants something different this time.
Compared to her previous songs, it’s easy. Learning the words is simple, learning the piano isn’t much more of a challenge. What makes it difficult is trying to put the right emotion into it, to make sure that her voice reaches out to the audience and tugs at their heartstrings. Seohyun’s never had Yoona’s charisma. She practices for a month, though, and finally it comes alive on stage.
The audience is filled with everyone Seohyun’s ever known-her teachers, her friends, her classmates-and as she walks to the piano, slowly so she doesn’t trip over her heels, it occurs to her she might never see some of these people again. This is (certainly) the last time they’ll ever see her, and she’s going to leave them with something beautiful.
Her performance is the last of the show, and she expects to send everyone back to their dorms and cars smiling-instead, she sees half of her teachers in tears.
“You didn’t like it,” she says softly to her music professor backstage. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s not it,” she says, pulling Seohyun into a hug. “It just made me remember…” she bites her lip, and a tear falls onto Seohyun’s shoulder. “You poor, poor child. I wish I could save you.”
Seohyun’s speechless, and stays frozen, holding her teacher. Fate seems far away, then.
--
In Taeyeon’s opinion, being a carer is the most worthwhile thing she’s ever done.
It’s not easy, of course. Quiet, painful sobs come out of her mouth when she sees Yoona after her first donation, sickly pale; she locks herself up in her room the weekend after Yoona completes. It doesn’t get better when Tiffany, Hyoyeon, or Yuri complete, but Taeyeon didn’t think it would, besides, that’s not the point. The point is that Taeyeon is the oldest, and it’s her duty to stand by them, all of them, until the very end. At the academy, Mrs. Kwon had said “normal” people lived for something; this is what Taeyeon lives for.
Sunny and Sooyoung begin donations together, the way they do everything. Sungmin’s stuck being a carer across the country, so Taeyeon sings to them and gives them every movie she can find that’s set in a foreign country, just so they can get a glimpse of the world they’d wanted to see. They complete after three donations, and the hospital gives Taeyeon a lengthy break until Seohyun’s scheduled to begin.
Of all the people to complete, it’s Seohyun that shouldn't, that should get a chance to really live. Taeyeon had realized this early on, back when the headmaster had bumped Seohyun up to her class, and she’d introduced herself with as much confidence as a teacher. She could have been something, Taeyeon thinks, and walks back down the familiar hallway.
It’s a few hours after Seohyun’s first donation, and she’s sitting in her hospital bed, reading. Taeyeon can’t see the title from the doorway, and Seohyun doesn’t look up before a nurse pulls Taeyeon out.
“It didn’t go well,” he whispers. “Her mind is fully functional, but her body’s already starting to deteriorate. Dr. Shin says we’ll have to get the second donation sooner than expected.”
Taeyeon doesn’t want to hear what comes next. “And?”
“There’s more than a ninety percent chance Seohyun-sshi will complete after two donations.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Taeyeon-sshi,” he frowns, “You’ve seen cases like this before.”
”Seohyun took care of herself,” she says. “She always made sure we were eating right, exercising enough, getting enough sleep. And you’re telling me“-she squeezes her eyes shut, as if it’ll keep the tears inside-“you’re saying she’s going to complete after two donations?”
“It happens,” he says, reaching for Taeyeon’s hand; she swings it out of reach. “I’m sorry.” He walks away, back to the front desk, maybe, and Taeyeon slumps against the wall, hand clasped over her mouth. It doesn’t help, and her jagged sobs start to fill the hallway.
When she finally walks into Seohyun’s room, sniffing but composed, she bursts into tears as soon as she sees Seohyun’s face, looking up at her, knowing. “Unni,” she says, her voice even tinier than usual, “It’s okay.”
Taeyeon shakes her head. “You’re going to complete in two weeks,” she whispers. “There’s nothing okay about that.”
Seohyun closes her book and places it next to her pillow. “That’s what we do, unni,” she says. “We complete, and other people live for us.”
“But that’s not what you should be doing,” Taeyeon says. “You know that.”
“What use is it now?” Seohyun looks at her hands, and it’s the first indicator that she’s not happy about this, either. “It’s half done already.”
Taeyeon bites her lip. “Seohyun,” she whispers, sliding over to the bed. They lock eyes, and an ugly sob comes out of her mouth. She wraps her arms around Seohyun’s shoulders, and Taeyeon realizes she can’t take much more of this.
“When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now…” It was one of the first songs they’d learned in music class, but Seohyun says nothing. “Will you still be sending me a valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine? If I’d been out till quarter to three, would you lock the door?” Seohyun slowly lowers her head onto Taeyeon’s chest, and Taeyeon clutches her now shaking shoulders harder.
“Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m sixty-four?”
--
“I’m sorry.”
Taeyeon repeats it like some kind of prayer for the first ten minutes Jessica’s in her hospital room. The tone of her voice doesn’t change, just the same pleading over and over. Jessica stands over the water heater and concentrates on not burning herself. “You like Earl Grey, right?”
“Jessica,” she says, sharp now. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Taeyeon sniffs. “For being weak.”
“Donations tend to do that.”
“You know what I mean.”
Jessica picks up the now-full teacup, handing it to Taeyeon. She shrugs. “So what? I’ll die alone.”
“Complete,” she corrects.
“Yeah, whatever. Complete alone. You’re not weak, Taeyeon. Most people aren’t carers for as long as you were, and even those who are, well-“ she scoffs. “They aren’t as good as you were, anyway.”
“Before they told me I was starting donations, I filled out your file,” Taeyeon says. “You’ll get a good carer, I promise.”
Jessica raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says. “I don’t intend on starting donations for a while.”
“It’s not up to you, you know.”
“Sure,” she says, leaning against the nurse’s desk. “Listen, I have something to show you.” She pulls a bundle of papers, held together by a blue paperclip, out of her bag and hands them to Taeyeon.
Taeyeon glances at the papers, then at Jessica. “What is this?”
“Read it.”
She nods, tossing the paperclip to the edge of the bed. She reads quietly, and Jessica doesn't interrupt her. Finally, Taeyeon asks, “Did you show this to anyone else, before they completed?”
Jessica shakes her head. “I didn’t know how they’d react. You know how Yuri and Sunny were, they would want to make changes. Seohyun, too, maybe.” Taeyeon looks down, and Jessica regrets bringing her up.
She clears her throat, and continues. “In the back, there’s some artwork from Hyoyeon. She didn’t know I was using it for this, though.”
“What are you going to do with this?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Jessica laughs. “I’m going to publish it.”
Taeyeon looks up at her, eyebrows shooting to the top of her head. “You can’t be serious,” she says. “No one in their right mind would publish something from an Academy student.”
“Then maybe I’ll put it online,” Jessica retorts. “What would I do with the money, anyway? All that matters is that someone knows we lived. Someone out there will know we’re just like them.”
Taeyeon sniffs. She looks through the pages one more time. “Do you really think someone will read it?” she asks, meekly.
“Who knows?” Jessica takes the papers back, setting them on the desk. “It’s worth a try.”
“You should have told me,” she says, “I would have given you more stories.”
Jessica smiles. “You gave me plenty. So did everyone.” She finds Taeyeon’s hand and squeezes it. “It’ll be okay,” she says.
“I’m sorry,” Taeyeon repeats. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” she whispers. “Go back to bed, I’ll come tomorrow.”
Jessica picks up the papers and walks out into the hallway. This is for you, she’d wanted to say to each of them, all of you.
She’ll have to settle for telling Taeyeon.
Recipient: compatable
Fandom: SNSD
Genre/pairing: gen, ot9
Rating: PG
Summary: The short life cycles of nine Academy students. AU based on Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Fo (aka the film with Keira Knightley, Carey Mulligan, and Andrew Garfield).
At age five, Hyoyeon draws her first portrait.
It’s simple. She’s one of the last girls to get to the marker box, and by then only black and purple are left. Yoona begs for the purple, pointing across the room to her intricate drawing of an alien, and Hyoyeon succumbs. Black is good, she thinks to herself, but can’t help envying the big green marker in Yuri’s hand. Green is the color of grass, leaves, the little salads they ate at dinner, the bugs Sunny shoves in their faces during playtime. What in the world is black?
Hyoyeon leans over the desk, and that’s when she sees her own hair, the same color as the marker, drooping over her piece of paper. All of them have hair like this, she realizes, some longer, some shorter, but all as black as the marker’s shiny cap. Hyoyeon smiles, begins to draw herself, and then realizes that there’s no mirror in the room.
It’s then that Taeyeon walks by, looking to trade her brown for Sooyoung’s more exciting blue. Her hair’s different, Hyoyeon thinks, with bangs across her forehead so thin that they almost look drawn on. “Hold still,” she says, softly, and Taeyeon gives her a quizzical look before continuing her pursuit. Hyoyeon’s eyes follow her across the room, looking down every few moments to keep track of her drawing. She draws her head and hair with the black marker, and then Tiffany lends her pink for the dress. Tiffany beams when she sees the finished product, but for some reason, lost to Hyoyeon now, she never shows Taeyeon the drawing.
As far as anyone remembers, Hyoyeon is the first girl to get a piece of artwork taken to the Gallery. It’s supposed to be an honor, but Hyoyeon brushes it off, saying it matters more that the other students like her work. She buys a set of forty markers at the first school sale, and from then on it never stops. Over the years, she draws all nine of them, hundreds of times. She draws the cafeteria, the playground, the dorm rooms, their classrooms. The only things as sought after as her drawings are Taeyeon’s tapes.
Jessica wishes now that she’d kept some of them. She’s beginning to forget what the place looked like.
--
The epiphany happens when one of their teachers shows them Dead Poets Society, to see what “other” boarding schools are like (“Equally miserable,” Jessica concludes). None of the others think about that-Seohyun decides she’s moving to Vermont, Yuri and Sooyoung are determined to put on their own version of the movie, and Tiffany becomes fascinated by the seemingly simple idea of the power of good teaching. “I want to be that,” she declares at dinner, setting her cup down with aplomb. “A teacher so good the students salute me.”
“As if anyone could take you seriously,” Jessica scoffs, which results in a pout from Tiffany’s end. Sooyoung takes the opportunity to steal all of her kimchi.
“No one asked you,” Tiffany sniffs, and returns to her daydreaming. At the humble age of eight, she has no idea what she’s good at, or what she’ll teach, just that she’ll be awe-inspiring, with a desk covered in apples from her students. As she’s planning out what her classroom will look like, it occurs to Tiffany that the idea of being something in the future hasn’t crossed any of their minds before.
She doesn’t bring it up until their next class. After Jessica’s teasing, she’s uneasy to ask any of her friends, and instead raises her hand during a break. “Mrs. Kim,” she says, “What do I have to do to be a teacher like you?”
Their teacher is young, though she seems old to them at the time, with perfectly manicured nails and flowing print dresses. This is the only time they’ve ever see her look so unnerved. “What do you mean?”
Tiffany frowns. “I want to be a teacher, like you,” she repeats. “What should I do?”
The woman sighs, pulling up one of the tiny chairs to sit next to Tiffany. “Darling,” she says, the word feeling strange and not at all comforting on her tongue, “you can’t be a teacher.”
None of them had expected Tiffany to go through with her dream, but the idea that she can’t brings everyone’s attention to Mrs. Kim. “Why not?” Tiffany asks. “You’re a teacher.”
“Yes, but-“ she stops. “You can’t be one, Tiffany. That’s not what you’re made for.”
Tiffany folds her arms. “Then what am I made for?”
“You know that answer,” Mrs. Kim says. “You live for your bodies, girls. You live your short cycle lives so that others can live forever.” She gets up from her chair and walks back to the chalkboard. “Now, back to our grammar lesson.”
Tiffany closes her mouth and opens her textbook.
--
They start a sort of mimicry of normal life when they turn eighteen. They move into an Apartment downtown, rent paid and a monthly allowance provided by the Academy, with their lengthy code of conduct shortened to one rule. Every Academy graduate is to have the least amount of contact with non-graduates possible, meaning no friends, no jobs, and no hookups. Every conversation, they’re told, is a risk.
Not that this stops Yoona and Yuri, who become acquainted with the Seoul subway system before they’ve even put sheets on their beds. Everyone, even if they don’t want to admit it, is curious about their first foray into the city, and they’re bombarded with questions when they saunter back late at night.
“There’re restaurants everywhere,” Yuri starts. “And makeup stores, and these cafes where they have dogs and cats to play with-“
“And an amusement park!” Yoona squeals, which delights Sunny and Sooyoung. “And movie theaters bigger than this whole apartment building, and-“
“and--“
“And what?” Tiffany asks, on the edge of her seat.
“A daycare,” They say in unison, hopping up and down. Tiffany suddenly loses interest. “It’s a block away.”
Taeyeon shakes her head slowly. “You can’t work there,” she pleads, though it’s obvious she doesn’t care for the rule. “It’s not allowed.”
“I’m not,” Yoona says, smiling. “I’m volunteering.” It’s a flimsy excuse, but no one, not even Taeyeon, has the strength to tell Yoona no.
It starts innocently enough. Yoona disappears for a day and brings back a shiny new red Polaroid camera and a stack of photographs of toothless smiling children. She holds up the photos and blabbers to anyone who will listen, meaning Yuri. “This is Yoojin,” she says, “And this is Sunhwa, and this is Minhye and Minho, they’re twins and they’re the cutest things in the world.” Yuri coos appropriately, and Yoona spreads out more pictures, this time of her with the children or helping them to build castles of cards and sticks. Seohyun makes the mistake of walking by and gets roped into helping Yoona make a collage, which she then frames and puts in their living room. Taeyeon sighs sadly every time she sees it.
Their first Chuseok in the city is a few weeks later, and Yoona decides to make rice cakes for each of the children. The issue with this, of course, is that none of them, let alone Yoona, has ever actually made a rice cake. “How hard can it be?” she says, cracking her knuckles, and locks herself in the kitchen, dragging Hyoyeon along for the ride when she can’t even find the ingredients.
Five hours and countless displeased shrieks later, her rice cakes are lumpy, each with a unique, fungus-like shape. “Well,” Sooyoung says, after her first and last bite, “A kid will still eat it.” Yoona beams and starts packing them up.
They all know it’s going to happen, but none of them know exactly when. Listening to Yoona talk about the children is an exercise in keeping quiet, in not shaking her shoulders and begging her to be careful. “This isn’t going to end well,” Taeyeon moans when Yoona’s not in the room. They all know, but no one has the heart to tell her.
It’s like a weight off their shoulders, almost, when Yoona finally comes home in tears, burying herself in the couch below the collage. “It slipped out,” she wails into the cushion. “I didn’t mean to tell them, I just, I don’t know, felt so comfortable, and then I said the Academy and-I’m stupid. God, I’m so stupid.”
Comforting her comes naturally, but they find themselves missing her simple happiness already. “It’s okay,” they all say, sitting next to her. “We’re here.”
--
Sooyoung and Sunny have been inseparable for as long as any of them can remember. It’s funny, seeing them together, Sooyoung with her long legs and Sunny with her curves, the top of her head barely reaching Sooyoung’s chest, but it’s impossible to imagine them apart, either.
Everyone at the Academy knows them. The teachers recognize their craftiness, their not-so-hidden giggles in the back of the classroom. The lunch ladies recognize Sooyoung’s appetite, and the boys know their sharp tongues and spot-on impersonations. They’re overwhelmingly charming, but they never branch out; other than the other seven girls, the only person they truly treasure is a quiet, equally witty boy named Sungmin.
It’s Sungmin that tells the nine of them the rumor that certain Academy kids can delay their donations. He doesn’t know the source, nor does he have any proof, but it’s a concept so bizarre and enticing that they’re all drawn in. Sooyoung and Sunny exchange wide-eyed looks, the cogs in their mind turning, and then glance back at Sungmin. “Are you going to apply for a delay?” Sooyoung asks, bluntly.
He shakes his head. “I’m graduating soon, it’s too late.”
Sooyoung turns to Sunny. “There’s still time,” she says. “We can do it.”
“You’re kidding,” Jessica scoffs. “There’s no way they’d let you delay donations, let alone leave the country.”
The whole room stares at her in silence, and Sunny finally shrugs. “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”
They calculate their trip to the last dollar, giving themselves a week in each country to see everything. The president of the Academy’s a busy man, so Sooyoung leaves their “application” in his mailbox, and the two of them wait, fingers crossed, for a response.
It takes a year to get anything back, and by that time they’ve moved into the Apartments. Shaking, Sunny reads the letter quietly, and then turns to Sooyoung.
“The rumor’s true,” she says “but it’s only for people who get sick.” She sighs. “We can’t leave the country.”
Sooyoung frowns. “Then what’s the next best thing?”
“Everland,” Sunny mutters. “Or we could defect to the North.”
“No thanks,” Sooyoung says, shivering. “I’d rather stay here where there’s food.”
“True.” Sunny starts to put the letter back in the envelope, and then jumps off the couch. “Food! That’s it.”
“What’s it?”
Sunny pulls Sooyoung up next to her. “Okay, imagine this: Sunny and Sooyoung’s Culinary Tour of the Universe. We’ll go to the bookstore and buy cookbooks and order wine from Italy, and I know we’ve never really cooked, but it’s all the adventure we’re going to get, right?”
It doesn’t take long for Sooyoung to think about it. “I’m in.”
It’s a disaster more times than it is a success. The kitchen’s quickly infested with odd spices and strange smells, and there’s more burnt slabs of meat than actual meals most nights. None of them complain about it, though, and when Sooyoung uses a hundred-dollar bottle of wine to put a fire out, she sighs and says, “At least we’re living.”
--
“What’s this?”
Yuri looks up at Jessica, then curses under her breath when she sees the magazine in her roommate’s hand. It’s last month’s Maxim Korea, which had been under the pillow the last time Yuri had seen it. She might as well have written her name on the cover.
“Um…a magazine,” she states simply.
“Don't be coy,” Jessica says, a tight-lipped frown on her face. She looks down and flips the magazine open to one of the pages Yuri’s dog-eared then holds it up for Yuri to see. It’s a model in a maid outfit and thigh highs, smiling wide; Yuri had thought she looked a little like Yoona. “I see the way you look at that pale boy next door. This isn’t your thing.”
“How do you know?” Jessica rolls her eyes.
“I read the articles,” Yuri blurts out defensively, but it comes out like a question.
“You didn’t bookmark those.”
Yuri pushes herself off the bed, snatching the magazine from Jessica. “This isn’t your business,” she snaps.
“I’m your roommate,” Jessica says. “I’m supposed to keep an eye on you.”
“Well,” Yuri folds her arms. “That doesn’t mean you can be nosy.”
“Hm.” Jessica turns around and starts to walk to the door. Yuri averts her gaze pointedly until she adds, “That was just a stupid thing Jungsu and Hyukjae made up, you know. Academy students aren’t made from porn stars and strippers.”
Yuri purses her lips; she didn’t know anyone else had heard that story. “But it makes sense,” she says. “The stripper part, at least. They’d be the most desperate for the money.”
“It’s not about money,” Jessica says. “It’s about living longer, and everyone wants that. Strippers, businessmen, actresses. And you know what they tell them, Yuri-they say they’ll never even see us.”
“You don’t know that-“
Jessica frowns. “It’s a more likely story, don’t you think?” Yuri says nothing, it’s all too ingrained in her head. “Look, who would you rather believe, me or some smelly idiots?”
Yuri shrugs because she isn’t good at being wrong. “I’m going to go talk to Hyoyeon.”
Later, they all watch a movie, some import from Japan that Sooyoung’s been begging them to watch for days. For a split second, there’s a shot of an extra looking straight into the camera, and Tiffany says, “Wow, she looks just like Yuri.” Her nose is a little crooked and she’s not quite the same height, but that’s all Yuri wants anyway-to believe that she has some semblance of a mother.
--
The first piece of music Seohyun learns is a theme song from a Saturday morning cartoon. The Academy holds a recital every spring where the students taking music classes perform: Seohyun picks this song, plays it on the piano and sings. In retrospect, it’s not a particularly good performance, but that hadn’t mattered then. Even now, it’s probably the one song she’s practiced the most.
Thanks to the grades she skipped, she’s sixteen during her last recital before they move into the Apartments. She considers singing an aria, showing off everything she’s learned here, but she’s done that for years now. Everyone knows Seohyun has a beautiful voice. She wants something different this time.
Compared to her previous songs, it’s easy. Learning the words is simple, learning the piano isn’t much more of a challenge. What makes it difficult is trying to put the right emotion into it, to make sure that her voice reaches out to the audience and tugs at their heartstrings. Seohyun’s never had Yoona’s charisma. She practices for a month, though, and finally it comes alive on stage.
The audience is filled with everyone Seohyun’s ever known-her teachers, her friends, her classmates-and as she walks to the piano, slowly so she doesn’t trip over her heels, it occurs to her she might never see some of these people again. This is (certainly) the last time they’ll ever see her, and she’s going to leave them with something beautiful.
Her performance is the last of the show, and she expects to send everyone back to their dorms and cars smiling-instead, she sees half of her teachers in tears.
“You didn’t like it,” she says softly to her music professor backstage. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s not it,” she says, pulling Seohyun into a hug. “It just made me remember…” she bites her lip, and a tear falls onto Seohyun’s shoulder. “You poor, poor child. I wish I could save you.”
Seohyun’s speechless, and stays frozen, holding her teacher. Fate seems far away, then.
--
In Taeyeon’s opinion, being a carer is the most worthwhile thing she’s ever done.
It’s not easy, of course. Quiet, painful sobs come out of her mouth when she sees Yoona after her first donation, sickly pale; she locks herself up in her room the weekend after Yoona completes. It doesn’t get better when Tiffany, Hyoyeon, or Yuri complete, but Taeyeon didn’t think it would, besides, that’s not the point. The point is that Taeyeon is the oldest, and it’s her duty to stand by them, all of them, until the very end. At the academy, Mrs. Kwon had said “normal” people lived for something; this is what Taeyeon lives for.
Sunny and Sooyoung begin donations together, the way they do everything. Sungmin’s stuck being a carer across the country, so Taeyeon sings to them and gives them every movie she can find that’s set in a foreign country, just so they can get a glimpse of the world they’d wanted to see. They complete after three donations, and the hospital gives Taeyeon a lengthy break until Seohyun’s scheduled to begin.
Of all the people to complete, it’s Seohyun that shouldn't, that should get a chance to really live. Taeyeon had realized this early on, back when the headmaster had bumped Seohyun up to her class, and she’d introduced herself with as much confidence as a teacher. She could have been something, Taeyeon thinks, and walks back down the familiar hallway.
It’s a few hours after Seohyun’s first donation, and she’s sitting in her hospital bed, reading. Taeyeon can’t see the title from the doorway, and Seohyun doesn’t look up before a nurse pulls Taeyeon out.
“It didn’t go well,” he whispers. “Her mind is fully functional, but her body’s already starting to deteriorate. Dr. Shin says we’ll have to get the second donation sooner than expected.”
Taeyeon doesn’t want to hear what comes next. “And?”
“There’s more than a ninety percent chance Seohyun-sshi will complete after two donations.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Taeyeon-sshi,” he frowns, “You’ve seen cases like this before.”
”Seohyun took care of herself,” she says. “She always made sure we were eating right, exercising enough, getting enough sleep. And you’re telling me“-she squeezes her eyes shut, as if it’ll keep the tears inside-“you’re saying she’s going to complete after two donations?”
“It happens,” he says, reaching for Taeyeon’s hand; she swings it out of reach. “I’m sorry.” He walks away, back to the front desk, maybe, and Taeyeon slumps against the wall, hand clasped over her mouth. It doesn’t help, and her jagged sobs start to fill the hallway.
When she finally walks into Seohyun’s room, sniffing but composed, she bursts into tears as soon as she sees Seohyun’s face, looking up at her, knowing. “Unni,” she says, her voice even tinier than usual, “It’s okay.”
Taeyeon shakes her head. “You’re going to complete in two weeks,” she whispers. “There’s nothing okay about that.”
Seohyun closes her book and places it next to her pillow. “That’s what we do, unni,” she says. “We complete, and other people live for us.”
“But that’s not what you should be doing,” Taeyeon says. “You know that.”
“What use is it now?” Seohyun looks at her hands, and it’s the first indicator that she’s not happy about this, either. “It’s half done already.”
Taeyeon bites her lip. “Seohyun,” she whispers, sliding over to the bed. They lock eyes, and an ugly sob comes out of her mouth. She wraps her arms around Seohyun’s shoulders, and Taeyeon realizes she can’t take much more of this.
“When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now…” It was one of the first songs they’d learned in music class, but Seohyun says nothing. “Will you still be sending me a valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine? If I’d been out till quarter to three, would you lock the door?” Seohyun slowly lowers her head onto Taeyeon’s chest, and Taeyeon clutches her now shaking shoulders harder.
“Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m sixty-four?”
--
“I’m sorry.”
Taeyeon repeats it like some kind of prayer for the first ten minutes Jessica’s in her hospital room. The tone of her voice doesn’t change, just the same pleading over and over. Jessica stands over the water heater and concentrates on not burning herself. “You like Earl Grey, right?”
“Jessica,” she says, sharp now. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Taeyeon sniffs. “For being weak.”
“Donations tend to do that.”
“You know what I mean.”
Jessica picks up the now-full teacup, handing it to Taeyeon. She shrugs. “So what? I’ll die alone.”
“Complete,” she corrects.
“Yeah, whatever. Complete alone. You’re not weak, Taeyeon. Most people aren’t carers for as long as you were, and even those who are, well-“ she scoffs. “They aren’t as good as you were, anyway.”
“Before they told me I was starting donations, I filled out your file,” Taeyeon says. “You’ll get a good carer, I promise.”
Jessica raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says. “I don’t intend on starting donations for a while.”
“It’s not up to you, you know.”
“Sure,” she says, leaning against the nurse’s desk. “Listen, I have something to show you.” She pulls a bundle of papers, held together by a blue paperclip, out of her bag and hands them to Taeyeon.
Taeyeon glances at the papers, then at Jessica. “What is this?”
“Read it.”
She nods, tossing the paperclip to the edge of the bed. She reads quietly, and Jessica doesn't interrupt her. Finally, Taeyeon asks, “Did you show this to anyone else, before they completed?”
Jessica shakes her head. “I didn’t know how they’d react. You know how Yuri and Sunny were, they would want to make changes. Seohyun, too, maybe.” Taeyeon looks down, and Jessica regrets bringing her up.
She clears her throat, and continues. “In the back, there’s some artwork from Hyoyeon. She didn’t know I was using it for this, though.”
“What are you going to do with this?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Jessica laughs. “I’m going to publish it.”
Taeyeon looks up at her, eyebrows shooting to the top of her head. “You can’t be serious,” she says. “No one in their right mind would publish something from an Academy student.”
“Then maybe I’ll put it online,” Jessica retorts. “What would I do with the money, anyway? All that matters is that someone knows we lived. Someone out there will know we’re just like them.”
Taeyeon sniffs. She looks through the pages one more time. “Do you really think someone will read it?” she asks, meekly.
“Who knows?” Jessica takes the papers back, setting them on the desk. “It’s worth a try.”
“You should have told me,” she says, “I would have given you more stories.”
Jessica smiles. “You gave me plenty. So did everyone.” She finds Taeyeon’s hand and squeezes it. “It’ll be okay,” she says.
“I’m sorry,” Taeyeon repeats. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” she whispers. “Go back to bed, I’ll come tomorrow.”
Jessica picks up the papers and walks out into the hallway. This is for you, she’d wanted to say to each of them, all of you.
She’ll have to settle for telling Taeyeon.