After becoming a high school student, the moment the semester begins.
There is a new word that begins to seep into our daily lives.
“Don’t just think of it as a day off from school; think of it as taking the actual CSAT and approach it seriously-”
That word is mock exam.
Like taking the actual CSAT, preparing and solving questions that have been practiced since high school…
…It’s a day when school ends early.
At the teacher’s announcement to solve the questions seriously, the responses from my classmates echo lazily.
“Yes-”
They can’t say ‘no’ due to the atmosphere, so they say ‘yes’ with their mouths…
However, when the winter of the upcoming senior year arrives, there are very few students who take it as seriously as during the actual CSAT.
Even if there are some, it’s only a few studious students who care about the mock exam scores.
Most normal students feel a little happiness in a school day that ends after just three periods and wait only for the time to go home, resting sufficiently while solving meaningless questions.
To not seem too careless, I randomly guess on multiple-choice questions I don’t know to ensure there’s no pattern.
I solve what I can during the initial easier questions and boldly give up on the ones I don’t know.
Clinging desperately to problems I don’t understand until the end, I’ve learned the lesson that the result will likely be wrong—this has happened more than once.
The only friend who seems concerned about the mock exam scores is the class president sitting next to me, Sung A.
Not wanting to disturb anyone, I wait until after the third period to casually speak.
“How did you do on the mock exam?”
“Just okay?”
After neatly arranging the corners of the well-organized test paper upright against the desk before putting it in her bag, I catch a glimpse of her marked score: 96 points.
Her actions and score contrast sharply with mine, which was crushed and tossed into the paper trash can with no one to show to, like some academy or someone else.
It seems like being the class president is bound to come with good grades.
Well, it is also a behavior that hints she’s already thinking about her self-introduction for interviews.
“Mary, how did your exam go-?”
“I just guessed on everything.”
As today’s exams wrap up, classmates begin to gather around one by one.
Friends whose names I only know come closer, poking my cheeks like sticky rice cakes one after the other.
There’s no particular reason for them to gather around me.
They just come over to touch my cute, small and unfortunate body, following their simple instincts.
“You’re really too cute.”
Even as a high school student, with a physique that could easily be mistaken for a middle schooler, I’m the smallest in class; once we get somewhat close, at some point, I become treated like a plush toy.
At first, I rejected the touch, but that only lasted a couple of times.
Once I realized that the affection directed at me was similar to that towards small animals, I accepted it as a sort of biological instinct.
I came to treat it as a quirk that helps me get closer to everyone around me and have been trying to live with it as much as possible.
“Why does everyone come to my seat?”
That said, this is this, and that is that.
Like a swarm of ants finding candy, I can’t forget to express frustration at my classmates gathering around, asking why they are coming to my seat.
“Because Mary is here.”
The reply I get back is the absurd response that it’s because Mary is here.
They casually say it like some saying, “The mountain is there…”
Although we are speaking the same language, communication does not quite work.
At this point, I feel like talking to a monster would be easier.
“Enough bothering the vice-class president, go to your seats-”
With a click, I turn to look at the sound of the front door opening as I’m being poked in the cheeks.
The only adult who can resolve this situation is our homeroom teacher.
Maybe checking on the mock exam as a proctor in a nearby class, they arrived a little earlier than usual.
“Hey-”
With the teacher’s voice, the clustered students slowly disperse.
As the students, moving sluggishly and lazily, return to their places, the teacher adds a few more words.
“Uh? Don’t you want to go home?”
“Noo-”
As the school is being taken hostage, the students quickly return to their seats.
Of course, the teachers, being well aware of how much we want to stay even one second longer at school, are masters at this kind of gentle threat.
Through the transparent corridor’s window, students from other classes peek their heads out.
When I catch the gaze of a friend outside the window, they make silly faces or gesture to try and communicate.
Among them, I also see Shiyeon.
Waving back at her casual wave from outside the window, I take notice.
Regardless of that, the teacher slyly sets down the attendance sheet they always carry onto the teacher’s desk.
Finally, the teacher opens with the first words of the closing ceremony.
“You still have three subjects left for tomorrow’s mock exam, right? Prepare thoroughly, and don’t stray to other paths or karaoke just because school ends early. Go home and study.”
“Yes-”
The world’s most insincere affirmative responses follow, and school is over.
These days, instead of assigning cleaning duties, students just clean up large trash on their own before the closing ceremony.
The machine cleans the blackboard if you just fill it with water, and large cleaning tasks are said to be done by contractors during vacation.
So, the only cleaning the students do is sweeping and collecting trash.
The memory of mopping the floor has quietly slipped into the past.
Maybe in some regional school, they still have it?
Stepping out through the back door, tapping the front of my sneakers on the ground.
Shiyeon, who was clinging to the window, scurries over in the direction I exited.
“Let’s go.”
The brief two-word sentence refers to that as if signaling the start, she sticks close, and we walk together towards the side door of the school…
“What are we going to eat for lunch?”
Rarely does Shiyeon initiate the lunch conversation first.
Usually, I’m the one who brings it up first.
Is there something special she wants to eat?
Feeling curious about her question, I ask back casually.
“Why, do you want something?”
“Not really, it’s not like I have to eat something…”
Upon hearing the question, Shiyeon hesitates for a moment, as if she was attacked at a weak point.
That’s how it is.
At least it must relate to eating, so I wait for her to continue.
Awkwardly, avoiding eye contact and blushing, she stumbles through the next few words.
“I want to go to a buffet together…”
“A buffet?”
I tilt my head at Shiyeon’s sudden restaurant choice.
Buffets… we haven’t been there that much together, except for the last time at the Arctic and meetup.
Most buffets are in big department stores, and there’s no convenient public transport to get there.
Going to a buffet means it needs to be planned with a mindset of a long walk or adding transportation costs to the meal.
With that in mind, I usually think it’s better to just order something I want to eat at home.
But since she specifically says she wants to go, why not just go once.
Mindful of the heaviness of my bag, I point towards the direction home…
“Then, let’s stop by my house, drop off the bag, and go straight there.”
“Are we going?”
She asks again, as if uncertain about what I already explained.
Was it that surprising that I would confirm it again?
“If our puppy wants to go, then we must go-”
“Hehe.”
The dog-like nickname, which sticks to my lips, makes Shiyeon smilingly cover her mouth with her slender fingers.
After stopping by my house, I lightly drop my bag at the front door and turn right back outside.
Waiting in front of the crosswalk near the bus stop, I make sure I have my wallet, smartphone, and mascot in my pockets.
I could use a taxi app to call one, but I still haven’t downloaded it.
After about four minutes of waiting, I see a sign saying ’empty car’ from across the crosswalk.
Waving my hand lazily, a taxi naturally comes to us and stops.
“Get in.”
Unlike when I am alone, I send Shiyeon to the backseat and sit in the front.
After fastening my seatbelt in the front and stating the destination,
“Please go to XX department store.”
It’s a weekday lunch hour without a holiday, and there’s no line at the buffet entrance.
There are only two customers, so we are quickly guided to our seats without waiting.
“The salad bar is available for 1 hour and 30 minutes, and you can start eating right away-”
“Yes-”
I respond while listening to the staff’s formal orientation, remove my coat from the chair, and immediately stand to get food.
While I too hung my coat on the chair, Shiyeon doesn’t stand up with me.
Feeling a little flustered, I ask why she isn’t getting up.
“What are you doing? Why aren’t you getting up?”
“I have to guard our things…”
She’s worried about her coat, deciding to get up after I return.
With her having her mascot in her pocket, what is she worried about?
“It’s okay; I won’t be gone for long.”
“Is that so?”
“Just hurry up and get up.”
With that, I start to collect food, choosing items one by one.
Chicken, ribs, sweet and sour pork, smoked duck, fried rice, spaghetti, sushi.
Filling a plate with an abundance of rich food, I carry one plate in each hand and return to my seat.
As if to show Shiyeon her worries were unfounded, my coat on the chair remains untouched and wrinkle-free.
“You brought back two plates?! Are you going to eat all that at once?”
“No, one isn’t mine…”
Trailing off, I touch the pocket of the coat.
Inside the right pocket is my mascot, the quietly sitting Gomtaengi.
Discovering the answer of ‘mascot’ from my incomplete sentence, Shiyeon looks at her own coat pocket with a similar “Ah.”
Then she pulls her mascot from her coat pocket, causing her utensils to drop and fall under the table.
With a gentle thump, the Gomtaengi goes down to the floor.
On the opposite side, Shiyeon also slowly puts down what appears to be a sea snake pretending to be a doll under the table.
“Good thinking…!”
“Naturally crafty.”
Having placed both mascots beneath, we peek over the table and share a brief conversation.
The neatly laid out tablecloth is broad enough to fit comfortably.
No one would willingly look into the shadowy darkness below, and even if it’s a staff member, they have been replaced by machines for collecting dishes nowadays.
Busy staff members handling payments and exchanging trays, would they really have the leisure to look down there?
After subtly passing the food-filled plate below,
I could deliver the true essence of the buffet to the two mascots.
What about other customers catching on?
That’s a foolish question.
Unless there’s a loud disturbance, humans in a restaurant are least concerned with anything but their own bowl.
