My Art Teacher | Johnyong

Chapter 2: Room 0029

<Johnny's POV>

Ah, young love. I sighed, thinking to myself of the bickering students I had interrupted. Smirking subtlely, I thought about what joy I might get in seeing one of those students in my class next year. What if they wanted to do their independent project on love, a crush perhaps? I smiled at the thought. My mind gently wandered to my to-do list for this semester as my feet carried me to the Headmaster's office. With my brain going a mile a minute, thinking of how I might persuade my new boss to let me renovate the art studio or expand the arts, I barely notice before a student crashes into me, papers flying everywhere.

"Oh gosh, I'm sorry!" I respond automatically, "Are you okay?" I ask, concerned that I might have crushed the tiny boy sitting on the floor.

The student scurries across the floor, rescuing the contents of their folders as quickly as possible without a response. Maybe he didn't hear me? I notice his gaze fall on a piece of paper that ended up on the other side of the hallway. Since I was standing, I figured I would be faster, efficiently walking across the hall. Squatting down, I hunch over and reach for the paper, only to encounter the student struggling to take it, his hand brushing across mine as I compulsively keep the paper in my hands. My eyes immediately catch the doodles surrounding the math equations, a variety of cartoon figures with bold striking features that seem to be restricted by the numbers printed on the page. Their creativity is simply jumping off the page, begging for a larger canvas.

I sense him becoming impatient, and as if on cue, he grabs the math sheet out of my grip, spitting out "Um, excuse me, that's mine".

As the paper shifts, I look down to see the student scowling at me, his striking features remnant of the 2D figures from his drawings. Behind the scowling expression, his large and almost fiery eyes bore into my soul, with bold blue bangs hanging in his face, but that is hardly enough to shield the intensity of his gaze. Peeking from the intensity, I catch a glimpse of kindness as his expression softens, eyes meeting mine.

Mirroring his soft expression, I say "Sorry, I was just looking at the drawing in the margins" chuckling quietly, mulling over how I slip into my own world whenever I admire something artistic. The student's kindness shifts into something else, frustration, embarrassment? I couldn't place my finger on it as he yanks the paper from me, almost whispering "Whatever" and breaks into a sprint. In just a few seconds, the student dashes down the hall and out of sight, as if it never happened at all.

I shrug, "Whatever" imitating him as the bell rings and I mosey into the office to speak with Headmaster Kim.

-

My lunch break approaches, and all I can think about is the burrito I put in the teacher's lounge, how vulnerable it must be in there! The communal fridge is not the friendliest environment, and neither is the lineup of staff and teachers at NCT. When I arrived to this job a couple months ago, I was surprised to notice that I was not the youngest teacher as I had anticipated. In fact, many of them were around my age. However, it was the strange competitiveness and sense of humor that confused me.

Jung Jaehyun, who taught physical education, was the youngest of all the staff and about a year younger than me. I suppose when I picture a gym teacher, my prototypical image is skewed by my experience growing up in the states. Despite that, even in my last couple years of high school spent in South Korea, I had never encountered a teacher like Jaehyun. When I first met him, I thought he was older than me. Maybe it was in the way he held his shoulders high and his jaw clenched, but his intimidating energy quickly melted away when we all started sitting together for our lunch hour. In reality, he was a giggly baby hidden under his masculine appearance, but his competitiveness as a P.E. teacher and regular human were still unmatched.