Kelly Daly flags me down from the table where she’s seated. Once I’m within reach, she’s popping out of her chair and pulling me into a quick hug that boasts the same enthusiasm as a golden retriever excited to see you. Then she’s stepping back to examine me with wide, bright eyes.
“Oh my god, you’re back! How was Philadelphia? How’s Mama Ross doing? Did you eat your weight in cheesesteaks? That’s what I would’ve done,” she rambles. “Oooh, and that sexy bad boy fiancé of yours?”
“Kelly—”
“I still can’t believe you’re engaged to a guy with fifty tattoos and who looks like some enforcer out of a K-drama thriller,” she goes on, waggling her brows suggestively. “Ugh, it’ssoohot!”
I can only laugh and shake my head at her rapid-fire interrogation.
Kelly’s always been a whirlwind of energy, but it’s usually at its most intense when we return from long breaks like this.
She’s dyed her hair red and gotten a tattoo of her own—a pink bow on her clavicle that she quickly shows me—and then she launches into what else she’s been up to over the break.
“Well, while you were off gallivanting with your hot fiancé, I was here suffering through the dating apps,” she says. We’ve taken our seats at her table, and she shakes her head to the side, curling her hands around the mug of coffee she’s sipping. “Do you know how many men on those things start the conversation with dick pics? It’s an epidemic, Monroe. A literal epidemic.”
“Don’t remind me,” I say with another laugh. “Exactly the reason the few times I tried any, I logged right off.”
“What possesses men to send random photos of their penis anyway? Are they that cocky about their size? Let me tell you, it’s misplaced. Almost every time.”
“Must have something to do with the male ego.”
“Ugh, that is it, isn’t it? I tried the club scene again too. You know that place in Haeundae? Club Gongshi or something? I went there with some other expat girls I met from a Facebook group. Met a guy who seemed promising ’til he told me he was between jobs and asked if I could cover his drinks.” She sighs dramatically, resting her head on her propped up elbow. “The search continues.”
“Hopefully this spring will be your season. You’ll finally meet someone at least halfway decent.”
“Oh, speaking of meeting new people,” she says, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “We have a new gyogam—you know, an assistant principal? His name’s Mr. Noh Myeong-su.”
“Oh wow, I didn’t know Mr. Chun was leaving. What’s the new one like?”
Kelly wrinkles her nose. “Kind of curt, honestly. Very dismissive. I introduced myself last week during orientation, and he barely looked at me. Just nodded and moved on like I wasn’t worth his time.”
“Maybe he was having a bad day,” I say. “Could be stress from starting a new position at a new school. I’ve heard there’s lots of pressure to make a good impression once you’re at the administrator level.”
“Eh, I guess that’s possible. We’ll find out today. He’s running the faculty meeting that’s about to start.”
As if on cue, the door to the lounge opens and the room quiets.
The man who enters is older—maybe around fifties or early sixties—with silver-gray hair cropped short and neat. He’s compact and sturdy, not tall but carrying himself with a calm and quiet authority that immediately commands attention.
His face is weathered but kind, with warm brown eyes that crinkle slightly at the corners. He wears a modest cardigan over a button-down shirt, the picture of an unassuming academic.
This must be the Mr. Noh Kelly was just telling me about.
He steps to the front of the room and clears his throat. Any remaining chatter dies off.
“Good morning,” he says with a small bow of his head. “For those I haven’t met yet, I’m Noh Myeong-su, the new gyogam. I won’t take up too much of your time with introductions—I’m sure you’re all eager to prepare for your students. I have been an educator for over ten years, and have worked previously in Incheon and Daegu, but have most recently been transferred to Busan. Suffice it to say I’m happy to be here, and I look forward to working with all of you this year.”
Brief and sensible. To the point.
I’m relieved he isn’t prattling on and on about himself like some people in higher positions in academia.
“Now, onto business,” he goes on, clasping his hands behind his back. “First, we will be conducting an evacuation drill this Thursday at ten a.m. I expect all faculty to review the updated procedures and ensure your students are prepared. There will be no exceptions for tardiness or confusion—safety is not optional.
“Second, as some of you may have noticed, renovations to the cafeteria have been completed over the break. The new layout will affect lunch schedules for the first- and second-grade levels. Revised times have been posted in the main office and sent to your school email accounts. Please review them before the end of the day.”
His gaze sweeps the room, calm but assessing. I listen attentively, trying to get a read on him.
Kelly was right that he’s not particularly cheery. But it seems to be his natural demeanor to be business-like and matter of fact. Qualities I don’t necessarily have issues with from a boss.
