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The open classroom window lets in the sounds of students, chattering and calling to one another as they leave school for the day, some heading home to study and most heading to cram schools to study.
Mira watches them from the second floor, leaning one elbow on her desk and propping up her chin in one hand. She wishes she were leaving, too.
But nope, she’s stuck here, waiting. The first-year middle school classroom has emptied out, and the only other person left behind is Mira’s teacher, Park Min Jung. Park- seonsaengnim already offered to get Mira tea or a snack — it wouldn’t do to let a rich little princess be troubled for even a moment in her life.
“Tsh,” Mira sneers, annoyed at nothing and everything in particular. Her teacher jumps a little but returns to writing tomorrow’s lesson on the chalkboard.
The sidewalks below gradually clear of students. Mira folds her arms and puts her head down on her desk.
Twenty minutes later, Mira hears her mother coming down the hall, her voice crisp and sharp as she talks on her cell, giving directions. Her heels click neatly with each step until she arrives just outside Mira’s classroom and stops there.
“No, I want the grand ballroom for the ceremony, and if I can’t have it, then Manager Choi needs to think long and hard about whether he wants to enjoy our continued patronage. And I expect to see a list of catering menus and bids on my desk first thing in the morning. As for the new product launch, show me results. I have to go now. No, just get it done.”
A soft beep of a phone call ending, followed by more neat clicking of heels.
“Park- nim, hello,” Mira’s mother says with a tiny head bob as she enters the room.
“It’s my pleasure, ma’am,” says Mira’s teacher, bowing politely and gesturing to one of the three chairs that have already been pulled in front of the desk. “Please, if you would have a seat. I’m so sorry to trouble you to come all this way.”
Mira’s mother casts a glance her way. “Yes, well, I’m sure you had no intention of troubling me.” Mira’s mother gingerly takes a seat in the plastic chair, sitting ramrod straight so as not to let her blazer touch the backrest.
“Haha, yes, of course,” Park- seonsaengnim laughs gently. “Mira, would you please join us.”
Time to face the music, Mira thinks. She should be thrilled. This was the goal after all. However, a sense of dread has pooled in her stomach.
She pulls herself out of her chair, bumping one knee on the leg of the desk. Her limbs are awkward these days, long and lanky from her recent growth spurt. Her mother doesn’t look back, but she turns her head slightly, having caught the noise.
Mira keeps her face impassive as she slowly strolls up to the front and takes a seat next to her mother. Mira keeps her eyes locked on Park- seonsaengnim.
Her teacher picks up a small stack of papers from her desk and takes the seat opposite them.
“I wanted to have a discussion about Mira’s most recent test scores,” the teacher says, trying to sound firm but looking abjectly miserable. “We held standardized testing in Math, Biology, Korean, English, and History for the past two days. Mira’s results, were, well—”
Mira’s mother glances at the papers in Park- seonsaengnim ’s hands, then snaps her hard, judgemental eyes to the teacher, then holds her hand out silently.
Just as silently, and with an abashed little nod of her head, the teacher hands over the papers with both hands.
Mira’s mother silently looks at the tests, one after the other. Mira watches as her jaw tenses and the corners of her mouth turn down.
Finally, Mira’s mother holds out the papers, upside down, toward the teacher, who accepts them.
“She’ll retake these,” says Mira’s mother.
Mira’s ears grow hot with her anger, but she keeps a firm lid on it. “Fine by me,” Mira says. “Just don’t expect anything different.”
Her mother finally looks at her, rigid firmness cloaking her in an arctic aura.
Mira doesn’t budge. She simply accepts the glare, lets it cool her own heated anger to something more controlled so she doesn’t fly into a rage.
Park- seonsaengnim starts to get nervous in the silence. Sensing the tension between mother and daughter, and unaware of the true danger of the situation, the teacher tries to find some iota of solid ground to stand on.
“Mira has been an exemplary student since starting here, no trouble at all in class, wonderful grades,” the teacher says, ready to heap on the praise. “I’m sure there’s some explanation for this, ah, unexpected result.”
“By unexpected result,” Mira’s mother says, “I’m sure you’re referring to the fact that she scored exactly 49 or 48 points on all five of the tests.”
Mira smiles. “I could have had them all at 49, but the tests didn’t have the same question totals.”
“Mira!” her mother finally snaps.
Mira shrugs pointedly and crosses her arms, waiting.
Her mother’s eyes narrow. “No. The answer is no.”
Mira’s gut twists, but she doesn’t let it show. “Again, fine by me.”
Her mother reaches up a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, and then gestures sharply, pointing downward repeatedly with one stabbing finger.
“We agreed that it was time for you to focus your energy on more productive pursuits. This is not productive.”
Mira rolls her eyes. “No, I didn’t agree. You and dad agreed and then sprung it on me via voicemail.”
Her mother throws her hands up. “So you’re throwing a childish fit, endangering your academic record, over some juvenile dance practices. That’s lovely. Very strategic and thoughtful. Throwing away your future for a little fun.
If Mira could chew glass and spit it out, she would do it in a heartbeat. “It is strategic, actually,” she says, her desperate plan finally reaching its climax. If this doesn’t work, Mira doesn’t know what she’ll do. Probably go mad. “This is now a negotiation. I have something I can give you, and you have something you can give me.”
Her mother’s whole face twitches, but, to Mira’s great amazement, something clicks in her mother’s eyes. Business. She can speak business. Her mother is listening.
Mira hasn’t tried anything like this before. She’s tried a whole lot of things to get her way when she got desperate… desperate for validation, desperate to be seen, acknowledged, understood.
Nothing’s ever worked.
But now, with everything on the line, she decided to try a new tactic. She decided to try to play her parents’ game.
“You want good grades, but I can withhold them indefinitely,” Mira says. She reaches out and taps the papers that the bewildered teacher is still holding. “I want my dance lessons back. Permanently. They will not be replaced with cram school, tutoring, or any other activity. In exchange, you’ll never see anything less than an A.”
Her mother’s eyes narrow. “You’ll maintain an A and rank in the top three in all subject areas.”
Tougher, but worth it.
“Deal,” Mira says.
She’d have agreed to rank first in class if she had to. It would have meant some serious cramming to beat her smartest classmates, but she could do it.
Her mother looks caught off guard, like she didn’t expect this outcome. She stares at Mira as if looking at a stranger — a stranger who she seems to think must be trying to cheat her somehow.
After a long moment, Mira’s mother turns to Park- seonsaengnim and orders, “She’ll retake the tests.”
Shakily, the teacher nods. “Of course, ma’am.”
Without another word, Mira’s mother gets up, smooths her skirt, and walks to the door. She has her phone out before she reaches it.
As her heels go click-click-click through the hallway, Mira hears, “Hello. I’d like to speak with Manager Choi.”
Mira stares at the door, feeling as though a frosty after image of her mother trails in her wake.
The tension slowly drains from her shoulders.
“Mira, is there anything I can—”
“Don’t worry about it. Sorry to trouble you, Park- seonsaengnim.”
The teacher looks like she wants to say something more, but Mira hurries to rise and bow and go collect her things.
The empty hallway echoes with the thud-thud of her thick-soled black boots.
Mira accomplished what she set out to achieve. She just wishes she felt happier about it.
In a negotiation, something must be sacrificed for the sake of a greater gain. As her parents have demonstrated to her, the most successful negotiation is the one with the smallest sacrifice for the greatest gain.
Her mother doesn’t realize yet what she truly sacrificed in today’s negotiation — leverage. And that’s Mira’s biggest win, even beyond saving her dance lessons.
And yet, Mira doesn’t feel pride or joy over her success.
Maybe it would be different if there were someone, anyone, to celebrate with her.
Someday.