I’ve done an extensive research on Guji Tarence Kim, and all about his whatever-he’s-doing. I found nothing classified as “safe”. It seems that violence is his favorite noun, and black and blue and red are his favorite colors. He could take fifty men in one minute, which meant he could take me down in 1.2 seconds. And the fact that I’m a girl, 1.2 seconds was an exaggeration. He could just use his forefinger to push my forehead and I’d stumble down. It would only take him 0.2 seconds.
“Whatever you did, make sure that won’t get you expelled,” I saw the irritation in my sister’s eyes when she handed over an envelope addressed to me. It was a letter from the President of Centerfield University, my school.
Guji Tarence Kim’s father. My nightmare’s father.
“What did you do?”
“Non,” I said unapologetically, ripping the envelope’s one end. I did nothing wrong to them. I didn’t fight back like he’s accusing me of. I call that communicating. That’s how I talk to people. Is that so wrong?
When I unfolded the paper inside and read the contents of it, a feeling called “resentment” took over my heart. I reread the letter a couple of times more to be sure that I didn’t misread it. Blast this.
Chances. Do you hate me that much?
“What does it say?” Janine inquired.
“I’ve got a job,” I proclaimed, formed the letter into a ball and aimed at the trash bin. “I’m going to be the President’s son’s private tutor,”