Have you ever taught someone a new language only to have it backfire horribly?

Confessions and Consequences

We left right after that. Parker was quiet as we walked to his car, his jaw still tense.

“Want to go somewhere else?” he asked once we were sitting in his car. “I know a place that’s actually fun.”

We ended up at this tiny park near the elementary school, sitting on swings that were definitely too small for us. The moon was bright enough that we didn’t need the street lights to see each other.

“Sorry about Madison,” he said, dragging his feet in the dirt beneath the swing.

“And sorry if the party was too much.”

“I know my friends can be overwhelming.”

“They were actually nice,” I told him, and meant it. “Different from what I expected.”

“They really care about you.”

Parker stopped swinging and turned to look at me. “You’re different from what I expected, too.”

“In the best way.”

“What did you expect?”

He thought for a moment, kicking at the wood chips under the swing. “I don’t know.”

“Someone intimidating, I guess.”

“You always looked so smart and focused when you were reading.”

“Like you were in this whole other world that someone like me couldn’t access.”

“Someone like you?”

“You know, dumb jock.”

“Good at kicking a ball.”

“Not much else.”

“So, you made up an elaborate lie about living in Tokyo?” I couldn’t help but laugh.

He groaned and covered his face with his hands. “It seemed like a good idea for about 5 seconds.”

“Then, Akira started speaking actual Japanese to me, and I just panicked, kept nodding like an idiot while having no clue what she was saying.”

“What did you think would happen?”

“I didn’t think.” He laughed at himself. “I just saw you sitting there with your book and thought.”

“This is it.”

“This is my chance to finally talk to her.”

“And then my mouth just started making words without my brain’s permission.”

“Wait,” I said, processing what he just said. “Finally talk to me?”

“How long had you been wanting to?”

Even in the moonlight, I could see his ears turn red. “Since like October.”

“You were reading this book with a dragon on the cover during lunch and you laughed out loud at something.”

“And I just I wanted to know what was funny.”

“I wanted to know what made you laugh like that.”

“October was 6 months ago.”

“Yeah, well, you’re intimidating.”

“You use words like furthermore in casual conversation.”

“You read books for fun.”

“You’re smarter than half the teachers.”

“I’m not that smart,” I protested.

“You taught me an entire language in three weeks.”

“You learned an entire language in three weeks.”

“That’s way more impressive.”

We stayed there swinging and talking until almost midnight when Parker’s mom texted asking if we were okay.

Monday morning, there was a note in my locker written entirely in hiragana. Parker’s handwriting was absolutely terrible. His characters looked like a kindergartener had drawn them with their non-dominant hand, but I could make out what it said.

“Beautiful morning, beautiful girl.”

It was cheesy, and his wo looked more like a deformed cat than an actual character. But I carefully folded it and put it in my wallet.

In English class, we got paired up for a poetry project on metaphysical conceits. Everyone groaned when the teacher announced it, but Parker actually seemed interested.

“John Donne’s using the compass as a metaphor for separated lovers,” Parker said during our discussion, pointing to the line in the poem. “Like they’re two parts of the same tool.”

“Even when one moves away, they’re still connected at the center.”

The teacher actually stopped walking around the room.

“That’s that’s exactly right, Parker.”

“Excellent analysis.”

Parker looked as surprised as everyone else. After class, he seemed kind of dazed.

“See,” I told him as we walked to his next class. “Not just a dumb jock.”

“I actually really liked that poem,” he admitted. “The way Donne describes love as this mathematical, precise thing, but also completely beyond logic.”

“It reminded me of trying to explain how I feel about you.”

I stopped walking. “Did you just compare me to a metaphysical conceit?”

“Is that good or bad?”

“It’s perfect,” I said, and kissed him right there in the hallway, not caring who saw.

We developed this whole routine without even discussing it. Parker would walk me to every single class, even when it made him late for his own.

We’d eat lunch together every day, sometimes with Akira and Sam, who were now officially dating and disgustingly cute about it. After school, I’d do homework in the bleachers while he was at practice, and he’d drive me home after. It felt natural, like we’d been doing this forever instead of just a couple weeks.

One day, Akira brought these Japanese snacks to lunch. Weird KitKat flavors and something called Pocky that turned into a whole thing.

“This is the Pocky game,” she explained, sticking one end of the chocolate-covered stick in her mouth.

“Sam, you bite the other end and we eat toward the middle.”

They demonstrated, ending with a kiss when they met in the middle, and Sam’s face went bright red while Akira looked extremely pleased with herself.

“Your turn,” Akira said, tossing a box to Parker and me.

“We’re in the cafeteria,” I protested.

“So.”

Parker was already opening the box. “Come on, I want to try.”

We were absolutely terrible at it. Parker bit too hard and broke the stick immediately. The second try, I started laughing and dropped it.

The third time, we actually made it to the middle and the kiss tasted like chocolate and strawberry.

“You two are gross,” Sam said, but she was smiling.

“This from the girl who just made out with her girlfriend over a snack,” Parker shot back.

Akira started teaching us both slang that definitely wasn’t in any textbook. “This is what people actually say,” she insisted, writing down phrases that made us all giggle like middle schoolers.

“How do you say Parker’s an idiot, but he’s my idiot?” I asked.

Akira thought for a moment, then wrote something down. Parker tried to read it, sounding it out slowly.

“Hey,” he protested when he figured it out. “That’s mean, but accurate,” Akira said. “Brutally accurate,” Sam agreed.

These lunches became my favorite part of the day. Just the four of us, laughing and teaching each other random phrases in Japanese, acting like normal teenagers instead of the weird social dynamics that usually ruled the cafeteria.

Friday night was dinner at Parker’s house. His mom had insisted all week, texting me directly after getting my number from Parker’s phone.

“She’s been planning this menu for days,” Parker warned me as we pulled into his driveway.

“I’m really sorry in advance for whatever happens.”

His mom opened the door before we even got to it.

“Finally, I’ve been dying to properly meet the girl who got Parker to actually study something.”

Dinner was an experience. Parker’s dad had apparently prepared a PowerPoint presentation of Parker’s baby photos, which he displayed on the TV while we ate.

“This is Parker’s first day of kindergarten,” his dad narrated, clicking to a photo of Tiny Parker in a Superman cape.

“He insisted on wearing the cape every day until November.”

“Dad, please,” Parker groaned, covering his face.

“Oh, and this one.” His mom grabbed the remote. “This is when he decided he was going to marry his second grade teacher.”

“I was seven,” Parker protested.

“You wrote her a love poem,” his dad added helpfully. “In crayon.”

“It said, ‘Roses are red, violets are blue.”

“‘You’re pretty and nice.”

“‘Can I marry you?'”

I was trying so hard not to laugh that my sides hurt. Parker looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

“You know what?” his mom said, studying me.

“You’re exactly what I pictured when Parker talked about his Japanese tutor.”

“Smart, pretty, and patient enough to deal with this one.”

She ruffled Parker’s hair affectionately.

“Mom,” Parker whined, but he was smiling.

After dinner, while his parents did dishes, they insisted we shouldn’t help. Parker showed me his room properly for the first time. I’d been there during our lessons, but I’d been too focused on teaching to really look around.

There was a whole stack of Japanese learning books on his desk that he definitely hadn’t mentioned during our lessons. Japanese for Dummies, Manga for Language Learning, even a kid’s workbook with cartoon characters.

“Have you been studying on your own this whole time?” I asked, flipping through one of the books that had notes in his handwriting in the margins.

Parker rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe I wanted to impress you.”

“Like what if you said something in Japanese and I could actually respond correctly?”

“I thought you’d think I was smart.”

“I already think you’re smart.”

“Now you do.”

But before, he sat on his bed looking at his hands. “I know what people think of me.”

“Pretty face, good at sports.”

“Probably peaked in high school.”

“I wanted you to see something more.”

I sat next to him, taking his hand. “I do see more.”

“I see someone who learned a language in 3 weeks.”

“Who understands poetry better than he thinks.”

“Who’s kind and funny and way smarter than he gives himself credit for.”

He squeezed my hand. “When you say it, I almost believe it.”

“Believe it,” I said, and meant it.

The next week, Madison tried one more desperate play. I was at my locker between classes when I heard her voice behind me, loud enough for the whole hallway to hear.

“I just think it’s so interesting,” she was saying to her friends, though clearly performing for everyone within earshot.

“How some people suddenly become popular just by dating the right person.”

“How did Parker know about metaphysical conceits when everyone thinks he’s just into sports?”

“The way he understood that compass metaphor makes me wonder what else he reads when nobody’s watching.”

“Does he secretly love poetry?”

“Like, where was she 3 months ago?”

“Oh, right.”

“Sitting alone in the library.”

I turned around slowly and the hallway seemed to hold its breath. Madison stood there with her perfectly coordinated crew, all matching expressions of fake concern.

“You’re right, Madison,” I said, surprised by how steady my voice was.

“3 months ago, I was reading in the library, and Parker was watching me from across the cafeteria, too nervous to talk to me.”

“Which one of us really changed?”

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish. Someone actually laughed. I think it was one of her own friends.

“He only noticed you because of Akira.” She snapped, grasping for something.

“Anything?”

“Actually, yeah.” Parker’s voice came from behind her and she whirled around. He was standing there with some of his soccer teammates, and they all looked thoroughly entertained.

“Akira is the reason I finally had an excuse to talk to her.”

“I should send her a thank you card.”

“This is pathetic,” one of Madison’s friends muttered, tugging on her arm.

“Let’s go.”

As they walked away, I heard another one whisper: “God, Madison, just let it go already.”

That was the last time she tried anything. After that, she just pretended we didn’t exist, which honestly was perfect.

Friday afternoon, the spring dance got announced over the intercom during last period. The theme was enchanted garden, which sounded exactly as cheesy as you’d expect, but everyone got excited anyway.

“20 bucks says Parker asks you with some elaborate Japanese sign.” Akira said as we walked out of class.

“He wouldn’t,” I said. But I was already wondering what he might do.

Monday morning, I walked into the cafeteria to find Parker standing on one of the tables holding a poster board sign. The entire room was watching. The sign had dance written in English and below it in carefully drawn hiragana characters.

“Yishuni masena, won’t you dance with me?”

His handwriting had improved so much since that first note in my locker. The characters were actually legible this time.

“Get down from there before you fall.” I called out, but I was smiling so hard my face hurt.

He jumped down and walked over with the sign. “Is that a yes?”

“How long did it take you to write those characters?” I asked, running my finger over the hiragana.

“Like 3 hours.”

“I kept messing up the last one.”

“Yes,” I said. “Obviously, yes.”

The cafeteria erupted in a mix of cheers and groans, probably from people who’d bet against him doing something this public. Parker picked me up and spun me around, which should have been mortifying, but somehow wasn’t.

That weekend, dress shopping turned into an unexpected group thing. Akira texted me Saturday morning.

“Sam and I are going dress shopping.”

“You’re coming.”

“Not a request.”

I met them at the mall where Sam was already holding about 15 dresses and Akira was judging each one with intense concentration.

“Too pink,” Akira declared about one.

“Too many ruffles,” about another.

“You realize I’m the one wearing it, right?” Sam said, but she was grinning.

“Yes, and I’m the one who has to look at you all night, so I get input.”

We spent 4 hours trying on everything. Sam ended up with this gorgeous emerald dress that made her eyes pop. Akira chose a sleek black number that was somehow both elegant and slightly dangerous. I found a deep blue dress that actually made me feel pretty instead of like I was playing dress up.

“Parker’s going to die when he sees you in that,” Sam said as I spun in front of the mirror.

“In a good way, in the best way.”

While we were at the food court afterward sharing a giant pretzel, Sam said something that surprised me. “You know, I never really got Parker before.”

“Like, he was just this popular guy who was good at soccer, but seeing him with you, he’s actually kind of a dork, isn’t he?”

“The biggest dork,” I confirmed. “He made flashcards for Japanese vegetables last week.”

“Vegetables, Sam.”

“Who needs to know how to say eggplant in Japanese?”

“Nasu,” Akira replied helpfully.

“See, now I know it, too.”

“He’s corrupting all of us with his vegetable knowledge.”

We were all laughing when my phone buzzed. Parker had sent a photo of himself at the formal wear store wearing a bow tie that matched my dress perfectly.

“How does he know what color your dress is?” Sam asked.

“I may have sent him a picture,” I admitted.

“You two are disgusting,” Sam said.

But she immediately added: “Akira, we need to go back.”

“I need to find a tie that matches my dress for you.”

“I don’t wear ties.” Akira protested.

“You do now.”

The week before the dance, Parker and I were at lunch when he said: “My mom wants to know if your parents want to come over for pre-dance photos.”

“My mom will probably cry.” I warned him. “She cries at everything.”

“She cried at a commercial about paper towels last week.”

“My mom’s already bought three boxes of tissues, so they’ll get along great.”

The day of the dance, I spent approximately 17 hours getting ready. Okay, three, but it felt like 17. My mom did indeed cry when she saw me in the dress.

“You look so grown up,” she sniffled.

“When did you become this beautiful young woman?”

“Mom, please save some tears for the actual photos.”

Parker showed up right on time, looking absolutely perfect in his suit with the matching bow tie. His mom immediately started taking pictures before we even said hello.

“Mrs. Chen, let them at least get in the door,” Parker’s dad said. But he was already pulling out his phone, too.

Our parents had apparently coordinated because my dad had set up this whole photo area in our living room with good lighting and everything. We took approximately 8 million photos. Us alone, us with each parent, us with both sets of parents. Candids of us laughing at how ridiculous this all was.

“One more.” Parker’s mom kept saying. “Just one more.”

Finally, Parker’s dad physically removed the camera from her hands. “They’re going to miss the actual dance at this rate.”

In the car, Parker let out a huge breath. “I thought that would never end.”

“Your boutonniere is crooked from all the hugging,” I said, reaching over to fix it.

“Your hair still looks perfect, though.”

“How is that possible?”

“So much hairspray, like an environmentally irresponsible amount.”

The dance itself was exactly as cheesy as expected. The gym was covered in fake vines and paper flowers with twinkling lights everywhere. It looked like a craft store had exploded, but in a weirdly magical way.

“It’s so tacky,” Akira said when we found her and Sam by the punch bowl.

“I love it.”

Sam was wearing the tie Akira had picked out, and they looked ridiculously good together.

“We’re going to win best dressed couple for sure,” Sam said.

“There’s no such award,” I pointed out.

“There should be.”

When the music started, Parker immediately pulled me onto the dance floor, even though it was a fast song.

“We’re slow dancing to this?” I asked as he put his arms around my waist.

“We’re slow dancing to everything.”

“I don’t know how to fast dance.”

“You’re literally an athlete.”

“Different kind of coordination.”

So, we swayed to everything. Pop songs, hip-hop, even the one random country song that somehow made it onto the playlist. Other couples danced around us doing actual moves, but we just stayed in our little bubble.

Halfway through the night, Parker leaned down and whispered in Japanese: “Kimi to Odoru Nogasuki.”

“I love dancing with you.”

“Your pronunciation is getting really good.” I told him.

“I’ve been practicing with YouTube videos.”

“Don’t tell Akira.”

“Your secret’s safe.”

During a break between songs, they announced the silly superlative awards they’d voted on weeks ago. Parker and I weren’t expecting anything. So, when they called out, “Couple most likely to confuse everyone,” we just looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“I mean, they’re not wrong,” Parker said as we went up to accept the cheap plastic trophy.

It was this ridiculous thing with two question marks on top instead of people.

“We’re keeping this forever,” I declared, holding it up like it was an Oscar. “Obviously, it’s going on my college bookshelf.”

After the dance, we ended up at a 24-hour drive-thru in our formal wear, eating fries in Parker’s car while still wearing our fancy clothes. My feet were killing me, so I’d taken off my heels and had my legs tucked under me.

“3 months ago, I couldn’t even talk to you,” Parker said, stealing one of my fries.

“I used to practice conversations in my head.”

“Like, what would I say if you randomly started talking to me?”

“They were all terrible, by the way.”

“What kind of terrible?”

“Like, ‘Hey, I notice you like books.”

“‘I also know how to read.'”

“That level of terrible.”

I almost choked on a fry from laughing.

“That’s worse than pretending you lived in Tokyo, right?”

“At least the Tokyo thing got your attention.”

“You already had my attention,” I admitted. “I just thought you didn’t know I existed.”

“How could I not know you existed?”

“You’re the girl who laughed out loud at a book about dragons.”

“You use words like furthermore in casual conversation.”

“You color code your notes.”

“You’re impossible to miss.”

We stayed in that parking lot until almost 2:00 a.m. just talking and sharing fries and listening to music. Parker had made a playlist of Japanese songs Akira had recommended, and we tried to translate the lyrics with my phone.

“This one’s definitely about food,” he said about one song.

“It’s about heartbreak, Parker.”

“Then why does he keep saying oishi?”

“That’s Ittoshi, beloved, not oishi.”

“Delicious.”

“Japanese is hard.”

“You literally learned it in 3 weeks.”

“I learned it badly in 3 weeks.”

“There’s a difference.”

As summer got closer, we started making all these plans. Parker wanted to teach me to play volleyball at the beach, which seemed optimistic considering my coordination. I wanted to introduce him to Studio Ghibli movies, which he’d never seen despite studying Japanese.

“We should do a marathon,” I suggested one day at lunch. “All the movies, subtitles only.”

“I’ll bring the snacks,” Parker offered. “I know how to say popcorn in Japanese now.”

“It’s papaon.”

“That’s just popcorn with a Japanese accent.”

“Still counts.”

On the last day of school, everyone was signing yearbooks in that frantic way where you’re trying to write something meaningful but also quick because 20 other people are waiting.

Parker handed me his yearbook with this serious expression. “Write something good,” he said. “Like something I’ll want to read in 10 years.”

I thought about it for a long moment, then wrote: “Parker, thank you for the worst lie ever told in our cafeteria.”

“Thank you for learning a language just to spend time with me.”

“Thank you for seeing me when I thought I was invisible, but mostly thank you for being brave enough to be terrible at Japanese.”

“You changed everything.”

“Your sensei and girlfriend.”

When I handed it back, he read it immediately, which you’re not supposed to do, and his ears went red.

“Your turn,” he said, giving me my yearbook.

What he wrote took up an entire page. It was this mix of English and Japanese, talking about how I’d changed his life by seeing more in him than just a popular athlete. At the bottom, he’d written in carefully drawn characters: “You are my light.”

“Did Akira teach you that?” I asked. Definitely not tearing up.

“Actually, no.”

“I looked that one up myself.”

“Took me like an hour to write it properly.”

That evening, we ended up at the park where we’d had our first real conversation after the party. It had become our spot, the place we went when we wanted to be alone and just talk. Parker had brought one of his Japanese manga books, and we sat on the swings trying to read it together.

“This character is using really informal speech,” he pointed out, proud of himself for noticing.

“That’s because he’s talking to his friend.”

“I knew that,” he lied, and I nudged him with my shoulder.

“We should do something next year,” he said suddenly. “Like start a tutoring program or something.”

“Help other kids learn languages.”

“Only if you promise not to tell them you lived in Tokyo,” I said.

He laughed. “Deal.”

“But I’m definitely telling them the real story, which is that I learned an entire language just to spend time with the smartest, most beautiful girl in school, and it was completely worth it.”

The sun was setting, painting everything golden, and Parker said something in Japanese that I didn’t recognize.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Kimi Waboku, no taud,” he repeated slowly.

“Akira taught me that one.”

“It means you are my sun.”

His accent was still a little off on the taud part. He put too much emphasis on the first syllable, but the meaning was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

And sitting there on those swings with the sunset and the boy who learned a language for me, I thought about how different everything was from 3 months ago. How a terrible lie had turned into the most honest thing in my life. How being seen, really seen by someone, could change everything.

“Hey,” Parker said, breaking into my thoughts.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Just this,” I said, gesturing to everything and nothing. “Us.”

“How weird and perfect it all is.”

“The best things usually are weird,” he said, reaching over to take my hand across the space between the swings.

And he was right. We were weird. The soccer captain and the library girl brought together by a fake story about Tokyo and a signed Taylor Swift vinyl.

But somehow in all that weirdness, we’d found something real, something worth keeping, something that would last way longer than high school, way longer than summer, way longer than either of us had imagined when this whole thing started with Parker sliding that vinyl across the cafeteria table.

Turns out the best love stories start with the worst lies. Who knew? Talk about sticking the landing. Been playing word detective with you fine folks this whole time. And honestly, your company made it. Catch you next time and like the video. It helps more than you think.