There are a multitude of reasons why Boyoung hated school testing in high school. One, she always stressed out. Two, she berated herself if she didn’t get the correct test score she pined after. Three, the teacher’s eyes wandering around the classroom creeped her out. Four, students cheated. Five, students cheated off of her. Six, students cheated off of her blatantly. Seven, people made too much noise. Eight, that people having been Minghao. Nine, Minghao snored too loudly. Ten, Minghao getting thrown out of class was disruptive.

The list can go on and on; but, these are the issues that seem to plague her now. Sitting in the middle of English class, with Minghao being dragged out by the collar of his white button up. Not only is everything going on in class a distraction; but, the girl barely just half of slightly: knows the material. The mere fact that she can feel Jung Hana peeking over her shoulder at her papers, is mind boggling and hands down infuriating. How did she tolerate this before?

Boyoung swings her head over her shoulder (her dark hair fluttering over her face in annoyance). Her scowling eyes stare down the model-esque beauty. “Get off my case, and learn the goddamn material, Hana. Then you won’t have to resort to cheating, got it?” Hana’s large eyes shoot wide open as Boyoung snarls at her before turning back toward her paper and once again drowns herself into foreign words. If not for the fact that she still has twenty-seven questions to answer, she’d probably chuckle along with half of the class that snicker at her commentary.

If you don’t freaking get it together Boyoung, you’re going to fail! If she fails this test, she might end up like future Hana. Jung Hana who ends up engaged to her college boyfriend. He cheats on her she breaks off the engagement by throwing a glass of chardonnay down his shirt, the video goes viral on social media. The girl ends up in some super turmoil: boss fires her from her secretary job (not good press), her parents get pissed at her un-lady like manners, and no one will go near her—not even with a ten-foot pole in the way. Boyoung believes the girl ended up fleeing Korea all together. Just to get away from the press. If only she wasn’t the daughter of two former talent managers of half the stars in and out of Korea and Japan.

Life for the children of higher ups in Korea is different, it’s a fast-moving labyrinth of classy characteristics in the midst of upper-class parties and city lights. Boyoung was lucky. She graduated and got a job in a good standing. She was a daughter her mother could boast about at afternoon brunch to all her former PTA committee friends and sorority sisters. While her father could be known as the dad to the girl who made that famous show. It was perfect…for them.

The teacher walks back in, without Minghao. Great, he’s going to fail this class if he doesn’t pass this test. Teacher Jin is known for forcing rowdy students to wait in the hallway until there’s only twenty minutes of test time left. Giving these disruptive students (who are mainly those that don’t do well in class anyways) less time to complete the test. Practically awarding them a failing grade.

If Boyoung remembers correctly, Minghao has to pass either English or statistics to graduate. His standings in statistics were horrid and English was only twenty percent better. But, still, considerably better. And easier to work with. If he passes this test, he’ll get his grade to a solid D (meaning less than average but still workable). If he fails, there’s no chance for him to fix it by the end of the semester. She has to help him.

In her mind, the girl thinks quickly. A, a, b, c, d, d, d, a, b, b, c. And she repeats it, over and over in her head. Adding more letters as she answers each question. Until she’s done, and she has the whole entire test memorized in her brain. At the front desk, she drops her paper off—smiles at her teacher and walks back to her seat.

From her notebook, she tears out a piece of lined paper and writes down what she remembers. Now, she’s not one for cheating. Never has been. But she’s positive that this is the only possible way she can help Minghao. It’s not like she has the ability to rewind time, at least not controllably. After the test is over, she’ll try to convince Minghao to begin studying. Even if it means she has to tutor him (not that she knows the material that well).

Boyoung throws her arm in the air, gaining the attention of her teacher. “I have to go to the bathroom.” The gray haired teacher nods and flicks his wrist, telling her to go ahead. Smiling, she gets up and quickly heads outside.

Leaning up against the adjacent wall scrapping at the bottom of his shoes, is Minghao. The collar of his shirt is nearly torn off, and his auburn hair is all sorts of messy—with strands sticking out from either side. Teacher Jin really messed with him. She snorts, “You look ridiculous.”

“You really know how to boost my confidence, Bo.” He bores, as he drags his gaze up toward her.

Boyoung snickers as she takes a step forward and offers up the note in her hand. “This is a onetime only offer. I’ll let you have it, if and only if, you promise to study with me for the next test.” She waves the small crunched up piece of paper in front of his face. His nose twitches, and his eyes narrow to linger on it in want. “Come on, you know you want it!” She teases with a laugh.

“How much studying are we talking about?” Minghao asks, gritting his teeth.

Boyoung smiles brightly, knowing she has him. “At least one hour a day after school in the library, until test day.” Ever since Boyoung can remember, Minghao hated studying. Well, he hated school period. And no matter how much Soonyoung or Chunja or even herself tried to get him interested in it: it always failed. He always wanted the easy way out; which meant he tried cheating a couple of times and only managed to succeeded once and getting caught on all the others. He was always just uninspired. And honestly, she was never quite sure what he was into.

“Alright, deal.” He snatches the paper out of her hand and stuffs it up the sleeve of his shirt before he goes back to leaning on the wall. “But, if I’m sick, or whatever—you can’t force me to do anything that day, okay?” Boyoung shakes her head, he’ll just say he’s sick nearly every day just to get out of it. And she’s not falling for it.

The door to their classroom etches open, a dark brown leather covered foot sticks out from the opening. Boyoung, at the sight of the incoming of their teacher, takes off down the hallway. She’s supposed to be in the bathroom not talking to Minghao. Getting caught would mean they both fail the test and get detention. Which is the last thing she needs. Thankfully, she manages to dodge around the corner—and out of sight.

“Twenty minutes to finish, Mister Xu. Not a second more.” Teacher Jin snaps as his hand collides with Minghao’s shoulder. Boyoung peeks around the corner, to find him being dragged inside defiantly. He spots her just before heading inside, and in that split second—he waves the piece of paper she gave him between his fingers and winks at her.

The girl rolls her eyes, that’s the last time I’m ever helping him!

Boyoung decides to head to the bathroom, despite not actually having to go. If she heads back to the classroom now, her teacher may find her suspicious. Besides, class is over in twenty minutes—no reason to sit alone and quiet at her desk for that much time. Instead, she’ll wait it out in the bathroom.

The girl’s bathroom, is actually quite nice. Considerably large, with salmon colored walls, and shimmering white counter tops. Not to mention the exuberantly huge stalls compared to the standard size in the boy’s bathroom. Seems like she never noticed the favoritism in the school. Though, when she was younger, her mind was never really focused on it—she had other things on her plate other than who or what was favorited. But, now sitting atop the gleaming ivory toilet bowl, she’s finally come to the realization.

“Okay, will you tell me now?” The high-pitched sound of a female’s voice envelope’s the bathroom with a weariness. Clicking of heels across the room ricochets off the floors to bounce across the walls and keep Boyoung still in place. Suddenly, this feels like déjà vu.

Peeking through the slanted crack of the stall, Boyoung spots two younger females (possibly freshman’s or sophomores) splashing their pharmacy bought cosmetics across the counter. “God, Xinyu, it was only three periods of waiting—it wasn’t that long.” The other female—a bit shorter than the high-pitched one—mumbles as she takes a tube of dark red lipstick into her hands.

“Come on, Yuki, it’s felt like ages!”

Boyoung pales as she takes in a deep breath and scoots back on the toilet seat. She slowly lifts her feet up to her chest so that she can’t be spotted from underneath the stalls. Yuki. There aren’t a lot of Japanese students at her school. They only take about five to ten transfers students from any country. And they only get about two in each grade year for a total of eight. And only one is a sophomore named Yuki with dyed red hair. And only one who Boyoung may be causing a huge amount of pain for. Don’t feel guilty, this has to happen—for everyone else.

“Okay, well remember how a few days ago, I spilled my cranberry and kale smoothie on Thuy?” Yuki asks in a cheery-happy-go-lucky voice that embodies the smile that shines on her face. If only she knew, that the event she’s talking about, is also the event that will or might end her.

The other girl, Xinyu—a sorely bland Chinese girl with chubby cherry red cheeks—nods her head for Yuki to continue. “Well, Jisoo—this morning—brought me my skirt back—the one that Thuy took from me to wear. And said that Thuy and Jeonghan have invited me to their party on Friday!” The two sophomore girls squeal with their heels tapping against the ground aggressively in happiness. They’re just too chirpy for the dark-haired girl sitting on the toilet to take.

Thuy’s really going to do it, Boyoung thinks as her head drops into her hands. But what is she going to take from Yuki? Whatever it is, it can’t be good. Thuy is by far scarier than what Boyoung had initially proposed about the girl. And Yuki seems like an innocent child who couldn’t possibly have done any wrong. What do you take away from an innocent?

“I can’t believe that Thuy would allow it!” Xinyu joyfully cries with a clap of her hands.

Yuki nods her head casually as she applies a basic coat of the red lipstick. “I know, I thought the same thing; but, then I thought—maybe Thuy feels bad for the way she reacted? I mean, you saw, how she snatched the skirt off me in front of everyone! She must be feeling guilty.” The red hair girl shrugs, and Boyoung shakes her head. If anyone feels guilty, it’s Boyoung.

“I guess that makes sense.”

The friends apply light make-up to one another’s faces before heading out with a smile and chaste goodbyes. The bell rings soon after. Prompting Boyoung to lift herself up off the toilet and remove herself from the stall. Her body drags itself to the glisteningly clean counter tops where her eyes stare into the mirror in front of her. Unsurprisingly, she finds something she doesn’t like. A Boyoung that she doesn’t understand.

She knows what it’s like to get bullied and hurt. Is she really going to let Yuki go through the same thing? Is she really that heartless? “This isn’t like you.” She splashes water on her face, one-two-three times before turning off the faucet and leaning her head on her hands. If I let this happen, Yuki will be just like me. She’ll grow up to be cold and mean.

Boyoung shakes her head adamantly and begins pacing the small tiled area in front of her. But if I do, I save myself and many others. And then…then I can pay back Yuki for all her suffering. Fingers wrap around her face, as Boyoung goes back to slouching against the counter. “You have to do this, you have to.” With a final nod, Boyoung straightens her posture and begins her way out of the bathroom that suddenly begins to burst with the excitement of oncoming girls whose hands are filled with cosmetics.

“Here,” Minghao—slouched against the red lockers—offers her, her stuff when she steps out of the room. Calmly, she takes it with a sloppily albeit worrisome smile. He seems weary at her look; but, ignores it with a shrug and pulls Boyoung along with him. “My grades are probably going to go up, right? Not too much though—don’t want my parents to be suspicious about the sudden spike, you know?”

The girl scoffs, “You’ll get an average score. Enough to boost your grade; but, not by much.”

Minghao’s eyebrows skirt upward with a smirk attached to his lips. “I think we’re spending too much time together, Bo. I’m rubbing off on you, Soonyoung won’t like that.” Boyoung’s eyes crinkle in the corners as she stares back up at the boy in confusion. In the past day or so, she’s barely spent any time with Minghao or anyone in the group. She’s mainly kept to herself or followed after Jeonghan and them. Once in a while she’d stalk off to spy on Saeran and Wonwoo. But, for the most part, she keeps to herself.

It’s a mixture between having to deal with the past, and also not wanting them to think she’s entirely too different than how she’d usually be. It feels as if she’s constantly walking on egg shells around them. And while she feels the most comfort around them; she can’t help but think that they all know something’s wrong with her.

“Are you going to eat with us today? Or stay in the library again?” The boy asks with a simplistic look of slight distaste. Almost like he knows that she’s been hanging around Jeonghan more than what she had first told him.

Boyoung casually shrugs, “I’m not sure.”

“Hi Boyoung,” Mina, in her tailored skirt and skin-tight shirt, bounds up to the dark haired girl and Minghao with a bright smile. “I don’t want to intrude or anything—”

“Well you are.” Minghao snaps with a flare of his nose.

Boyoung lightly smacks the boy’s arm before glancing back at the honey haired girl, “It’s fine Mina, I was going to find you anyways,” The girl nods her head as Boyoung lightly drags her to the side—away from an angry Minghao—to speak in private. “I spoke to Wonwoo, he’s back on the team; but, his knee still looks a little wobblily. He may stay out for a few games, seeing as the coach is a little…overbearing.”

Mina claps her hands abundantly, “Thanks Boyoung, I owe you,” The girl pauses to sweep her golden hair to one side and slightly twist her attention to Minghao who casually leans against the lockers, tapping his foot against the floor. “I’ll let you in on a little information,” The girl begins, as she shifts her view back to Boyoung. “I’ve heard that Jeonghan is the jealous type, and doesn’t like the girl he likes hanging around other guys. Especially guys like Minghao. If you don’t want to ruin your relationship with him, you should stop hanging around him.”

“Oh,” Boyoung mumbles with a bite of her lip, “Thanks?”

Mina nods brightly, “Sure! Anything for you Boyoung, you’ve helped me out a lot!” The girl clasps her hands around Boyoung’s shoulders, bringing her in for an innocent huge. To which the dark haired girl breaks off early, bows her head towards Mina, and scurries back to Minghao’s side. Where is this nonsense about me and Jeonghan coming from?

“Done playing Miss Popular?” Minghao sneers as he begins walking again.

Boyoung sighs, “She’s a friend, Minghao.”

“Since when?” He pauses to twist around and face her; bringing her to an abrupt stop in front of him. “Since when were any of them your friend? Jeonghan? Wonwoo? Jisoo? Saeran? You hated half of them, and the rest you didn’t even know. So, why all of a sudden? Are we not enough anymore? Are you that desperate for new friends that you’d stoop that low?” The boy ridicules as he crosses his arms over his chest and glares lightly in her direction.

The girl huffs, “What are you, my dad? Am I not allowed to befriend other people? You have other friends Minghao! You have Seokmin, Kihyun, and Jooheon. Why are you allowed all these friends, and not me?” Frustrated she tightens her grip on her bag and frowns. The boy stares back at her with wide eyes—a shifting contrast from earlier. “It’s not fair! Unlike you, I won’t leave friends behind—even if I make new ones. And either way, it’s none of your business who I befriend.”

With one last huff of stagnant dislike in his direction Boyoung stalks off. Answering his earlier question of whether or not she’ll have lunch with them. The answer: no. She’s vehemently infuriated now, no thanks to Minghao.

Instead, she grabs a cup of steaming Jasmine tea from the café inside the cafeteria, and takes a seat up on the loft—with her eyes pinned down on where Saeran and Wonwoo sit at their constrained table of four. Saeran, Wonwoo, Mingyu, and a kid known only as Hansol. Mingyu is a sight for sore eyes. At least in Boyoung’s opinion.

The last time she saw him, his head was cracked open and his eyes were blood stained as he laid haphazardly in the back of a torn-up Mercedes Benz. Dead. He was dead. And yet here he sits, just below her. Alive and well. Laughing and causally leaning his long limbs every which way. It’s nonsensical. She shouldn’t be here: in the past. She should be living horridly in the future, depressed, and overtly rude. How does she have this chance? How was she able to rewind time?

“Why do you always look like you’re brooding, nowadays?” Chunja takes a seat across from her in that effortless way she seems to have tucked under her very well-known special abilities. She drops a plastic container of a green salad onto the table, and without a second thought—digs in. “You’re going to end up looking that way forever, if you don’t change it up once in a while.”

Boyoung sighs, “I’m busy, Chunja.”

“Aren’t we all?” The blonde leans back in her plushy leather chair and props one leg over the other as she pulls the plastic container into her lap. “So, I heard you freaked Chan out real good. Soonyoung thinks you had some sort of panic attack; but, honestly, I believe it could be anything. You’ve been really weird lately.”

The dark haired girl shifts her head to the side, “Are you still mad at me?”

“Vaguely? I mean, I don’t know,” The blonde pauses to shift around the lettuce in her container before dragging her gaze up toward Boyoung again. “I understand why you were mad, we made a promise to never lie to one another—and even if I didn’t lie, I did withhold the truth, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, but you should be sorry for the way you reacted. It’s not that big of a deal.” The blonde relaxes into her chair and leisurely glances down at their groups table. Spotting the three boys chatting with one another and laughing brightly—even Minghao.

Boyoung gnaws on the inside of her cheek, “I know, I’m sorry, I overreacted.”

The two girls stay quiet. The sounds of the cafeteria enveloping them: chattering of utensils, laughing and talking of students, the clicking of high heels, and the scuffing of sneakers. Yet, in that silence, they send one another small sloppily smiles. And Boyoung’s pretty sure it’s one of the only times she’s ever seen a genuine smile from the blonde.

“I should get down there; before, they realize the both of us are gone.” Chunja picks herself up after shutting her container, and bypasses Boyoung for the stairs. The dark haired girl watches the blonde leave. Tracking her all the way until she’s greeted by smiles and a shouting Chan at the sight of her. The last thing Boyoung sees before switching her view back to Saeran’s table, is Soonyoung starring back at her with a hardened gaze. Almost like he’s convincing himself to go talk to her. Please don’t, she’d rather not talk to him right now. She’ll have to psych herself up for another conversation with him.

Right on cue, Jeonghan, Thuy, and Jisoo walk into the cafeteria. Outfitted in perfect crisp uniforms, they walk their way to their corner table in the back of the cafeteria. Dishes are already spread out for them, possibly done by the cafeteria ladies who favor the three or even Jeonghan’s groupies. Thuy, of course, takes her coveted seat next to Jeonghan; while Jisoo sits across from them. Saeran and his group sit a table over, separated by Boyoung’s friends.

It’s a real mess. The three groups are all connected; but, she needs to know why. Why can’t she figure it out? Maybe, at the party. Maybe when they’re all battered and bruised by socializing and drinking—someone will leak information.

“Can I sit?” Boyoung glances upward towards the voice.

Unsurprised to find Soonyoung standing in front of her table with a smile. “Go ahead,” His smile broadens as his fingers latch onto the back of the leather chair. On the other hand, Boyoung grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder. “I’m leaving anyways.” The heels of the chair screech against the floorboards as she picks herself up and heads out of the cafeteria. Soonyoung following quickly behind.

“You’re avoiding me?” He calls out, as she fleetingly finds herself jogging through the halls.

Boyoung glances over her shoulder at him, “No, I’m just busy.”

“You’re not busy, you’re avoiding me! You’re avoiding all of us!” He shouts—almost like he’s scolding her for being so passive and unaffected by the situation. Only she is affected, more than he knows. And although she’s being distant; it’s for a purpose. One that she can’t tell him about. Not yet.

Annoyed and a bit enraged at not being left alone, the girl twists on her heel to swiftly stare back at Soonyoung. Her eyes become giant saucers filled with futile scowls. Her stance is strikingly bold and sluggishly transitioning into a perception of an aggravated and provoked combatant. “Just go away!”

The glowingly off-white lights above their heads flicker off and on. Both of them look around the corridor as the red lockers begin to rumble a soft and gentle melodic sound. Before the floor shakes like the rolling of an earthquake. Boyoung finds herself feeling an impulsive rush of pain on the right side of her head. It sears through her head as she grips it tightly. Her surroundings dawdle in a gradual turn-back.

I’m doing it again, she mumbles as a gasp releases from her system at the agony throbbing within her. How is this happening? Her eyes watch as Soonyoung warps around the hallway—his body tracking backwards, his face transitioning through fazes of their short conversation. And then he’s gone. Out the door they initially came through. And then it all just, stops.

And she’s alone. Standing in the hallway with agape and her eyes wide. The pain is still there. But everything is unmoving: no sound, no smell, no feelings. Just blank and emotionless. Almost like time has stopped entirely, and only she is moving.

She moves her body painfully around in a circle, not one thing moves. Only her. Out the window to the right of her, the trees have frozen in place—they look as if the wind is hitting them but the motion isn’t going through. Leaves and soft rain are held still, like gravity is no longer a factor.

Boyoung pulls herself to stand over beside the window sill. Her hands clenching the frame, nails grinding against the base. Why is this happening? Her breathes are coming out rampant and panicked. She’s scared. What if time doesn’t unfreeze? What if she’s just stuck here like this forever? “Have I done something wrong?” She mutters to herself—her eyes blurred with tears as she glances down at the floor. “I’m only trying to fix things, what am I doing wrong?” A sob lurches out of her body, as she crouches down beside the wall. Her knees coming to her chest as her arms surround her legs. Back sitting against the wall.

“I’m sorry, let me go back!” She yells, the scream scratching against .

Nothing.

“I promise, I’ll do whatever you want, just let me go back.” She says it a little quieter. Her body bringing itself to stand up. Her eyes glance everywhere but no matter where they look, there’s no sign. Hope is fleeting now. She truly feels like she’s going to be stuck here. In a place where only she lives, the world is stiff, and everyone else is just on constant pause. She’d be alone. Her worst feel: being alone.

Her head falls to her chest, tears falling to the ground. I’ve failed, my second chance, and I’ve failed. She squats down again, her arms circling her body—her body shaking with each fallen tear. “I’m sorry.” She mutters as her body sort of just…slacks.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

A low whine, almost like a hoot, echoes from the far corner off locker doors and walls. Boyoung picks her head up, alerted by the sound—and looks off toward it. Nothing. She can’t spot anything. Wait.

Her eyes squint in on a far locker, the silver plate where the key goes in, is shaking. It only shakes a little, like a calming wave. And then, without warning, the locker violently shudders. Boyoung stammers as she drags her body backward—away from it. Another howl reverberates off the walls. This time louder. A lot louder. It’s shrill and forces her to cover her ears as it pains her.

Then it all stops.

The noise.

And the locker.

“Hello?” She calls out— baffled and frightened.

The door to the blue locker, smashes to the floor. A scream resonates from Boyoung’s chest. Terrified she stares at it, her eyes wide and her body quivering. What the hell? She totters back in forth in her spot on the floor. Her mind frazzled. Nothing’s making sense. Nothing’s been making sense. Why is she here? Why does time keep messing around, jarring her? Is it her that’s doing it? Or something else? Is it possible for her to fix it? To control it?

As if operated by another, her body picks itself up off the tiled floor and slowly staggers toward the open container. Her eyes glance downward toward the blue door. There’s no number on it, and it’s actually blurry. Almost like it’s not entirely there. Almost like she’s imagining it lying there. And then she’s looking inside the metal box. One thing sits there: a small polaroid of a white owl.

It looks ghostly pale, blurry like the locker itself, except for its enthralling dark eyes. It captivates her. Making her body move closer. They feel familiar. Almost like they’re her own, yet different. Time is a nonexistent factor but it feels like she’s been starring at it for longer than she’d like. She can’t help it. It feels like it wants to tell her something. Like it wants to guide her.

And all that comes to mind on what that could be is: apologize, move on, and fix mistakes.

Boyoung tilts her head, “Is that why it’s stopped?” It wants me to apologize?

Her question is answered.

The photo, door, and locker turn to absolute dust—scattering everywhere and all over. Boyoung stumbles back, as the blue lockers vehemently jolt around until a new locker—with a number—forms in the empty space. And she watches as time transitions back. The trees move, the rain falls, and Boyoung can feel herself breathing again.

She’s left there alone, until the door to the corridor opens, and in walks Soonyoung. He looks somewhat annoyed and a bit exasperated. Fight: take two, she thinks to herself. But she can’t be anything but thrilled at the sight of an actual person. It’s felt like an eternity since she’s last seen someone moving.

“You’re avoiding me.” He calls out, as he stalks toward her with that same look from before.

“No, I’m just trying to find some place to destress,” She mumbles as she shifts her body around to face him fully. Stop alienating yourself, and apologize to your friends. Boyoung takes in a deep breath. She can do this; he won’t figure anything out. “Did you want to join me?” Soonyoung’s mouth slacks open in shock. He probably wasn’t expecting a friendly gesture. Yet, slowly, he nods his head and follows after her.