"Um," I say stupidly. 

"Between you and Mina," she says. Well, yeah, that really explained it. 

"I don’t know what you mean," I say, a little obstinately. 

She sighs. "Look, Mina is a lovely girl. You know how much I was taken by her when I met her the other day. But when you were dating Wonwoo, you were not allowed to sleep in the same bed as him. You were not allowed to just have him randomly spend the night at our house – or you at his, for that matter. I understand that it might seem a little different, as Mina is a girl too, but really – you understand what I’m saying, don’t you?"

"No." I cross my arms. 

She sighs, exasperatedly this time. "I’m talking physical intimacy, Momo. Boundaries need to be set."

I gape. "Just what do you think happened last night?" 

"You tell me, Momo. Look, I trust you and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to get involved in anything prematurely, but –"

"You obviously don’t, if you feel the need to bring it up now."

forms a thin line. "You’re making this harder than it needs to be, Momo."

"Well, what about my other friends!" I cry, feeling frustrated. It feels unfair. "Now that I’m dating a girl, does that mean they can’t sleep over either?"

"I'm not saying Mina can't sleep over, I'm just saying- well, I'm just saying that boundaries need to be set, do you understand?"

I scowl. "Ok, I get it," I mutter. "Are we done now? Can I go back to eating breakfast with my girlfriend?"

My mom nods. "Yeah don't eat all the waffles, I'll have some when you've left."

"Yeah, yeah." I mutter.

From then on, the day just gets worse.

Oh, sure, it was looking up a little when Mina and I walked to school together, stopping to get mochas from a street vendor who winked at us and gave us extra marshmallows – but first period was hell. Rumors spread quickly, you learn that the hard way. Oh, yeah, you always knew that – but you never really appreciated the fact. Never really appreciated what it means until you’re the one the rumors are about. Art is usually my favourite subject, but all through it today I have to contend with side glances, smirks, and whispers. I keep a strong façade, resolutely painting on, but inside I’m crumbling. No – more like wilting. Withering up. Why? Why the do people care who I date? I wish I could think like that, I wish I could get angry instead of sad. At least then I’d be placing the blame on others, I’d have someone to direct my anger to. But this sadness? It’s centred on me. And it hurts. Not like a slap. It doesn’t sting, and then fade quickly. It’s a gnawing, drawn out pain that leaves me feeling hollow by the time break comes around.

"Momo. You ok?" Sana asks the second she sees me. 

I nod, and go in for hug, feeling like I need it. She tenses up – and that’s the worst pain I’ve felt all day. That is a slap – a stinging pain that is quickly replaced by dullness. Acceptance. 

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that," Sana says brokenly, uncertainly. "It’s just – uh – it will take some getting used to, knowing that you have a girlfriend now."

"I’m not about to hit on you, if that’s what you’re worried about," I say, amazed at how calmly I’m able to say it. 

"Oh. Right. Yeah. We know." Sana says. "But – why, Momo? Why didn’t you tell us? We’re your best friends, we love you to bits. Couldn’t you trust us?"

I shrug, and stare at my muffin, picking the chocolate bits out of it and eating them. 

The whole table is awkwardly silent until the bell rings. 

I forgot that we had French homework. I'm actually pretty good at French, but I don't get on with my teacher, and if I don't do the work she gets more mad at me that she does at anyone else, because she says I don't have an excuse. I suffer through an hour of that, before checking my timetable to see what I have next - and cussing out loud. MATH.

I. Just. Don’t. Get. It. I really don’t. It’s not that I don’t try. It’s that numbers and things really just don’t make sense. I grip my forehead as I try to rearrange an algebraic question. 

"Do you need help, Momo?" My math teacher asks. Mr Choi. He’s young and handsome and several of the girls have a crush on him, but I just really like him as a teacher. Math is torture, but he’s actually a pretty good teacher. It’s just that I don’t get it. 

I fake a smile. "No. I’m good." 

He smiles at me sympathetically. "You know, I struggled when I was in school too." I snort. I find that difficult to believe. He’s brilliant at math. 

"No, really, I did," he continues. "I know what it’s like."

I shrug. "Yeah, ok." I can’t be bothered arguing. 

He pats me gently on the hand, standing up. Only two periods more to go. 

The magical snow days have gone. Like I said, it hardly ever snows in our town. I walk home through watery grey slush, soaking my nice leather shoes and in general cursing the world. I hate winter. I need a wakeup call, or something.