"Where to?" the taxi drivers asks you. You show him the address, and he nods as he resets his timer. You lean back in your seat and pull your suitcase close to you; you hadn't felt like putting it in the trunk of the car, and there's no way you'd keep it out of your sight again, even if it's momentarily. Everything in here is all you have left. You will literally be living out of this bag.

 

This thought just makes you frustrated, so you try to distract yourself by staring at the dull scenery that blurs by your window. You don't really have a mind to admire anything right now. What's there to fawn over? All these things out here are nothing compared to what you have - what you had, that is - back home. No, you realize ... it's not home anymore. Home is where you are headed, wherever that is.

 

About thirty minutes pass before the car pulls to a stop in a descending street. Low-roofed, shabby looking houses line either side. Numerous windows are boarded up with wood, and peeling paint decorate the walls of the identical houses. You blink. You've never been to this part of town before. It looks horrid, to say the least. You gulp nervously as you reach over to open the door, but before you can step outside, the driver clears his throat loudly. 

 

"Oh," you say, and pull out the money that the blond boy had given you. "How much?"

 

"Right there," he says, pointing to the price that's on his dashboard. It must have been counting up the miles you had traveled, and you hadn't even noticed. You count out the bills and are pleased to find that you have been given just the right amount; strange, but convenient. After thanking him, you open the door and pull your bag out of the car. Once the door is shut, you idly stand there in the middle of the darkened street and watch as the taxi pulls away, leaving you in a strange place you have yet to familiarize yourself with. You take out the note and stare at the number. Twenty-one, it says. Twenty-one? You stare at the houses. There are no numbers on any of the doors. Where on earth is twenty-one? Cautiously, you step forward. The tires of your suitcase make ominous sounds that echo in the empty street, and the silence scares you. You quicken your space and desperately search for a number, whether it be on a door, on a window, or a mail box, but you can't seem to find it. You shiver as a particularly cold gust of wind permeates your clothes. You're about to give up when you see it ... there. The only house, it seems, with a number on its door. Twenty-one.

 

You stop in front of the closed door and stare. A key. Your father hadn't left one behind. Panic fills your heart; would you end up having to sleep outside? How mindless can your father get? No, but wait ... you have to think about this for a minute. Maybe .... you bend down and make a face as you pull aside the faded green mat. Something catches the light: the key. You breathe a sigh of relief and open the door to your new home, glad to lay one worry to rest.

 

The lights ... where are the lights? You shut the door behind you before blindly scaling the wall for a switch. Finding it, you turn it on and squint. The lights are horrible; they're too dim, and they barely light up the house, but you suppose that fact is okay. You doubt you'd want to see more of your miserable home space.

 

You're in the kitchen, it seems, and its a dingy little room with faded yellow walls. Rust lines the stove, and the floor is an odd shade of brown. You step down the hallway to find yourself in what seems to be the living room, which is slightly bigger than the kitchen, although not by much. There's nothing in here except a table and a chair. At least this room has carpet, but it smells filthy and dusty. You pass by the bathroom and refuse to go inside, knowing that it's probably the only room  in this house that's in the worst state. Finding the bedroom, you switch on the lights to see a pathetic cot line one wall. A dresser - which seems to be very prehistoric - sits opposite the bed. You drop your luggage and stare at your new surroundings. This is horrible. Horrible. 

 

Your stomach grumbles, and you unpack your suitcase to see whether you have enough money to buy anything. You realize that you do, but you can't start spending money now; you won't have enough to last you the week, and who knows when your father will send you money, if he even plans on doing so? You sigh and slowly change out of your clothes and into the pajamas you've brought. Suspicious, you approach the bed and finger the covers. It seems clean enough. Shutting the lights off, you try to snuggle into the sheets and close your eyes, hoping that maybe for a moment you can forget everything that's happened today. 

Then a pang of hunger interrupts your irrational thoughts, and you lie there in the dark, knowing that you can't escape reality. 

-----

You wake up with a start. Light leaks through your window, and you squint. You sit up with a jolt when you remember that today is the first day of school. Growing panicked, you throw the covers off of you and scramble to find your school uniform. What time is it? You search for your phone in the pockets of the outfit you had worn yesterday, but you can't find it, not anywhere. Trying not to feel angry, you get changed into your school uniform and brush a hand through your hair. You would have liked to take a shower and grab something to eat, but there's no time now. Grabbing the backpack you had brought along with you that contains your school books, you rush out of your room and slam the door shut behind you.

 

You run, but you don't really know where you're running to. You have no idea how to get to school from this area, and you have no way of finding out. You'll be late, you just know it, and frankly you don't want to be. News of your father's loss of his job will have spread through the school by now, and you want to be there to abate that gossip before they get out of hand. 

 

You find yourself in the middle of the city, utterly lost. You see your reflection in a store's window and are glad to see that you don't look as bad as you had originally thought. Looking up, you see a familiar bus. You had seen many students who attend your school on special scholarship privileges use this bus to access the school. Hoping that your notion is correct, you rush into the bus and take a seat.

 

You look around you, and it seems like your assumptions had been right. There are a number of students wearing your school's uniform. Satisfied, you count out what you suppose is the fare and wait for the bus to arrive at your school. When it stops, you give the driver your money and jump off.

 

It feels good to be in front of so much wealth again, as shallow as it sounds. The beautiful verdant greens stretch towards the entrance of the school, showing off the tall, wide glass doors. Numerous students make their way up the stairs and to the entrance doors, and you are one of them as you practically speed-walk into the school.

 

Immediately your are faced with countless groups of people whispering to each other in the halls. Afraid that they're talking about you, you give each classmate a tight-lipped smile until you reach your white locker. You look around to see that none of your closer friends are nearby, and although you're a little disappointed, you're also relieved; you don't think you could face them right now.

A group of girls pass by you, their voices loud despite their attempts at whispering. You catch words and phrases like 'new kid' and 'gangster', but you don't really have a mind to ask them what they're discussing. You're too preoccupied with your own predicament to really care. 

 

You slam your locker door shut and turn around to run smack into somebody's chest. 

 

"Ow," you say as you step back and look up to mutter an apology. When you do, however, your eyes almost widen in surprise: it's the boy from yesterday.

 

"Oh! You go here?" he asks you, a little pleased. People stare as he continues to talk to you. Suddenly, you realize why no one is coming up to you to ask you about  your father's predicament. It's because of this new kid at your school ... and his hair. And based on what you see, he's not here because he's rich, but because he has a scholarship, which just downgrades him as someone of a low rank in society.

 

"Hi," you say, awkwardly. You fidget underneath his kind gaze. Talking to him would look bad ... not that you should have to worry about reputation anymore.

 

"Was the taxi fare enough?" he asks you. 

 

"Yeah," you reply haltingly. You want to leave. You really want to leave, but before you can make a move to do so, he's stuck his hand out in an attempt to shake your hand.

 

"I'm Daehyun, by the way," he smiles.