The front office wasn’t as crazy as you’d expect on the first day of school, which seemed to confirm YG high reputation as “a well-oiled machine.”

That was a direct quote from the Private School Confidential website I had stumbled across when I first Googled YGH—right after my parents told me and my three sisters we’d be transferring there in the fall. Since it was on the other side of the country from where we’d been living—from where I’d lived my entire life—I couldn’t exactly check it myself, and I was desperate for more information.

A well-oiled machine didn’t sound too bad. But I was less thrilled to read that YGH was “basically a country club masquerading as a school.” The same anonymous writer added, “I’ve yet to see a student drive a car onto campus that’s not a Porsche or a BMW. And even an AP math student would lose count of the Louboutins on the girls here.” Yuck.

But while I was clicking around that site, I learned about another private school in Korea that had a “ tree”—kids allegedly tossed their used condoms up into its branches—so I guess my parents could have done worse than, you know, YG high.

True to the school’s reputation, the administrator in the office was brisk and efficient and had quickly printed up and handed me and Bom each a class list and a map of the school.

 

“You okay?” I asked Bom, as she stared at the map like it was written in some foreign language. She started and looked up at me, slightly panicked. Bom unnie is a year older than me, but she sometimes seems younger—mostly because she’s the opposite of cynical and I’m the opposite of the opposite of cynical.

Because we’re so close in age, people frequently ask if the two of us are twins. It’s lucky for me we’re not. She and I do look a lot alike, but there are infinitesimal differences—her eyes are just a touch wider apart, her hair a bit silkier, her lips fuller—and all these little changes add up to her being truly beautiful and my being reasonably cute. On a good day. When the light hits me right.

I put my head closer to hers and lowered my voice. “Did you seethe girls in the hallway? How much makeup they’re all wearing? And their hair is perfect, like they spent hours on it. How is that possible?” Mine was in a ponytail. It wasn’t even all that clean because our fourteen-year-old sister, Chaerin, had hogged the bathroom that morning and I’d barely had time to brush my teeth, let alone take a shower.

“It’ll all be fine,” unnie said faintly.

“Yeah,” I said, with no more conviction. “Anyway, I’d better run. My first class is on the other side of the building.” I squinted at the map. “I think.”

She squeezed my arm. “Good luck.”

 

“Find me at lunch, okay? I’ll be the one sitting by myself.”

“You’ll make friends, dara,” she said. “I know you will.”

“Just find me.” I took a deep breath and plunged out of the office and into the hallway—and instantly hit someone with the door. “Sorry!” I said, cringing.

The girl I’d hit turned, rubbing her hip. She wore an incredibly short miniskirt, tight black boots that came up almost to her knees, and a spaghetti-strap tank top. It was an outfit more suited for a nightclub than a day of classes, but I had to admit she had the right body for it. Her blond hair was beautifully cut, highlighted, and styled, and the makeup she wore really played up her pretty brown eyes and perfect little nose. Which was scrunched up now in disdain as she surveyed me and bleated out a loud and annoyed “FAIL!”

The girl standing with her said, “Oh my God, are you okay?” in pretty much the tone you’d use if someone you cared about had just been hit by a speeding pickup truck right in front of you.

It hadn’t been that hard a bump, but I held my hands up apologetically. “Epic fail. I know. Sorry.”

The girl I’d hit raised an eyebrow. “At least you’re honest.”

“At least,” I agreed. “Hey, do you happen to know where room twenty-three is? I have English there in, like, two minutes and I don’t know my way around. I’m new here.”

 

The other girl said, “I’m in that class, too.” Her hair was brown instead of blond and her eyes hazel , but the two girls’ long, choppy manes and skinny bodies had been cast from the same basic mold. She was wearing a long, silky turquoise tank top over snug boot-cut jeans and a bunch of multicolored bangles on her slender wrist. “You can follow me. See you later, hyuna.”

“Yeah—wait, hold on a sec.” hyun—or whatever her name was—pulled her friend toward her and whispered something in her ear. Her friend’s eyes darted toward me briefly, but long enough to make me glance down at my old straight-leg jeans and mythis is what a feminist looks like T-shirt and feel like I shouldn’t have worn either.

The two girls giggled and broke apart.

“I know, right?” the friend said. “See you,” she said to hyuna and immediately headed down the hallway, calling brusquely over her shoulder, “Hurry up. It’s on the other side of the building and you don’t want to be late for Ms. Kim class.”

“She scary?” I asked, scuttling to keep up.

“She just gets off on handing out EMDs.”

“EMDs?” I repeated.

“Early morning detentions. You have to come in at, like, seven in the morning and help clean up and stuff like that.

 

 

Most of the teachers here are pretty mellow if you’re a couple of minutes late, but not Ms. Kim. She’s got major control issues.”

“What’s your name?” I asked, dodging a group of girls in cheerleader outfits.

“yoona.” Really? Yoona? “And that was hyuna you hit with the door. You really should be more careful.”

Too late for that advice—in my efforts to avoid bumping into a cheerleader, I had just whammed my shoulder on the edge of a locker. I yelped in pain. Yoona rolled her eyes and kept moving.

 

There are all these clichés about what it’s like to be the new kid at school, like in movies, when you see people playing pranks on them or ostracizing them or publicly ridiculing them. I had no previous experience at being new: I had gone to only one public elementary school, which fed into my middle school, which fed into my old high school. So I don’t know what I had been expecting, but the reality was more boring than anything else.

People were all willing to acknowledge me, ask me if I was new and what my name was, welcome me to the school (literally, several kids said “Welcome to YGH!”), and then they lost interest and went back to talking to their friends. I was isolated but not ostracized, ignored but not abused.

Still, it was stressful sitting alone and trying to look like I was fascinated by the posters on the various classroom walls whenever the other kids were chatting, so I was very happy to spot bom unnie waiting in the cafeteria line when lunch break finally rolled around.

“Hey, you!” I ran over and just barely restrained myself from hugging her.

“Hey, yourself,” she said calmly.

“How’s it going? No one’s talking to me. Is anyone talking to you?”

 

“Actually,” she said, “people have been really nice.”

“That’s great.” I wanted to be happy for her, but I had been looking forward to sharing the misery. “So what are you going to eat?”

“I don’t know.” She gave a vague look around. “Salad maybe? I’m not that hungry.”

“You’re not? I’m starving.” It wasn’t until I had grabbed a huge turkey sub and bom unnie was balancing a dainty little green salad on her tray that it occurred to me there was something weird about unnie not being hungry. Usually she had a pretty healthy appetite eating corn is her hobby.The only other time I could remember her not wanting to eat (when she wasn’t sick) was the year before, when she had a crush on a guy in her Health and Human Fitness class. That had not ended well—the guy turned out to be a total tool.

As I moved through the cafeteria line, I saw raw tuna sushi. And pomegranate seeds. And tamales. And Nutrisystem shakes. And sausage sticks made out of ostrich meat.

We definitely weren’t in busan anymore.

I passed by a guy grabbing a can of soda out of the cold case. He was at least 5'6 feet tall, a little bit skinny, a little bit pink hair, and way cuter than any guy at my old school, which had been full of highly cerebral and physically underdeveloped faculty brats. (To give you an idea: we had both a varsity and junior varsity debate team, but only enough recruits for a single basketball team.) 

 

 

While Juliana and I waited in line to pay, I glanced over my shoulder at him again—I’m not usually a gawker, but I’d had a tough morning and deserved a little pleasure.

I balanced my tray against my hip, checked the line—still a few people ahead of us—and stole another glance at Handsome Guy.

Whose gorgeous eyes met mine as he turned around, soda in hand. He gave me a vaguely annoyed and weary look—a look that said, I’m so done with people staring at me—and his heel. Guess I wasn’t as subtle as I thought. Blushing furiously, I turned back to the cashier before I embarrassed myself any more.

After we’d paid, bom led the way out of the cafeteria to the picnic tables scattered around the school courtyard.

“Outside tables?” I said. “What do they do when it rains?”

“It’s seoul.,” bom unnie said absently, turning her head from side to side like she was searching for something..

“That’s got to be an exaggeration. How about there?” I pointed to an empty table. I just wanted to be alone with bommie, have a few minutes to relax before starting all over again with the afternoon classes.

But she was on the move, marching deliberately toward one of the tables—Where some guy was rising to his feet and exuberantly waving her over, then gesturing down at the empty space next to him, like he’d been expecting her.

And she was going right toward him.

Suddenly her loss of appetite made sense.

 

A/n does it make sense? Oh no!? Well remaining chapters are...  :))