“Multiply, vary, let the strongest live and the weakest die.” -Charles Darwin

Luhan groaned when he saw his grade and shut off his phone.

“How did you get a ninety-seven on that falsetto test?” he asked Baekhyun. “I got an eighty-four.”

Baekhyun shrugged. “ to be you. Was there any homework for dance class?”

“The partner choreography is due on Friday,” Kyungsoo said as he slid into his seat. “Who are you working with?”

Baekhyun wrinkled his nose. “Chanyeol.”

Luhan laughed. “Have fun with that!”

“Ugh, it’s so not fair that you got Jongin to work with you, Kyungsoo. That’s like a handicap for everyone else,” Baekhyun said, rubbing his forehead.

“Try harder next time.” Kyungsoo shrugged. “Now can someone explain to me what the hell a phospholipid bilayer is? I have a biology test next period and I didn’t study.”

…

Wufan stared at the test page in disbelief. How in the name of everything good was he supposed to know how many sharps were in the key of A major? He flipped a few pages and his heart sank as he realized that most of the test questions contained words or phrases he didn’t know. He guessed that class he decided to have a nap in really was important after all.

Sighing, he sat back in his seat and glanced around the room, trying to bring some kind of knowledge up from his subconscious, preferably how many sharps were in the key of A major. He supposed it served him right for taking Intermediate Music Theory after taking Introduction to Music Theory only in the first semester of his freshman year. He didn’t remember jack.

In the end he decided to write three, because three seemed like as good a number as any, and then he looked over at Joonmyeon to see how he was doing.

“Heh,” he said to himself, smiling ever so slightly, when he realized that Joonmyeon was just as lost as he was, scratching his head as he examined a question carefully, slowly, as if the answer was hidden beneath the skin of the paper.

…

Sweat ran in rivulets down Yixing’s back, and he felt his thighs tremble and his stomach muscles ache as he struggled to maintain the squatting position.

“Three hundred ninety-seven, three hundred ninety-eight, three hundred-ninety-nine, relax!” the dance coach called, and the class collapsed to the ground, chests heaving for breath.

No one spoke then, save the coach’s repeated shake your muscles out, and Yixing lay still, feeling the blood pounding in his temples, the dull undercurrent of pain behind all of his movements. As he turned his head to the side, eyes fluttering open and closed, he spotted Jongin lying in the same position, limbs splayed around him like they were broken. When their eyes met Yixing felt a sense of camaraderie with the younger boy.

It lasted only a split second before they both looked away, puffing their cheeks for air and uselessly swiping their dry tongues around their sticky mouths.

“Okay, everyone up!” the coach said after what seemed like only a few seconds. “Five hundred this time.”

There were no grumbles this time; everyone got up and settled back into a squatting position because they knew it would make them stronger.

“One, two, three, four...”

…

“Name one method of fanservice.”

Zitao’s hand shot up.

“Yes, Tao-ssi?” the teacher asked.

“Aegyo?” Zitao said hesitantly.

“Correct!” the teacher said, and went on to explain the various methods of aegyo.

Zitao sank into his seat and relaxed. Participation was a quarter of his grade in Idol Techniques, and he’d just fulfilled his obligation for the day. It was a really stupid class, in his opinion, because it only targeted students that were training to become idols in Asia, which meant that only Asian minority students could take it. On the first day of class everyone had been assigned a stage name and personality, and the final exam’s grading would partly depend on how well the student maintained that personality. Zitao was really only taking it because he’d needed to fulfill his diploma requirement of one general specialty class.

The only problem with the class was that it was graded on a curve, which meant that only so many people could succeed. Zitao knew he would never be one of the students that got an A, but he would do anything to not be one of the F’s. Which meant that someone else had to get the F. Which meant that he had to both sabotage the others and defend himself from getting sabotaged in return.

He glanced warily at Suho (Joonmyeon) and Chen (Jongdae), wondering which of them would turn on him.

…

“Oh hell no,” Luhan said when he walked into the room. “This is my practice room.”

Sehun stuck his tongue out at the older boy. “ to be you. First come first served.” He continued to flick through the songs on his iPod, glancing often at the rubric laying on the piano.

“No, I don’t think you understand,” Luhan said, setting his bag down on the ground. “This has been my practice room since freshman year. Nobody else wanted it, and now that I fixed it up I am not letting just anyone waltz in and use it.”

“You don’t have to let me,” Sehun replied, ignoring him. “Just leave.”

Luhan in a deep breath and massaged his forehead. There were a few moments of silence, and then his footsteps moving back into the hallway. Sehun glanced behind him and saw that Luhan had left, so he shrugged to himself and continued to scroll through the songs, accepting the easy victory.

But a few minutes later two sets of feet sounded outside the door and Sehun swiveled to see Luhan dragging one of their class advisors by the wrist.

“You have to make him leave,” Luhan was saying, making huge eyes and using his most persuasive voice while rubbing the advisor’s hand pleadingly. “I have a huge audition next month and he doesn’t have anything to practice for.”

Unfortunately for him, Sehun was great friends with Ms. Edison.

“Hi Sehun,” she greeted him. Sehun waved, smiling, and watched Luhan’s expression melt into a pout. “What’s the problem here?”

“Luhan hasn’t reserved this practice room, but he wants me to leave,” he explained. “And it’s not like I don’t have anything to practice for--there’s always schoolwork, right?”

Ms. Edison shrugged. “Sorry, Luhan. The best I can do for you is make Sehun share the room with you if you can’t find another one.”

Sehun’s jaw dropped. What did she say?

…

“Hold the doors, hold the doors!” came a shout from the hallway. Minseok looked up from his phone to spot Chanyeol sprinting towards the elevator, his backpack sliding from one shoulder.

Minseok glanced at his watch and realized that if Chanyeol missed this elevator he would undoubtedly be late for their Lyrics Composition class on the roof of the school, bringing his total of tardies up to five. Five tardies meant a detention and a call home, leaving a black mark on Chanyeol’s record and hurting his chances of being accepted into a respectable college.

Minseok leaned forward and punched the close doors button, plastering a look of surprise onto his face when the doors began to close.

“Sorry, man!” he called as Chanyeol skidded to a stop in front of the elevator doors. “My finger must’ve slipped!”

He looked back at his phone and realized that the screen had gone blank after sitting idle too long--he would lose his place in checking his news feed.

“Ugh.”

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and walked into the door of the classroom just as the bell rang. When he sat he caught the grim look on Jongin’s face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, but when he glanced down at his desk and noticed the F scrawled on the front of his test he realized what was wrong.

…

“...if anyone found a blue crystal necklace in the commons area yesterday evening, please return it to its owner at the main office.” There was a shuffling of paper that sounded especially loud through the school’s intercom system. “SM’s new male acapella group is holding auditions for its final member. Please visit their page on the school website or contact Mr. Black if you are interested. Wide ranges are preferred. Now for Mrs. Wilkinson’s daily words of wisdom: don’t be flat, be natural. That concludes this morning’s announcements and enjoy your Wednesday.”

Jongdae groaned at the bad pun and then stopped himself, because he had recently heard that groaning would mess with his tone, and he couldn’t have that. Instead he turned to look at Baekhyun, who was trying to get help with his trigonometry homework from Kyungsoo, but wasn’t getting any because Kyungsoo hated math.

“Are you auditioning for that?” he asked them casually.

Kyungsoo broke off from explaining sohcahtoa and Baekhyun from listening. They both paused for a moment as they contemplated his question, then spoke as one.

“Of course.”

Jongdae narrowed his eyes in suspicion and wondered to himself which one would prove his greater competitor. He usually would’ve picked Kyungsoo because he had been singing for longer, but Baekhyun was also a factor to consider because of his range.

“Let’s practice together,” he suggested. “Maybe we could give each other pointers and stuff.”

“Maybe,” Kyungsoo said.

“We’ll see,” Baekhyun said at the same time.

Jongdae’s eyes narrowed further. Were they onto his plan for sabotage? It took him a moment to decide that it didn’t matter; he would still win in the end.

…

Chanyeol’s head knocked against the glass of the subway window, and he was startled awake. For the first few moments of confusion after sleep, looking around the empty car, he had no idea where he was, and was scared. Then his memories kicked back in, reshuffled and reordered after a too-short sleep.

Yawning, he turned his attention to the book in his hand, the one he was supposed to be reading for English. Hemingway had proved too thick for him and he had fallen asleep during an Italian retreat in A Farewell to Arms. He sighed to himself and put the book back into his backpack, resolving to have a peek on Sparknotes later that night. Then he turned his attention the slip of paper detailing his General Dance III assignment.

Goal: to implement general dance techniques and conventions in a same- partner choreography.

You will be able to choose your own partners and music. However your piece should be less than three minutes and utilize both partners equally in terms of role and dance time.

Chanyeol rubbed his eyes. He supposed that it wasn’t too late to ask someone for help, because neither he nor Baekhyun knew the first thing about choreography. He only had to rewatch Baekhyun’s infamous light switch dance to recall that. The only problem with that was that Jongin and Kyungsoo had crammed their project into the last possible moment too, and were otherwise occupied; Sehun and Luhan were in the middle of a fight over Luhan’s precious practice room and would sooner rip each other apart than help somebody else; and Yixing was preparing for an audition on Saturday, so he had no time either.

Chanyeol mentally added that to the fact that he and Baekhyun hadn’t started their project yet, he had to explain to his parents why he had a detention, and he was failing English. He had always been good at math, though, and he ended up with the conclusion that his short nap on the subway was the most sleep he would get until winter break.

…

Joonmyeon’s fingers flew across the keyboard, spitting out any sort of crap about the influence of Islam on European literature. When he had finished that, hit spellcheck, and printed it out, he took a gulp of cold coffee and squinted at his planner. He groaned when he realized he still had to write out the agenda for the next day’s student council meeting, and to put it off he logged onto the school’s website and checked his grades for the fourth time that night.

The even row of B’s was the same as before, but Joonmyeon noted with interest that his Idol Techniques grade had dropped three points from the last time he had checked. Frowning, he clicked on his tests and assignments for the class and realized that Mrs. Go had entered the grades for their variety show project--he had gotten a D.

“What?” he muttered.

He thought he had done pretty well on that project, certainly worth a C if not a B. Apparently not, though, because when he clicked on her grading comments he found a scathing criticism.

You lost points mostly in the participation category, though your aegyo was also lacking. Good job on the talent showcase portion, and try not to smile so much, she concluded.

Joonmyeon sighed and clicked on the class rankings (to promote competition between the students, Mrs. Go had made the grades and rank of other students publicly available). He noticed that Zitao had climbed the rankings and now occupied a B- position, same as him. Then he remembered Zitao’s impressive performance for the project and realized that he had competition, in other words another thing to worry about.

He sighed again and went downstairs to make another cup of coffee, tiptoeing so as not to wake up the rest of his family.

…

Kyungsoo coughed into his hand and wiped away the blood quickly. He couldn’t lose his voice, not when that elusive spot as the only junior on the South Meadow Male Acapella Group was so close, securing his position as manager in his senior year. He splashed some water on his face and popped a cough drop into his mouth, trying not to swallow because it was too painful.

He swore it was all that goddamn Jongdae’s fault, convincing him that a high note contest would help him prepare for the audition when he knew full well that he could outbelt both Kyungsoo and Baekhyun on any good day. Kyungsoo never should’ve accepted that casual invitation during English yesterday, but then again he never should have thought that he could outsmart the ultimate troll at his own game, either.

“Kyungsoo!”

Kyungsoo looked around for the source of the voice and spotted Jongin pushing his way through the crowd towards him. He quickly stepped to the side to avoid being crushed by the crowd moving the opposite way and waved at Jongin as they made their way towards each other.

“I was looking for you,” Jongin said, slightly out of breath. “We need to work on that dance project, and soon. I choreographed it with Minseok yesterday and you have to learn it so we can record it.”

Kyungsoo nodded.

“When are you finished here?” Jongin asked, starting to walk with Kyungsoo in the direction of the crowd.

Kyungsoo held up five fingers.

“Okay, I’ll meet you in the commons then.”

Kyungsoo nodded and started to turn into the English hallway. Jongin paused and looked at Kyungsoo oddly before he could do so, however.

“Why are you so quiet today?”

Kyungsoo pointed at his throat and mouthed voice rest. Jongin rolled his eyes and continued on his way, muttering about voice majors.

…

“Jonghyun, you don’t understand,” Baekhyun pleaded. “I’m failing trig and if I don’t get my grade up fast I’m going to get my solo taken away.”

“Baekhyun, you don’t understand either,” Jonghyun said, stopping in his tracks. “I failed trig too. How am I supposed to help you with that?”

“Hello?” Baekhyun waved his arms wildly. “You’re manager, and Mr. Saballos loves you. Just tell him that I deserve the solo and it’ll be fine.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I do deserve the solo!”

Jonghyun shook his head. “Sorry, Baekhyun. I just can’t break the rules like that. I’m sure Luhan will handle the solo just fine.”

Baekhyun ground his teeth as Jonghyun walked towards his locker, and swallowed the urge to scream that’s my solo!

Instead he counted to ten in his head and swore he wouldn’t sleep until his eyes bled from trig practice. As he stormed outside to catch the bus home his phone buzzed and he retrieved it from his jacket pocket to check his text messages.

chanyeol:
where r u? were supposd 2 wrk on the project

Baekhyun had completely forgotten about the dance project. It was Thursday.

…

Jongin’s throat felt raw and his chest heaved as his stomach spilled the rest of its contents into the toilet bowl. It took five minutes for his eyes to stop watering and his heart to stop pounding after he flushed the toilet. When he washed his face and brushed his teeth he still couldn’t get the taste of bile out of his mouth, but it didn’t matter because even if he was sick and his stomach spit out anything he put into it and his muscles were being shredded into pieces without proper nutrition and every day at dance practice he could run for shorter and shorter, he had to keep going. He couldn’t tell anybody he was sick because that would land him in the hospital with a tube in his arm and doctors cutting him open. He would miss auditions and rehearsals and school, and besides he was too far gone now--if he gave up now it would take months to recover, months more to regain his parents’ trust, and years to fight his way back to the top. He couldn’t stop now, not when he was so close. He had to make it through one day, one repetition, one song, one snap of his wrist, one breath at a time. If he could do it once he could do it again, and somehow he’d do it enough times to make it.

There was a pounding on the door Jongin knew was Kyungsoo but he couldn’t go outside yet because he was still convincing himself, forcing down his throat what he knew he wanted.

He rinsed his mouth out again and ran a hand through his hair, examining his reflection in the mirror. The pounding grew louder and more insistent but Jongin still didn’t reply. He thought back to something he had said to Kyungsoo a couple of weeks ago, helping him prepare for his biology test.

“Multiply, vary, let the strongest live and the weakest die.”

He was strong, he knew. Not especially strong, but strong enough. Strong enough to make it past this day and the next and the one after that, but not any further, because he wasn’t strong enough to think that far in advance.

“Jongin, are you in there?” Kyungsoo finally shouted, giving up on his ‘voice rest’. “Are you okay?”

Jongin took a deep breath and looked at his reflection again.

“I’m fine! You better have learned that choreography by now!” he shouted back, opening the door.