I groan internally when I enter the classroom the next day. Unable to believe that I have actually called him Luhan yesterday, I quickly go to my desk and sit down. I glance up to assess that he’s not here yet, which is a good thing. I suppose it is. I don’t know if I want to see him or not after yesterday. Having acted like a monkey is not even the main problem here – why would I care about embarrassing myself in front of a teacher? – but to call him by his first name!

That’s what the old Miyoung would do. That’s wrong. I don’t want my old role back. But it’s his fault for not properly drawing a line between teacher and student, isn’t it? Why did he have to go as far as to fish out my notes and get wet while doing so? It’s not his problem. It shouldn’t be. Although I must say I am thankful for his notes, else I couldn’t have done my homework. (His writing is crappy, though.) Then my gaze drifts to the desk. The red marker is gone, as if it was never there to begin with. As if the school wanted to get rid of any evidence that there’s bullying going on. This I realize, as I think about it, is actually very much what a school of this prestige would do.

I sigh into my hand that’s propping my chin. When Luhan – no, Mr Lu! – enters, I avoid looking into his eyes, staring at his notes that lie on the desk. Yesterday when I looked at the notes in the evening I was really surprised to see how detailed they were. He really put a lot of thought into the way he organizes his teaching. How hard-working he is … my thoughts get interrupted when my name is called for attendance check.

“Here.” Instinctively I look up and meet his gaze accidentally. Instead of a teasing smile that I half-expected of someone like him, he actually gives me a concerned look. I frown in response, but he continues with the list.

During class, while I still pay attention to what he’s saying, when he is writing something on the blackboard, I turn slightly and observe my class. I haven’t done that in this class at all, but now I want to know who took my notes.

I immediately realize what’s going on. You can actually see how uncomfortable and scared the students in the row just behind me are. Most students behind them simply look lethargic, as if they don’t feel anything or don’t care about anything. The last row in one word: pissed. From head to toe, their whole posture seems to scream that they’re pissed, like they’re better than the others. The air of arrogance surrounding them is almost visible.

The hierarchy is obvious, it is like being progressively inferior with each row nearer to the front. When an especially angry-looking girl catches my gaze, she glares at me, then smirks condescendingly. I hold her gaze, but I don’t know what my expression is like. Shaking my head, I go back to copying what’s written on the blackboard.

During break I stay in the classroom for the first time, discreetly observing the class while I eat my lunch. It i relatively obvious that the last row is n charge, if you will. And the longer I watch these people the more do I realize that the majority is not lethargic, like I first thought, but perturbed, their gazes very glassy.

Luhan – argh, Mr Lu! – is still in class. He looked like he was about to leave earlier, but then glanced in my direction and has stayed since. Halfway through the break he stands up from his desk, though, and says, “Miyoung, can you come to the teachers’ lounge, we need to talk about the homework you submitted.”

I stare at him, confused, not understanding what is going on, but stand up nonetheless.

Once we’re outside he motions me to quickly follow him into a side hallway. I, still holding my sandwich and not understanding, say,

“This is not really about the homework, is it?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not good that you’re staying in the classroom. It’ll seem like a provocation to them. Go to the rooftop, but never without a teacher,” he quickly says.

Not paying attention to the questioning look I give him or the fact that I’ve just opened my mouth to ask something, he continues, “And your next class is P.E., right? Take your clothes and your bag with you, or your belongings might end up like your notes. And don’t ever be the last to leave the changing room.”

“But-”

“Do you understand?” he interrupts, surprising me with the urgency in his voice and his piercing gaze. But what catches me by surprise the most is the fact that he has grabbed my shoulders – although not so hard that it hurt. He immediately lets go of me, though, when he sees my surprise.

“Y-yeah, yes. Got it … but why are you telling me all this? How do you even know what they will do?” I ask, still feeling awkward because grabbed my sh