.two

The last week of July ended quite quickly than what I’d expected. Pretty soon I was sitting with one eye open on the passenger seat next to mom, donning a fresh uniform with a bagel in my mouth as I fumble with the seatbelt. She offered to drive me to school on the first day, but other than that, I just have to rely on my trusty ‘ol bike.

As soon as we arrive, she leans closer to kiss me on the cheek and wish me good luck, as always. “Make friends,” she yells while the windows roll up. I roll my eyes, but mutter a timid ‘yeah, yeah’ in return.

My mother, really.

I didn’t want to walk among the hordes of students because everyone seems noisy—students sharing their expectations and class schedules and whatnots—so I settled for the back door instead.

I shuffle my Chuck Taylors awkwardly as I turn to the curb, sneaking past the school guards.

In our school, there’s a rusty metal door at the back of the building just near the garden. The handle’s broken, so you have to practically push all your might just to open it. Heavy, might I add, but there’s also an open window at the top of it. My body is just enough to squeeze past through it if I climb up, and it has been quite a hobby for me since freshman year, since I’m too skinny to open the door anyways.

Plus, it’s kind of cool like I’m a spy whenever I enter and briskly pass through the hallways.
It comes in handy whenever I’m late.

I toss my bag through the window, the black backpack shooting perfectly inside. Grinning, I grab a large branch of a nearby tree and steadied myself before jumping to get inside. I swing my body with all my might, curling into a ball once I released. My knees slightly wobble when I try to land on my feet, almost falling, but I ignore it and quickly throw my backpack on the shoulder, dashing to my class.

I met Baekhyun on the way there. Kyungsoo is beside him, as always, reading another book. I couldn’t really read the title because he kept moving, but it was about talking gerbils, I guess. I couldn’t really care less. The three of us walk to the bulletin board, hoping to find our classes.

Pressing my lips into a thin line, I run a thumb across the piece of paper holding all the sophomore student’s names and tried to find mine. It’s next to someone named Min Yoongi. 2-B, it says. Shrugging, I let a small, mousy girl who had been jumping helplessly earlier take my spot and then turn around.

A boy was staring.

Well, more like boy who looks like a girl was staring.
But still.

I was sure that he looked very familiar to me. Dark brown hair nestled on top of his small h