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Paper Boatspart one / / l u h a n / / two
Luhan supposes it's because of his girly face and late onset of puberty.
“You're ugly.” Yoori says. She's the prettiest girl in the seventh grade; all the girls either like her, hate her, or like her but secretly hate her.
“You're super gross.” Taehee giggles, twirling her finger in her hair—thick and bouncy.
“Why are you talking to a Chinese kid?” Jongdae snickers, walking over and peering at into the little semicircle that's formed around Luhan, who crowds into the corner. “He's a freak.”
“His name has two syllables. Only two!” A nerdy kid exclaims, which turns out to be the outcasted Kim Minjun (who tries his best to fit it).
Tiffany throws him a disgusted look, before propping her hands on her hips. “We gotta do something about Chinese trash. Chinese people don't belong here, you piece of trash. You try to be Ko-re-an but you only have two syllables; Lu and Han. No one even likes you, why are you here?”
Luhan's eyes widen into saucers as he opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out, except for a choked sputtering.
The other kids laugh, Taehee screeching in delight. “Chinese kid can't even talk Ko-re-an, what a dumb piece of trash!”
Tears well up in Luhan's eyes, throat going dry and unable to speak.
They taunt and tease more, before Jongdae grins maliciously. He climbs on top of the desks, stomping his foot onto the table and standing up tall. The other kids fall silent as he wobbles, gazing at him with awe. “Anyone here got a lunch sack? We need a paper bag.”
“And what do you plan to do with a paper bag?” Tiffany inquires with a frown.
“You'll see.” Jongdae flashes her a charming smile, hopping off to snatch the brown bag from Naeun (who wears glasses and has terrible braces). He takes a pencil and draws two circles, before grabbing scissors and cutting out two holes.
Marching over to a crying Luhan, he roughly seizes him by the collar and hauls him up, before shoving the bag over his head.
Quickly letting go, Jongdae wipes his hands on the wall, smirking as he puffs his chest out in triumph. “HA! Now we don't have to see Chinese Trash's ugly face.”
Tiffany nods, before turning around to give a sick smile at Luhan. “Keep it on, loser. If we see it off, we're gonna beat you up, right guys?”
A loud chorus of agreement fills the air, before the bell rings and they scatter off.
Luhan slumps down to the ground, sobbing quietly to himself.
{+}
He is not some “Chinese Trash” that can be pushed around, so Luhan comes in the next day with his head up and proud, walking in and sitting down.
Tiffany passes by him, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “I'm gonna beat you up later, Chinese Trash.” She snarls, pinching his thigh harshly.
Luhan bites his lips to keep his eyes from overflowing with tears, but it's hard to concentrate on that when the whole class hates you.
Recess comes around, and Luhan is seized by Jongdae and the group of boys, who drag them behind the handball wall and starting punching and kicking him, with the girls watching.
“Chinese trash, you're nothing but trash.”
“No one likes you, why are you even alive?”
“You're ugly, I hate you, we all hate you.”
“I bet no one loves you at home.”
Repetitions and repetitions later, Luhan is glassy-eyed as the bell rings. People are gone, and every part of his body aches. His breathing is labored, both from the fighting, and from the bag that obstructs his mouth from oxygen.
Luhan limps his way to class, with the teacher muttering how kids were stupid to let themselves get hurt, and his classmates smirking.
{+}
He goes onto class with the bag on his face, everyday, everywhere. No one questions. No one cares. After all, he's worthless. He's only Chinese trash.
Days merge into years, and Luhan's grown numb. It's a routine, that's laced it's way into his heart.
Wake up. Take the bag off. Wash face and get dressed. Put bag on. Go to school. Go home. Do work. Take bag off. Shower. Put on. Fold paper boats. Sleep. Repeat.
what did i just write-
it gets worse.
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