The school was trying a new thing this year that made the seniors pick concentrations at the beginning of the year. No one knew what it was for, including the school since they hadn’t made us do anything relevant to our concentrations since we handed in our commitment slips. I had picked art as my concentration. In fact, I had completely forgotten that I picked art for my concentration until it was announced, while I was seething in anger after my little altercation with Thing 1 and Thing 2, that the following day was going to be our senior day trip. I wasn’t really sure if I hadn’t been paying attention to important class announcements, or if this trip had come literally out of ing nowhere. Our trip was going to be the only thing in the school year that encompassed our concentration, apparently. Their excuse was that the teachers got word of the concentration too late to work it into a lesson plan or set up weekly concentration periods. I think they got a little too ahead of themselves at the thought of the important sounding “concentration program”, and didn’t really think through how it could ever be relevant. 

I was currently being shipped off to the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art. And I was so happy to have 2 seats to myself on the bus, because I was still seething, and I wouldn’t be opposed to strangling someone in my current mood. The bus in itself was very empty. Only a handful of people picked art as their concentration, since most others picked music, history, literature, or science. I knew for a fact Sehun and the rest of the Motley Crue had picked history. Like I cared. They could all be pleasant and robotic with each other, because I preferred my own company anyway. I knew I was going to be the topic on everyone’s tongue, and I could care less that they were going to mock me and talk behind my back. 

That’s right. I could really ing care less. 

But didn’t that mean I cared? 

I walked around absentmindedly, not taking into account any of the exhibits. Not that looking at photographs of unidentifiable objects wasn’t totally up my alley. I could stare at these presumed thumb prints all day, really, I just wasn’t in the mood. The word “jealous” kept revolving around my head no matter what I did, and it didn’t help to remember it was Bomi screaming it at me. Bomi could read people, and it pissed me off to think that I could be jealous. What did I have to be jealous about? Hayoung? The possibility of losing Sehun? As if. 

So what if I wasn’t pretty and dainty like that ? So what if Sehun had never laughed with me like that, or push her away when she got too close? So what if he looked disappointed when I split them up? He was trying not to show it, but I could tell. 

Sure, I had never had anyone before Sehun, and sure he made me happy, or whatever, but what did I expect? Did I ever expect to win over that barbie doll? Did I ever expect that I, with my uncontrollable temper and unattractive personality could ever be superior to someone that could win anyone over in a heartbeat? It was my own fault, for expecting loyalty out of anyone. Sehun is a guy after all, and no matter how much I wanted to think that he cared about me, he would always go to what was more beneficial to him. No matter how much I wanted to think Bomi and Namjoo were my friends, they, the pretty, popular girls that everyone liked to be around, should be surrounded by their own kind. I never stood a chance against Hayoung, in anyone’s eyes, and it was my fault for forgetting it. 

“Interesting, isn’t it?” I jumped back in shock, and saw none other than Moon Jongup peering at the photograph from behind me. I rolled my eyes. 

“I guess.” I responded, acting colder than necessary. Well, ier than one would deem necessary before gauging that the “” meter had no limits in the presence of the idiot that was Jongup. 

“Yeah, it’s…” He waved his hands around while scrunching up his face. Eventually he gave up and shrugged. “I tried to think of something intelligent to say about this, but honestly we all know it looks like crap.” He motioned to all of the other art students, who had confusion painted all over their face. Even the teacher that came with us was reading the exhibit pamphlet furiously, trying to make sense of the photographs we were looking at. I let a laugh slip out of my lips, not taking into account who I was laughing with. 

“Hey, she laughs.” Jongup’s ears perked up while his eyes turned into tiny crescents. I mentally kicked my own for smiling back at him. I couldn’t let the tiny moons distract me from the fact that I was talking to the biggest douche I’ve ever encountered. 

“Yeah, she laughs. And she can kick your if she wanted too.” I said as I glared at him and walked away, hoping that it would be the last of our encounters. He ended up following me. Honestly, I wasn’t as disappointed as I made myself out to be. 

“Whoa there, Catwoman, I was just trying to have a civil conversation.” He trailed behind me, somewhat how Sehun would in the past. I wasn’t sure if I was more angry remembered what he was probably doing or saying right now, or if I missed him more than anything. 

“Are you calling me Catwoman because I’m capable of kicking , or because you think I’m catty?” I spun around and faced him, to his surprise. 

“I wouldn’t say catty is the right word. I’m thinking more, fiesty?” I rolled my eyes and continued walking, ignoring him trailing behind me as best as I possibly could. It didn’t work, because he was proving to be quite the presence to ignore. 

“Not to be rude, actually with the biggest intention to be rude, what the hell do you want?” I asked, after I had grown tired of him following me with one sided conversation. 

“Hey, Ji,” I cringed at the name only Namjoo and Bomi called me, “I just wanted to keep you company. You seemed pretty lonely, sighing all over the place.” He shrugged. 

“I am not sighing all over the place, no less am I lonely.” Even if I tried to be convincing with that statement, it was clear by my defensive tone that I was guilty of both. 

“If you say so Eunji. I’ll be over by the photographs of the tv a