He didn't pick up the call.  

    Well, of course he didn't pick up.  Why would he? What was I expecting? Where was he anyways? How—

    My grip around my phone tightened as it vibrated.  Without even checking the caller ID, I held the receiver up to my ear.  "Hello?" I answered, a little too eager.  

    "Hey, where are you? It's study hall.”

    Woohyun.  

    "I'm aware," I practically said through my teeth.  "I'm not joining the student council for study group, bee-tee-dubs."  Some kids were sitting in the hallways, or reading by the bottom lockers.  I sifted through the hallways for an empty classroom, but nearly all of them were filled with if not one, but multiple kids napping on their desks.  It wasn't an uncommon sight for flex periods, code "study hall hours" in Woollim.  Each grade had a flex period week a couple times a year in rotations.  

    "Are you sure?" Woohyun sounded a tad disappointed, "but I told everyone you'd be here." 

    "Why?" I asked, stopping by the bulletin board, pretending to survey the tacky club flyers.  

     "Because everyone wants to hang out with Son Naeun," he droned, like he was bored.  

    "Ha, funny," I fired back, the lack of sincerity in my voice too evident for words.  I put one heel in front of the other, walking to my locker on the end of the wing.  "Alright, okay.  I'll consider going during the last twenty minutes if you do me a favor, Woohyun." 

    I could almost hear the smile in his voice, "Really? Go ahead, shoot." 

    "Can you, as a member of the student council, find a way to pull up the Mmy awards line up earlier this month?" I asked, crossing my fingers.  

    "Uhm, I don't know.  Usually, it'd be easy, but there's been a lot of debate amongst the different homerooms..." 

    I felt my face fall.  "Okay." 

    "So you're coming?" 

    "Depends.  Are you guys camping out in the library?” Brushing a few stray hairs away, I ripped the locker mirror off to make sure there were no breaks in my foundation.

    "Nah.  Taemin reserved the meeting room for us this morning." 

    “Okay.” 

    “So you’re coming?” 

    I giggled.  “No.” Then I hung up.

    With light clacks, I pushed open the door to the media room, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.  It isn’t locked.  Timidly, I flicked on the lights before dropping into one of the reclinery chairs, sitting in front of the recording studio next to the camera sets.  The Mac desktops were pushed to the table against the far wall.  Everything looked the same as it did the last time I was here for a broadcast of Woollim In a Minute. 

    At the same time, it couldn’t have been more unfamiliar.

    “I hate you, Kim Myungsoo,” I said out loud, casually setting my purse down before pushing off the floor with the sole of my sandals until I was in front of one computer.  

    Mysterious, charming Kim Myungsoo who got whatever he want, whenever he wanted it.  That’s what I thought.  Still, the other night proved he didn’t have all of his life on cruise control.  I cursed myself for being so damn extra, but I couldn’t stop thinking of what was going on between his family.  

    So he had a step brother, or a half brother (something about a second mom?) who clearly had something against Myungsoo.  Then who was inheriting L Hotel? Whatever.  It wasn’t any of my business.  The bastard said himself that I wouldn’t want to know.  Who told him to get punched in the face, anyways? Not me.  

    I double clicked on the mouse, my O.P.I. coated nails flying over the keyboard.

    Trying to compensate for the lack of real problems in your life?  

    You’re always like this.  When things just don’t go your way, you force people off.

    His words kept reverbrating over and over, keeping tune to the steady and persistent pounding of my foreheard.  

    Problems? Of course I didn’t have any problems…right? He made it sound like having problems was a good thing.  I’m not spewing utter bull.  

    Of course I didn’t have any problems.  I was a size zero, probably smaller in Lagoona jeans (according my mom’s seamstress), my skin was clear (meaning no blemishes, ever), I was invited to all the major get-togethers of the year.  There’s a string of people just waiting in line to tell me just how problem-free I was.  

    That’s the truth.  No, that’s the fact.  

    No one, not even Myungsoo, could alter the truth, or change the facts.  

    I switched on a smile, just incase someone walked in.  Technically, no one was allowed in here except crew and clubs with passes.  But I was an exception.  I was always an exception.  

    Right? 

~

I had spent the rest of flex period screening the calls on my phone and watching old clips of my news segment.  The first broadcast, I was perky.  My concept changed from bubbly to witty to bold about ten segments in.  

“Lay off the cookies, Size 6,