When was the last time everyone was laughing with and not at me? When was the last time I made fun of someone, and didn’t get or rep for it? 

    A surge of emotions flooded my brain.  I, Son Naeun, who had always been the center of attention, was now in the spotlight for all the wrong reasons.  

    Truthfully, I felt scared.  How would this affect the rest of high school for me? But I convinced myself otherwise, narrowing my eyes at the circles of people around me.  Whispers, the cynical little whispers.  

    “I knew she was a but… not to this extent…” 

    “Wow, so much for model student…” 

    “Looks like the Queen is no longer…” 

    “Kind of saw this coming…”

    “Do her friends actually like her?” 

    Hypocrites.  Idiots.  I tried to keep myself calm, running my hand over my hair, still perfectly in place.  My sharp chin I worked so hard to maintain.  Then down to the fabric of my Ralph Russo angora fur sweater—limited edition, just like almost everything else I owned.  

    I shook my head, almost doubling over in hysterics.  No way.  

    They can’t just out me when they’ve always wanted to be me.  They can’t just throw me under the bus to take all the blame.  They can’t make me into a loser, I worked for this spot.  I… 

    I could feel the judgemental glares, the disapproving glances.  

    I thought… thought that it was perfect.  

    Then, in the midst of the crowd, my eyes wavered on Dasom, who stood under the monitor.  She looked just as shocked as I felt, if not more.  If it wasn’t Hyuna, it was always Dasom who had my back.  Conditionally or unconditionally, it didn’t really matter to me, because we were friends.  

    Before I could even tear my eyes away in embarrassment, she disappeared.  She inched away slowly, and took off.  Like she wasn’t even there in the first place.  

    “Unbelievable…” I whispered under my breath.  

    “Hey,” a voice called out, “there’s a limit to being shameless.” 

    My eyes flit up to see Woohyun pushing through the crowd, arms crossed.  A couple of underclassmen broke off.  

    “The lot of you were there.  You guys are all accomplices.” 

    They couldn’t even say anything.  The girls that used to cut-copy my outfits stood at the sidelines, eyes wide.  The freshman boys that used to ask for my number weren’t even laughing.  Even the network of nerds who—less than a day ago,—seemed more than happy to see my popularity decline, forced their eyes to stay on the monitor.  

    No one said anything.  

    Some just stared.  It was like they couldn’t believe this was happening— that this was happening to me.  

    I couldn’t either.  

    Or maybe they were just waiting for someone to make the first move.  Like, let’s see who actually has the guts to pick a fight with Son Naeun.  Let’s see who can risk going on Nam Woohyun’s black list? Let’s just wait and see.  

    “A-aren’t you the one that forced Park Chorong out, too?” 

    The person who speaks up is a Woohee.  She hung out with Cho Ahyoung in the eighth grade.  If Woohee didn’t wear last-year’s disco pants and follow that senior Subin around, she’d actually be best friend material. She’s a lot shorter than I am, so I stand up a little straighter and look down on her, scanning her face.  

    As if on autopilot, her chin falls a little.  

    “Are you flexing your Yellow Journalism skills right now?” I seethed.  “Since you’re all so hell-bent on screwing me over, let me set the record straight.  I did not make Park Chorong drop out of school.  She took her anger out on me, because of her own sick, personal issues at home.  Do I need to remind you I got knocked out cause of her?” 

~

I threw open the double doors and didn’t even stop to rip off my shoes.  I stomped up the wooden stairs, steps deliberate and loud.  

    Once I slammed the door shut, I threw my bag onto the purple duvets and let out a loud scream.  Before I could even think about crying, I already felt tears pricking my eyes and streaming down my face.  

    My ears went numb, I couldn’t even hear myself.  I shrieked, waiting for my veins to burst.  My hands clenched into fists at my sides.  And I went bat insane.  That was the only way to put it.  Insane.  

    I wasn’t even thinking when I started kicking the legs of my vanity table, leaving scuff marks and micro indents.  Then I swiped the entire thing clear, thinking that would somehow sedate me.  

    Not even close.  

    So I kicked and screamed and cried like those were the only things I was capable of doing, until my room was in shambles.  I kept on going for a good three minutes, waiting for someone to come upstairs and stop me.  

    The walls aren’t soundproof.  My mom sure as hell isn’t at work.  Why isn’t anyone coming to—

    And when my Christian Dior perfume hit the window pane, I halted.  

    I rushed to the glass, looking outside at the house next to ours, beyond the fence.  I saw someone standing at the window directly across from mine; black hair, black shirt.  .  

    And I drew the curtains shut quickly, wiping my eyes, trying to catch my breath.  Flames warmed my face.  

    “Son Naeun, what the hell has gotten into you?” I whispered, putting my hand in my hair.  

~

The next time I saw Myungsoo was on a Sunday.  

    I took a taxi to Han River after sneaking out of the house.   Technically, I was grounded.  After seeing what I did coming back from school, I think she was more worried about the paintjob on the wall than my emotional state.  

    With a sigh, I found a bench in the middle of the park, underneath a tree that provided little to no shade.  I curled my hair that morning for no reason.  I was wearing depressing grey velour sweats all day yesterday, but I came out with a skirt.  I held my phone in my hand, waiting for text messages and phonecalls that never came.  

    Then, I felt hands close around my eyes from behind.  I welped a little, hearing a small chuckle.  

    “Nam Woohyun?” 

    “Sorry to dissappoint,” came a thin voice as the hands pulled away from my eyes.      He sat next to me, propping his guitar case in between our legs.  

    “Myungsoo,” His name comes out like a whisper.  

    “Naeun.”

    He’s wearing a pale blue shirt and grey jeans, something of an unfamiliar look.  The sun bounced off his dark hair and flooded into his brown eyes.