I decided not to tell the girls about the fiasco that happened with Chorong last week.  Why? It was blantly obvious, people were bound to follow Myungsoo’s calls once they realized I was slipping.  

    “Naeun! Breakfast is-“ 

    “Coming!” I hollered, shoving my feet into my patent leather tuxedo flats and standing upright again to scan my outfit.  I was wearing a blush pink Dolce & Gabbana cowl neck number, with Dasom’s heather grey bandage skirt.  It looked demure, which was what I was aiming for, more or less.

    “Naeun!” 

    I grabbed my phone off my nightstand, and shot for my monogrammed Coach hobo bag leaning against the corkboard to the far right of my room.  I flit down the stairs, purposely pivoting as I walked to make scuffs on the wood.  “Morning,” I chirped casually, nodding to Kaeun’s babysitter, who was standing by the table holding a set of china.  

    Kaeun was flipping through a furniture catalogue she probably couldn’t even read, playing with the ends of her tutu.  It was only forgivable, considering she was still in kindergarten.  

    “Morning,” my mom said, blotting her lipstick on a napkin before sliding her half-eaten croissant away.  My dad sat next to her, his hands around his coffee cup.  She eyed my skirt before saying, “It’s freezing outside.” 

    “I’m wearing stockings.” I sat down, reaching for the scones next to Kaeun.  “So, what’s the occasion?” 

    “What do you mean?” 

    “I mean, aren’t you usually at work right now?” 

    “Well, yes, but that was checking in early.  With the new neighbors that moved in a few days ago, I couldn’t pull out of the driveway.” 

    “The driver’s waiting down the end of the street, by the way,” my mom added, smoothing her hand over her chic chignon.  

    “Great.  So I have to walk?” I stabbed the butterknife into the chilled baguette.  

    “Honey, don’t fret, it’s a five minute walk, and you’ll see the car parked by the end.” 

    “And the neighbors?” I turned to face my dad, frowning a little.   We hardly had neighbors living in our lane — the houses were big, the prices even bigger.  It’d be hard to settle into one of the houses, especially the ones with the turrets next to ours.  

    “Oh, you didn’t know? They have two boys, one of them goes to your school-?” 

    “Wait.  What?” I stood up, pushing the chair back.  

    “And they’re really hot!” Kaeun gushed, tugging on one of her pigtails.  I almost broke out laughing, I jut out my lower lip to keep from cracking.  

    “You mean handsome,” my mother reprimanded lightly.  

    “Whatever.” 

    Just. My. Luck.  

    How did all of this manage to fit perfectly into the seams like a predetermined story line? “May I be excused?” Before they could reply, I pushed my chair in and started walking away, reaching into my bag for my leather Monclaire gloves.  

    “What about breakfast?” 

    “Not hungry.” 

    The minute I stepped out, the chill hit my skin like needles, the air so cold I could see my breath wisping out of my mouth.  I pulled on my gloves and my periwinkle Marc Jacobs peacoat, sighing.  My eyes zeroed in on the mover’s truck park right infront of our tree-lined driveway, kicking up exhaust.  I stood there on the front steps, looking at the black brand cars in front of the next house.  

    As if on que, a figure stepped out of the house, wearing a black leather jacket, a camera slung around his neck, with one backpack strap slung around his arm.  He owns more land than I do.  

    Of course, because his dad owns the LHotel chain, how could I forget? 

    I froze when he turned to the side, his eyes locked on me before rolling his eyes and turning away.  This douchebag.  And he made his way down the steps just the same time I did.  I let out an indignant groan, clenching a fist to the side.  

    We haven’t talked for the three days of school before the weekend.  But it was minor, little things.  The scoffs, the looks, how everyone’s focus seemed to be on Myungsoo now.  He looked like he didn’t give a , but I was internally freaking out.  That was what seemed to anger me ; the fact that he didn’t care, didn’t try, that he had everything and everyone wrapped around his finger, girls practically worshipping the ground he walked on, that he was the one with the upperhand, not me.  

    All it took was one more tiny little trigger, a switch, for me to get back at him.  

    And what were all the tweets on Saturday talking about how kingkas trumped queenkas? I picked up my knees, walking a little faster, trying not to look mad.  Chorong that basket case, I swear if I ever-

    “Don’t tell me you live next door.” 

    It took me a minute to register that Myungsoo was talking.  And not just talking at that, talking to me.  I walked faster to walk by his side, keeping a good three feet away from him with a cold front.  “But that would be lying,” I said condescendingly.  “I guess that doesn’t matter though, since I’m so uncivilized.” 

    He didn’t seemed fazed by my comeback.  Rather, he looked amused.  He - get this- smirked.  Again.  Doing that lady-killer, subtly-biting-lower-lip kind of smirk.  

    “I had no idea,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  

    “What’s it to you, anyways? Are you trying to come off as an instigator? If you are, you’re doing a seriously good job.” 

    “Me? An instigator.” Myungsoo echoed, evidently annoyed.  He put both of his hands in the pockets of his jacket.  

    “Mhmm,” I replied conveyingly.  “Knowing your comments are irrelevant, but still putting in your two cents and putting other people off.” 

    He stopped abruptly, scoffing before taking steps towards me, just as I kicked myself for backing away as he did.  “Putting other people off? I think you have something confused or twisted in some kind of way, but that’s all you.” 

    “What?” 

    “It’s girls like you that I hate.  Fake, satire, girls stepping on people to get ahead, attacking others to make themselves feel better.  The worst part? They don’t even know they’re doing wrong.” 

    Ouch.  

    “You don’t even know the first thing about me,” I said defensively.  

    “I’ve come across them enough to know.” 

    “They write into my segments.  I give them uber, cold, real advice for their good,” I argued.  

    “You’re living proof that materialistic airheads still exist.” 

    “Excuse me?” I felt like screaming.  Was this getting anywhere? “Materialistic?” Okay.  So that was true.  But it wasn’t like I was going to put studying physics over Teen Vogue.  “Airhead?” I heaved dramatically again, my voice hoarse.  My palms suddenly got clammy.  “I’ll have you know that I’m a straight A student, I’m the M-my representative and-“ 

    I was cut off by L, who let out a husky chuckle.  “You’re rote memorization is like, so impressive.”

    “Are you— did you just… laugh? At me?” Huh.  So that’s what it felt like.  This was the first time I’d been put down, embarassed.  I