Inyoung grabs me the second I get to school on Monday. “Why didn’t you tell me!” she hisses in my ear. “I thought we were best friends! You’re supposed to fill me in on stuff like this.”

I swallow hard. Oh my God, she knew about Chanhee! She didn’t buy my Laguna Beach lie after all. How am I going to weasel out of this jam? “Well, I…” I scramble, trying to think of something to say.

“Not here,” Inyoung says. We’re standing in the front entrance hall, which is packed with other students. She grabs me by the elbow and starts pulling me up the stairs.

“Hey,” I yelp, “my homeroom is back that way.” I’ve got exactly six minutes to get to my desk or I’ll risk a tardy slip. My homeroom teacher, Mr. Jung, is a major stickler for tardiness. He’ll write you up if your ’s not firmly planted in your seat when the eight-thirty bell sounds. Last week he gave me a late slip for being mid-sit when the final bell ring. Seriously, my was like five inches from the chair when he got me. No matter how much I argued it, the jerk wouldn’t budge. And two tardies in a month gets you a week’s worth of detention. I eye my watch nervously. Whatever Inyoung has planned, it better be quick.

Inyoung leads me down the hall and into the chemistry lab. “Look,” she shouts, whirling around dramatically and pointing to the blackboard. There, written in big, fancy lettering with blue chalk are the words PARK INYOUNG HAS GEEK STINK BREATH!

“Can you believe this? Isn’t it harsh?” Inyoung demands, looking like she’s about to cry.

Ouch. That is harsh. And it’s not even true. I stand there for a minute, surveying the damage, and then say, “This is so Tiffany Hwang.”

“Well, duh!” Inyoung puts her hands on her hips. “Of course it’s Tiffany. She’s all about zinging people on chalkboards. Remember what she wrote about your dad that time he wore the pink outfit? What did she call him, a flamer?’

“Yeah,” I grumble, “thanks for reminding me, Inyoung.”

“Sorry.” She looks so bummed out. “Hey, your skin has almost cleared up.”

It’s true. I’m amazingly lucky. By last night the blotchy rash had faded to just a few pale pink spots on my cheeks and forehead. I covered them up with some concealer this morning and was good to go.

“Why didn’t you tell me I have geek stink breath?” Inyoung asks, remembering her own predicament. She covers self-consciously. “And what’s up with that phrase? I’ve heard of nasty breath, but geek stink breath? That’s so strange.”

“It’s the name of a Green Day song from like ten years ago,” I tell her.”Lee Sungyeol has it on his iPod. He’s podded up practically every Green Day song ever written, come to think of it.”

Inyoung puts an arm on my shoulder. “Oh no, Kim, you’ve got it bad.”

My face flames up. “I do not.”

“You do so. How did you get a hold of Sungyeol’s iPod anyway?” Inyoung asks, leaning against a lab table and fiddling with a plastic test tube. “Did he lend it you or something?”

I laugh. “Yeah, right. What universe are you living in? He walked out of algebra class last month and left it on his desk. I merely picked it up and returned it to him. And, you know, I just happened to scroll though his playlist while I was at it.”

Inyoung giggles. Then her hand flies up to again. “I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me about my rank breath. You’re my best friend! You’re supposed to tell me junk like this, even if it hurts my feelings.”

“There’s nothing to tell you!” I insist. “Your breath is fine. Someone’s just being an .”

“You promise I don’t have geek stink breath?” Her lower lip is trembling. “You promise you’re telling the truth?”

“Of course!”

She doesn’t seem convince. “I’ve never, ever had bad breath before? Never ever?”

I give it to her straight. “Well, your breath’s not mountain spring fresh when you first wake up in the morning, but that’s completely normal. Nobody has good breath prebrush.”

“I guess so.” She still looks upset. “Why would Tiffany write that if it’s not true?”

I sigh. “Because that’s what makes Tiffany Tiffany. She’s a mean, nasty, beeyotch. It’s not enough that she’s fantastically popular and dates tons of guys. She’s not happy unless she tears everybody else down.”

Inyoung slumps against the lab table. “Thank God I found this before classes started. I would have died if anybody had seen it.” She picks up a chalk eraser and wipes the board clean. “I ought to write something nasty about Tiffany in retaliation,” she says. Then she snaps her fingers. “Yeah! That’s a great idea.” She grabs a piece of chalk. “What should I write? How about ‘Tiffany Hwang has hair extensions’? No, wait, what about ‘Tiffany Hwang is a two-faced liar’? Is that mean enough?”

“Come on.” I take Inyoung by the arm and steer her out of the chem lab. “We’ve got barely thirty seconds to get to homeroom,” I say, glancing at my watch. “We can figure out how to get back at Tiffany later.”

Inyoung seems depressed, but she agrees.

“How did you find that anyway?” I ask, as we scurry down the hallway and toward the stairs. “What were you doing in the lab this early in the morning?”

She bites her lower lip, all embarrassed-like. “Byunghun and I sometimes go up there to make out before homeroom.”

“You never told me that!” I exclaim.

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s kind of our little secret.” She gives me an apologetic look. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“No way.” We jog down the stairs side by side. “I know we’re best friends and we tell each other everything. But, you know, I think it’s okay to keep tiny little secrets.” Tiny little secrets like Lee Chanhee.

She seems relieved. “Cool. Thanks for understanding, Kim.”

When we reach the first floor, Inyoung turns right while I dash left toward Mr. Jung’s homeroom. I’ve just rounded the corner when the late bell rings. “Noooooo!” I wail, unable to stop myself. I’m not even close. There’s no way he’ll give it to me. Jung is a total stickler for punctuality. I debate skipping homeroom and hiding out in the bathroom until the first period bell. But Mr. Jung is also my English teacher. If I ditch homeroom and then show up for fifth-period lit class, he’ll write me up. I have no choice. I have to face the music.

I creep through the door to homeroom trying to look inconspicuous. No dice. Mr. Jung looks up from his attendance ledger and fixes me with a steely glare. Even through his glasses, his beady eyes look menacing. “Well, well, well, Ms. Kim. We were about to send out the search and rescue squad for you.” He takes out a piece of paper and begins writing.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I tell him, struggling to catch my breath. “I had an emergency,” I lie.

“Ms. Kim, I’m not interested in excuses, unless they come with a note from a parent,” Mr. Jung says, pushing glasses farther up his nose. “Do you have documentation from either one of your parents?” The corners of his mouth turn up into a small smile.

“No, but—“

“Then this matter’s settled.” Mr. Jung stands up and hands me a late slip. “Looks like they’ll be seeing you in detention starting this afternoon.”

- - -

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P.S. And no! Her homeroom teacher is not Jung Yunho! He's too hot and nice to be an evil teacher. :3 (And yes! You guess right! HE'S MAH FREAKING NUMBER ONE BIAS. (But I think that's about to change soon 'cause Block B and Teen Top are soo messing with my bias list right now. Not. Good. -_-)

P.P.S. I notice this chapter is a bit shorter than the rest of chapters I've posted. Haha. I'm a bit lazy nowadays. o3o

P.P.P.S. I'm sorry if there's any mistakes. It's freaking late right now and my eyes keep on closing. xD Sorry! I'll re-check everything tomorrow. :3

Updated on: 1:34am, 2.12.2011