Haggard, stressed and blue. As if my Monday couldn’t be any better, I was awoken by my little cousin’s wretched cries ringing past the dangerous decibels, penetrating my ear drums and breaking it altogether at once. ing Mondays… My eyes were blurry but it didn’t miss the hint of light peeping past the gap between the blinds - not that it was of any help seeing as it was white anyway and the window occupied a whole panel of wall, only leaving a tiny gap between the one adjacent to it for a tall shoe rack. 

 

Naturally, I reached over for my phone for recent updates only to be greeted by tonnes of messages, one after another on a row. But, it made me smile nonetheless, so I opened them seeing as I had a good ten minute gap before my alarm actually rings.

 

‘Day one without Jen.’

 

‘Our banter-saurus rex. :(‘

 

‘My boy finally left.’

 

The last one had me gleaming, at the same time yearning. It was no secret that I missed my friends back at home, hell I’d give everything to be back there pulling on Carly’s hair and taking the piss out of Mr. Cobb’s fanny fringe - which seems to be an ongoing trend here - but, I’m stuck here. Unfortunately.

 

‘Cry about it, nigglets.’

 

I typed out, my fingers tapping hastily on the screen, as if anyone would reply at that very minute. They’re all asleep, idiot. I grunted at the thought of burdensome timezones. Never have I ever thought that I’d be worrying about the sort, seeing as we had everything planned out until Leeds came crashing down.

 

“Yeo-Jung? Hey, it’s time to get up.” My aunt’s fist rapped against the door, followed by her soothing voice that definitely contrasted my mum’s. 

 

I hummed a simple reply and tossed my phone by my side onto the bed. It’s not like I’m likely to receive a reply right now anyway… they’re all when it comes to sleep. So, I reached over for my MP3 player that was attached to my dock, blasting on Blink-182 aloud as I heaved myself off of the bed and trudged to the en-suite toilet. 

 

My morning routine pretty much consists of three simple steps; one that I managed to skim through during the midst of the ten minute window between waking up and the school bus’ arrival by the stop, and it’s one that I have always sworn by: Shower, Moisturise and Gussy up, though honestly I think gussying up happens more occasionally than frequently, so that cuts it down to two subdivisions. It doesn’t take me long and by the time the second song trails to an end, I was fresh out of the shower. Thus, I headed out to continue with dressing myself. 

 

Back home our uniforms were less constricted - more free and definitely less accurate to the appropriate measurements. King Will’s school back in Torquay was never the type to nag continuous about such petty stuff, rebels were the silent victors, really. But, Seoul High didn’t seem to follow the same case. 

 

My blazer adorned my figure and on the pocket, it nestled the school’s symbol etched in golden embroidery. It screamed pristine purity, the Mother Mary stereotype - the kind that nailed pride and glory at every damn thing. What’s that called again? …. Ah, an over sensationalised school. 

 

“Jung-ah, breakfast’s ready!” I heard my aunt call from the bottom of the stairs.

 

Well, here goes nothing.

 

 

Breakfast was…exotic. Kimchi fried rice with scrambled egg surprised me more than anything. I realised that Korea involves Kimchi in everything - even pancakes! They may as well bathe in it! 

 

I frowned at the thought and sighed, only to scowl at the light stench of today’s first batch of kimchi to hit my nose. Ugh, gross. I shifted uncomfortably on my seat. This damned bus needs more space. I grunted as I caught another kid staring right at my direction with so much discretion, or lack thereof. Honestly, what is so different with me?

 

My hair’s black, my eyes aren’t ing coloured and I sure as hell didn’t grow a third eye in a matter of moments, I’m average - so I don’t get why they feel the need to stare. Pay no attention to it, they’re just curious. I tried to convince myself. Being the civilised person that I am, I smiled at the culprit and increased the volume of my phone. Thank god for earphones.

 

By the time we reached school, half of the population (or what seemed like so) were already streaming past the tall school gates, note the fact that the majority were almost identical if it wasn’t for the varying hairstyles. But I wasn’t as eager, and I refused to rush, hence I staggered along the stream only to be halted by being caught by the arm.

 

“Your skirt’s too short, Miss. What’s your tutor form?” A teacher unknown to me had stopped me, misunderstanding my situation as the newbie. Great going.

 

I cleared my throat and plucked an earbud off my ear, squinting one of my eyes in concentration as I attempted to form a coherent sentence. “I’m new.” I stuttered, cursing at my damned broken accent.

 

Miss ‘Your skirt’s too short’ was obviously suspicious of me. One of her brow was raised and her lips set on a displeased line. “That doesn’t excuse you from our rules.” 

 

As if the gods haven’t punished me enough, she continued to nag, which I barely understood in all honesty. “…are you even listening to me? What is your tutor form?” She repeated her question as though I would magically know how to answer within only moments. 

 

“I don’t know.” I shrugged, looking around for a kind samaritan that’s willing to help an obviously troubled buddy. I’m ing drowning in translation.

 

“Miss, I’ll have you know that by not abiding by the rules you’re only getting yourself in trouble. It is neither cool, nor trendy - so let’s end this once and for all. Who is your form tutor and I’ll have you sorted out?”

 

“I don’t kno-“ “Jo Yeo Jung! Jo Yeo Jung right?” 

 

I looked to my right as a panting stranger came over. His hair was a nice shade of chestnut brown and his height loomed a calming shadow over me, but his eyes defeated the intimidation set upon by his shadow as it gleamed in recognition. 

 

“Uh, yeah?” I responded in question. What is going on?

 

“Park Chanyeol, who is this girl and who is her form tutor?” Miss I-Don’t-Know repeated yet again, inciting a straightforward response with every word she breathes out.

 

I shrugged at the said boy and attempted a sheepish smile, grasping tightly onto the straps of my bag as I waited to be eased out of this situation.

 

“She’s the new transfer under Mr. Moon’s form.” Chanyeol boyishly grinned, his toothy smile almost infectious. 

 

“And you are associated, how?” 

 

“Oh, yeah, right.” Chanyeol turned away from the prying staff and stuffed his hand inside his pocket, reaching out for what looks like the crumpled paper that casted a light bulge on his pocket. “Um, this is your timetable.” He handed it over to me, which I accepted without word, and kept his hand held out. “I’m your uh, tour guide I guess.”

 

Nice. A cute boy for a tour guide. 

 

“So what’s your story?” Chanyeol was the first to break the silence as he led me to my designated locker into the school, away from the ever-so-kind Miss I have just met, finally. A* for sarcasm, well done.

 

I inwardly scoffed at the absurd answer that came forth with the question. But, regardless, I stayed quiet. I’d rather sail through the time I have in this school as a stranger - detached and most definitely reserved for my friends back home. “I’m here for a visit. You?”

 

Chanyeol seemed to have noticed my will to remain a stranger and simply shrugged it off. “You’re a bad liar, but it’s okay. It’s your own story to tell.” 

 

True. I smiled at the kind gesture and proceeded to listen to him as he talked through the different facilities we passed by on the way to the locker area. 

 

“Lucky for you our tutor room is the first door to your left.” He informed me while tossing my key to my direction. “Your timetable also matches mine, so I guess you’re stuck with me.” He grinned his, from what I see so far, signature toothy grin. Such a boyish charm that I could easily learn to admire.

 

“Oh, and you’re welcome.” I frowned quizzically at his add-on. For what? “I’m saying that in advance for all the times I’ll be saving your in the near future.” He justified. 

 

“Hey, don’t diss! Korean isn’t my strongest point!” I whined, quickly realising the meaning behind his words. Besides, it’s not like Britain’s most spoken language is Korean - hell, I barely associated with Koreans back home.

 

Chanyeol chuckled, lightly poking at my forehead - which I assume is a thing here - before pushing himself off of the locker door he was leaning on. “Come on, at least you’ll pass English here.” I grinned inwardly, thankful for being gifted with such a friendly companion.