The rude, blazing sound of my stupid alarm ruins the currently running scenario in my dreamland. Definitely one of the best dreams I’ve ever had in a while, might I add, in which I was surrounded by seven mouthwatering kinds of food like donuts, French fries, ice cream, etc. (Who the hell dreams about junk food? Me, of course.)

Wiping the faint white that is the disgusting dried drool lining my right cheek and blinking my eyes furiously to adjust them to the harsh sun rays barging into my room, I finally get up.

Ah, a very good morning indeed.

Although there’s no such thing like the beautiful sound of bird chirping or a sudden, soap opera worthy performance from me, a smile found its way to grace my sleepy bed face, as I do some stretching, eager to start the day.

I’d like to stay in my bed for a few more minutes and maybe come back to that sweet dream of mine, mind you, if only I wasn’t reminded by the cruel reality that I now live by myself –meaning I have to prepare my own breakfast.

The thing is, I used to have my mother do it for me –oh how much I love that woman, and I just can’t help but miss her at times like these (or any other time when I have to fend for myself, really). Now that I’m alone in a house that’s honestly too big for a seventeen year old to live in all by herself, I need to get this lazy of mine downstairs and eat if I don’t want to be tardy on the second day of school.

I zombie-mode-on walk straight to the kitchen, taking a single bowl from one of the cabinets then proceeding to pour some cereals and milk into it afterwards. I spoon some into my mouth as I mindlessly count the number of floating Froot Loops left on my bowl. Where are mom’s warm soup and rice when you need them? I seriously need to start learning to cherish some things while they last.

Sigh.

Around twenty minutes later or so (according to the clock hanging on the kitchen’s wall anyway), I’m already out of the house, smelling fresh out of the shower and looking mighty decent with my hair up in a ponytail and my uniform ironed to perfection as I begin to walk to the nearest bus stop, hands inside the pockets of my skirt.

_

I’m one hundred percent determined not to fall into the same hole twice because I’m such a smart puppy. I deliberately took my time to read my timetable on the relatively short bus ride to school today, making sure I’m in the right building first thing when I arrive –to kick off my second day here in JYP High.

Still no progress on the friend-less-no-more project, I guess, as my body still avoid any possible social interactions (my body is on autopilot mode, I insist). Baby steps. I’m taking baby steps into this whole becoming a social butterfly world. Changing the world isn’t as easy as flipping the back of your hand now is it.

So here I am, on my very first class of the day –which is English.

Not bad, I suppose.

English is not my favorite subject in particular, but it’s something I’m quite good at (compared to my friends), so it’s safe to say that I suit this class just fine.

The students are all present, but they don’t sound as loud as those kids in yesterday’s math class, so thank God for that. In fact, this is looking more and more like a normal class to me. A few students are gossiping in hushed voices at the corner of the room, while some others seem like they need to go back to sleep.

This is it.

The normal class that I didn’t get to experience yesterday.

Now I only wonder how my English teacher looks like.

Speaking of the devil, a yet again young teacher whose look does not go with the word ‘devil’ at all enters the class, juggling his leather satchel bag and a black trench coat in one hand; a cup of coffee on the other. His round framed glasses are sitting crookedly atop his nose, his hair sticking out to every direction possible, a sheer line of sweat possible on his exposed forehead.

He proceeds to drop everything on his table with a ‘thud’, catching his breath for a while before looking straight at us students in a sheepish manner.

“Morning, class!” he greets in a very cute, accented English that makes me want to giggle. It’s very cute, I tell you. I’m a er for accents like that (I’m a weirdo, I know).

“Morning.” The students reply, rather dully, yet that broad smile of his doesn’t falter.

“As some of you might have heard already, I’m here to replace your previous teacher, Mr. Han. I heard that he had decided to quit teaching to pursue his dream in the Broadway. Anyways, let’s all wish him the best, shall we?”

“Did he really?” “Oh no, not Mr. Han!” “Ah, what’s happening?”

Some of my classmates whisper amongst themselves and I wonder what kind of a person Mr. Han is or if he’s also youthful looking (not important, but whatever, just curious!).

“By the way,” the teacher continues, “I expect nothing but the best from you guys, alright? And for those who don’t know me, I’ll introduce myself. Hi, I am Choi Youngjae.” He says, his line of sight eventually finding me. I squirm in my seat, feeling very uncomfortable as I find myself being the center of attention yet again.

This will all be over soon, Bom-ah, just hang on a little more, will you? (One would need some pep talk sometimes)

“Right, so I was thinking, since it’s the first English class in this semester and all, why not begin with something fun like talking to you guys?” he suggests, yet the class goes into silent mode. “You know, where we can all speak freely and not be judged?” he insists, but the class remains silent as ever.

“I mean, it doesn’t have to be much, just like how you spent your holiday or if you found an interesting book to read, anything?” he tries again, and finally someone speak up.

“I went fishing with my father.”

“Oh wow, that sounds like so much fun. How many did you catch?”

“So much that I can’t remember.” He boasts.

“Well, that’s great! Anyone else?”

“I actually went to Europe.” Says a girl, earning an ‘ooh’ from everyone, all eyes instantly on her. “It’s awesome.”

“You didn’t bring us anything, though.” One student exclaims, and a round of laughter erupts from the whole class, which I admit, is quite well deserved.

“Enough laughing, kids,” Mr. Choi says, looking like he can’t contain his laughter either, but he continues with an unexpected, “how about you?”

How. Could. I. Not. Notice. His. Presence. Beside. Me.

When did the guy even move from his seat?

“Me?” I ask dumbly (awesome move, Bom, you practically just announced to the world how dumb you are).

“Yeah, you.” He says, looking straight at me. The gesture was meant to be friendly, I suppose, and look at the whole class suddenly go silent –waiting for me to answer anytime by now. I feel a little like Riley from Inside Out, nervousness building up in my system as I try to find my voice.

“I…re-read some of my John Grisham, Sir.”

“Are they in English?”

“Umm…yes?”

“Oh, so you’re into criminal stuff like that?”

“Yeah, I watch NCIS, Sir. In fact I think Law & Order is entertaining as well.”

“Any interesting cases that caught your attention?”

“All of them are, Sir. I actually watched the rerun of some episodes of the earlier season of NCIS too. I find Gibbs’ character very fascinating.”

“Interesting.” He comments, an amused glint subtly making its way into his eyes as he moves on to ask other students –but somehow I could still feel his gaze lingering around me until the end of the class.

_

I haven’t conversed with someone in English in a long time.

The thing earlier isn’t much of a big deal either, but it’s nice.

The English teacher in my old school is a very strict, old woman who does not care one bit about what us students think or want, she’s only there to kill her time, I conclude.

This Mr. Choi Youngjae though, he’s actually the first teacher here who makes me actually open up, like it’s okay to speak up plus he listens to us students very well.

He’s the first one to make me think less weird of this school. He is…you know, youthful looking enough to be questionable as a supposedly experienced teacher, but I don’t mind that, not really. I find him somewhat cool and I’d like to get to know him more, I guess. And –oh my God– he’s looking at me. We are the only ones left in the class room (damn me for doodling so much that I have to collect all of the scattered papers) and he’s leaning casually on the white board, as if waiting for his prey me.

Taking snail-paced steps, I carefully walk to the front of the class, heading towards the door but I inevitably get blocked by him.

He still wears that amused look on his face. I can’t look right into his eyes, but again I feel him staring at me…buying time to think of his next move.

“So…since you obviously like reading, how do you feel about writing?” he asks, out of the blue –and no sir, my brain wasn’t prepared for this.

“I write…stuffs, too, Sir.” I say. Which is not at all a lie, but is very vague, I admit, and he looks unsatisfied.

“Such as?” he asks, still in English.

“Umm, I used to write a lot in my blog about…anything that interests me, really. I wrote a few articles for my old school’s magazine too, once in a while.”

“Would you like to maybe, you know, try to join an essay competition?”

“Neh?”

_

Mr. Choi’s offer sounds too good to be true. I mean, he talked to me once alright and somehow he believes that I’m ready for a competition? If so, whoa, this school is pretty fast, yeah?

It does sound appealing to me, an opportunity like this doesn’t come twice, you know? I guess getting noticed isn’t that bad either, I just need some good sleep to think about this thoroughly later. First thing first, I have a physics class to deal with.

Flash news : I was never good with physics.

A pretty looking girl (the kind you’d see in your typical dramas, skinny, prim, and reeks of a branded perfume) approaches me just as I found myself a seat. “Aren’t you the exchange student?” are her very first words to me.

I didn’t expect anyone to come up and talk to me at all, but I brace myself and flash her the friendliest smile I could muster (might as well be a chance to hang out with the cool kids, right?).

“Yeah, I am. Let me introduce myself, my name is-“

“Oh Bom. Of course I know your name already! I was just, you know…wondering why you’re in this class. Are you sure you’re not lost, Bom-ssi? Do you perhaps, need any help to show you the way to your class?” she asks, blinking that fake looking lashes that you wouldn’t notice until you get as close as I am to her now.

“Huh? I’m pretty sure this is the one written on my timetable, though, let me check…physics with Mr. Mark Tuan, right?” I verify, but she looks even more confused. I can’t be in the wrong building again, I swear!

“You see, Bom-ssi, Mr. Tuan doesn’t just teach any classes. He only comes here like three times a week since teaching isn’t even his main job, he’s a very busy engineer, I tell you. And I hate to break it to you but he’s mainly assigned to the higher ranking students here, so...”

Oh I get it.

Miss Perfect here thinks I don’t have the brain.

We shall see, girl and see we shall –wait, what the hell is that super good looking straight-out-of-the-magazine model doing in here?

“Good morning, class.” He greets in a very manly voice (oh wow, how does one deal with a hot teacher like this?) and shutting the pretty girl up as she immediately makes a beeline towards her own seat. The other kids scramble to their seats as well, and when we’re all seated, I realize just how…little the number of students attending this class is.

It’s looking like a high end private cram school or something, if I may say so.

I shrink in my seat more and more. A few seconds ago, I was ready to kick some and show the pretty girl the true genius that I am. Looking at the situation that I am in at this moment, on the other side, is not at all promising. I’m afraid I’ll be making a fool of myself as soon as the teacher starts and I can’t let that happen.

Focus, Bom, focus.

I bite my lower lip, eyebrows meeting each other as I put on my most believable ‘concentrating student’ look. I try my hardest to focus on what he’s saying, but it’s like my ears shut out all of the voices. Oh well, only got my eyes to rely on then –no wait, focus eyes, focus! Yup, like that! Okay, we got this.

We are so totally…screwed.

Oh God, it’s all so easier said than done!

What the pretty girl said ring in my head longer than I intended, beating up my confidence so bad –every single piece of it.

I’m sweating so much, barely crying as of now, even. I can’t do this, I-

I’m thinking so hard on how to turn things around (and when I do, my face goes to a default poker face mode) that it looks like I was spacing out throughout the whole time Mr. Tuan’s talking about electric fields and all that jazz.

“Yah, exchange student!” he yells all so suddenly, bursting my bubble of thoughts and pulling me back to an unwanted reality. The class goes silent, not necessarily plain mocking me, but I bet they’re loving this outburst coming from Mr. Tuan.

I didn’t see this coming. I thought maybe the kids here are somehow nicer than those in my old school but judging by the way they’re 'innocently' looking between Mr. Tuan and I like I’m the next juicy gossip material, not so much.

“Yes?” I answer, in a squeak that sounds more like a mouse’s.

“Solve this problem right here.” He says, pointing to a problem I didn’t notice written on the board. I look down and try to ignore the now obvious snickers as I walk to the front of the class, taking a marker and solving the problem absentmindedly. I try to listen to his explanation, I swear, I’m just…currently thinking about everything else on the same time as well. The marker moves smoothly against the white board, my mind’s fully concentrated on the problem before me and I finish it in what must be my own record time. I put the cap back on and step back to let Mr. Tuan see my answer.

I’m halfway towards my seat when he speaks again, “Correct. Your answer is correct.”

I still don’t pay him, or the other gaping students that much attention as I sit down. I keep my head down for the rest of the class, taking my notes half-heartedly, wishing for the class to be over soon.

_

“Hey man, are you okay? You seem so out of it.” Jackson points out as soon as Mark enter the teachers’ lounge –their own section in the teachers’ lounge, to be more accurate.

“I’m fine, I’m just…thinking.” Says Mark, taking a single cup and filling it with water.

“Wow, I’ve never seen you so geared about your students before, they don’t amuse you even a bit, I remember? Or let me guess –have you met the exchange student yet?”

Mark doesn’t have to answer for Jackson to figure it all out, and he’s automatically turning into giddy, loud, curious, cute (?) Jackson.

“Come on, man, what did she do to make you think this hard? Spill, I’m curious!” he demands, pulling at the sleeves of Mark’s dress shirt.

Still no answer from Mark, or any effort to stop Jackson, to say the least –as he continues to think about the girl that reminds him very much of himself back in his high school days as he downs the content of the cup in one go.

_

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding just as I exit Physics. That must be the most emotionally tiring class in the history of high school life for me. Like, I know every school is unique and all, but –ranking system in some certain subjects? Isn’t that unfair?

I try to shake it off anyway, half-sprinting to my next class –it’s one of my favorites, art!

I enter the distinct looking room warily. All sorts of canvas and abundant art supply could be seen, the room is looking like the art class scene ripped straight out of Mr. Bean, so it’s nice. There is no whiteboard, nor a table for the teacher, but other than that…the class is otherwise very much equipped.

Where exactly is the teacher, though?

I decide to sit first and wait, checking out the prepared brushes and a new box of paint near my seat, which are provided for every single student (fancy, much?).

Honestly, I don’t like people that are late, and it’s been what –an awkward fifteen minutes without any signs of him/her coming. I turn to my right and poke the skinny looking guy in the arm.

“Excuse me, I’m new here, but umm, is the teacher always late?”

“Ah, I know right. Are you upset?” he asks, looking concerned. I almost missed the accent he uses in speaking, but it's one I'm not familiar with...

“Not really, he must have a good reason that he’s late I guess, but I’m really looking forward to this class all-”

“Wait no more, then.”

“Eh?”

“Good morning, class!” the one I’ve been talking to arise, walking up to the front of the class with a naughty grin stretched on his face. I thought he’s just the rebellious type that doesn’t wear his blazer, but now I realize that his white dress shirt and his young look could be really deceiving.

I feel like I’ve been lied to my whole life. Of course, he’s got to be my teacher.

“Someone’s anticipating this class, or so I’ve heard and I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear such spirit. And yes, let’s start this class right away, everybody! First up, I want you to paint me…something that represents you.” Bambam starts.

“What? What should we paint?” some ask, probably expecting more legit tasks like ‘Go draw some animals!’ or such.

“Anything! You can draw an intricate set of buildings and say you want to become an architect, or you can simply draw a chicken and say you like fried chicken, which is humane, and I will also accept that for this project, what do you say?”

“Woohoo…” some other cheer. They might be planning to draw a single dot on the canvas and say they’re a very simplistic person but no way, that’s not me. I like challenges. Especially ones like these where I can express myself freely.

“In other words, I want to see you on a canvas. So tell me, or draw me, to be more precise.”

I gulp as I stare at his lanky, skinny legs as I can’t seem to face him ever again, but he was approaching me fast, to my very own dismay.

“So what are you going to draw, Miss Oh?” oh how I love this extra friendly tone of his…not. He’s probably thinking about how to punish me for mistaking him as a student, no?

“I don’t know…Sir, we’ll see.” I answer groggily, and he laughs, ruffling my hair as if I was his pet puppy.

“Of course, I can’t wait.”

I finished my painting last, not even bothering to hear any comments from him and headed straight out.

_

Bambam did assess your painting, it’s a portrait of a certain, very skinny looking man. He looked down at his own pair of shoes. “She even got my shoes right”, he mumbled, suddenly looking all smug as he became the object of your painting. But wait, didn’t he tell you to paint something to describe yourself? Maybe next time, he’ll ask.

_

I wasn’t asked to go to the principal’s office anymore for the rest of the week (thankfully, although a few staffs actually encouraged me to go). No, thank you?

I’m perfectly fine, and I insist. Also, I seem to bump into the principal himself all the time, as he would say, “Hwaiting!” or the likes of that and I would try my hardest to put on a polite smile. Because, I admit, it’s very hard to take him seriously. For Pete’s sake the guy’s running around in the hallways like he’s one of the students all the time and he even go as far as snatching a student or two to his office for a counseling (Does he perhaps want to make the counseling teachers go unemployed?).

It’s now my very last class on a Saturday and it is sport, how very fabulous.

I rush my way to the field, joining the other with my sport attire. The teacher –are you kidding me? He practically seems my age or even younger!

My classmates do not look like they know the guy either, so we’re all waiting for him to speak.

“If you’re wondering, yes I am the gold medalist from the national Olympics, Kim Yugyeom. I’m here to spend my truly deserved free time because I’d like to help you guys excel at sport as well, so…expect some hardcore training from me, alright?” he says arrogantly. Ugh, why this brat for a teacher. “I’m still older than most of you, mind you! First up, let’s all warm up with a few laps around the field!” he adds, going into his own position.

And by a few, he meant three, I realize a lot later.

“Tired?” someone asks, and I turn around to face his little arrogant face, with that annoying smirk and annoyingly still good looking hair.

“Yes, Sir–hosh– I’m thinking–hosh–about asking for your permission to stop because I’m so out of shape and not made for running, you know?” I plead shamelessly, but he only smiles as he goes back and forth (his speed clearly beats mine but he insists on running next to me so he takes a few steps back every once in a while).

“The golden student too, has flaws, eh?” he mocks, but I’m unsure if I was really the one he was referring to as the golden student, “Two more laps for you, missy.” He grins and I’m too out of breath to even mouth a curse at him.

---

A/N : This update comes a little later than planned because I was waiting for my college application announcement. I got into industrial engineering! :)))

A/N 2 : Why the hell did the Rated M come up lol, sorry