"Excited for the first day?"

I hummed in response, cheek pressed against the cold glass window. My eyes scanned the scenery passing, memorizing land-markers. I'd need it to walk home later. "Come on Jae, lighten up, you'll be happy here."

My eyes glanced over to see my father with thick concentration on the road. Despite over ten years of driving, he still got the jitters, sometimes I worry for him. "I don't know. People always pick on the Transfers; it's like the unspoken rule."

Silence lingered until my dad's vivacious laughter coated the car. "Oh please, when I was your age, we used to beg for a hot girl to walk in." He bit his lip, using precision to turn right with sweat slipping down his forehead. I honestly wonder what idiot gave my dad his driving license.

"20 years ago?" I rolled my eyes, releasing a sigh as I propped up my chin against the windowsill, following the passerby's with my gaze. I couldn't help but wonder what beautiful story life created for them, what drama would unfold in their near future, or maybe even was unfolding now. I loved watching people. My dad thought it was strange.

"It was 17!" he hissed, shock coating his voice, "Do I even look that old?! I'm only 34 god dammit, and working at a host club! You know, they don't accept just anybody!"

His voice mingled in the air, but I'd lost interest. My eyes captured an old woman with a tin can; I could feel a frown twisting on my lips. Her beady eyes bore into me; I could see the pain swarming her pupils, the jealousy in her shaky hands as people strolled by without a second glance.

People, are the worst.

Unconsciously, my mind drifted to the past of that woman. A woman's whose name would forever remain a mystery. I wondered if maybe she was a great tycoon years ago, but maybe suffered a great crash that confined her to the streets. Maybe she was a sweet old grandma that was kicked to the curb by a horrid child, forced to roam the streets as a beggar. There were a lot of maybes; maybes are endless.

I like maybes; maybes are better than realities.

"Jae, you're doing it again?" I jumped as my father's frustrated voice filled my ears. I could see the tinge of annoyance in his eyes as he groaned, "Whatever, maybe you should consider talking to people rather than day-dreaming out of windows," he snorted.

"I wasn't day-dreaming."

"Oh yea? Then what was that?"

I paused; I hunted for a label to attach to my habit. I pondered for a moment, racking my mind for the list of possible words to attach to the process of wondering. Didn't one exist? Why isn't there a word for being forever curious? Shouldn't there be a word for painting vivid images of the people that pass, of watching everyone sculpt their lives before you?

"I was just thinking."

"Thinking isn't gonna make you friends." I could hear disgust lacing his tone of voice, my father was never one to back down from an argument, one of the major problems he and I had. His stubbornness was one characteristic I'd obtained with gratitude, much to his, and my mom's displeasure.

"Making friends isn't going to get me a job."

"It'll make you normal," I scoffed; I looked up to find his piercing brown eyes glaring into mine. I could see the rage surging within them. I'd recognized my father's few moods, and when he was angry, he was fun to mess with. At least, I thought so, my mother had different opinions. But I suppose that's why she ditched.

"I don't need to be taking advice from someone who went to high school like, 30 years ago."

My body jerked as his foot slammed against the brakes. Eyes wide with horror, I caught a red light glimmering a few feet in front of us, my father's face laced with panic as he swallowed, attempting to hide it. "It was 17 you little !" His voice was high-pitched, revealing the fear locked within him.

"What kind of dad swears at his daughter...after almost killing me?"

"Learn how to drive yourself, then!" He hissed, pulling up against the very building I dreaded. "Get out, and have fun!" The sarcasm merged into his voice was sickening, enough for me to shoot him a glare of disgust. My father could be quite the child, another quality I'd proudly taken – my mother called it her bad luck.

Before I had a chance to begin my rant on my hatred for this school, this radical idea, I could already see the smoke blaring from the exhaust pipe as my dad was speeding down the road. I closed my eyes, still standing near the gates. Thanks to my father, I was late.

Really late.

I swallowed, marveling at the embroidery just lining the front gates of this place. I didn't even need to see the huge building, delicately constructed to feel my stomach lurch. Fitting in here would be a challenge.

My intentions of attending this school were never taken seriously. I remember this place being broadcasted in newspapers, spoken highly of. I think one of the old ladies next door back in Busan said one of her really distant-cousin knew someone who went here, and she seemed really proud. I could see why.

I shuddered, recalling the very reason I was being sent into hell. I thought my decision to live with my dad would be for the better, with my mother enjoying her life as some rich man's wife, this seemed to be the more nurturing environment.

That is, until this happened. Big Hit's School for the Performing Arts, the place that was, according to my father, "starts your life brand new! Take it as a new beginning." I'd only taken his proposal lightly, assuring him that, I, someone who did no more than play the guitar would ever step foot somewhere so prestigious. I was set to bomb the auditions (and even should I pass – never expected them to offer scholarships high enough to a point where tuition would be affordable).

And, bomb I did, at least with my "mediocre" guitar-skills as that one judge with her snooty nose so called it. My lips twisted into a frown at the memory; that nasty judge was greatly displeased with me and my guitar. At the time, I was hurt, my guitar wasn't something I held dearly – this was what my dad really wanted after all, I wasn't as music oriented. Yet still, I liked to think I was decent, if not acceptable. The other ones were more tolerable, of course, they'd clapped and said I'd done well and might have a chance.

But then, that -face music teacher happened. He'd suggested I try something else and I swear he must've known because his twinkling brown eyes looked like he was entirely aware of the fact ahead of time. I still wonder, I'd ask him about it, but that would arouse unwanted attention, something I was looking to avoid.

The only time I'd ever touched a keyboard had been back and third-grade, when the music notes were listed as letters and big green dot on the center key told me where to put my thumbs. I had only experimented when I was sure the teacher's attention was diverted, and my friends had exclaimed I was wonderful, but how much did little third-graders know anyway? I'd never considered playing without the green dot either, and never tried to play something the teacher hadn't assigned in front of a crowd. It was boring, why would I bother?

Yet, that -face (I think they called him Krispy, something like that, anyway) assured his peers, and me, that he was on to something. He pointed excitedly at the keyboard resting at the corner, his eyes glowing with a knowledge I'd learn in a few moments. How the hell that man knew, is still beyond my comprehension, but the fact that he did, and he brought it out makes me hate his guts.

"Just something you like will be more than acceptable, I guess." The women beside him seemed skeptical of Krispy, and as was I, unsure of just what he'd asked me. I'd never played 'something I'd liked' before. I had no idea in hell what to even do, heck, the only thing I was sure of was where my thumb went because I could vaguely picture the green sticker.

But, it turns out; I was a ing piano prodigy.

I'd always only considered myself knowledgeable in the subject of music, and nothing more really. I could sing, I could play my guitar, but I wasn't amazing. My voice wasn't angelic or anything, and the lady had already pointed out that my guitar-skills were dancing upon the line between average and you--why-did-you-even-try.

And to be quite frank, what I did on the piano wasn't even that good (the guitar lady either bore an unknown animosity towards me, or simply wanted nothing less than a baby Beethoven to instruct because her face was contorted into a frown, still). I'd only take one of my old songs I'd written, and transcribed it, on the spot, to piano as best as I could muster.

But it must've left the other judges moved because -face Krispy had such a wide grin plastered to his face I thought he was going to explode. They'd ask me what I'd thought they'd ask for my guitar. How long I'd played, whether I'd played professionally before, any prior instruction, the stupid questions I'd expected around an instrument I was more knowledgeable about, not this.

Flabbergasted, I answered with honesty, explaining they last time I'd played had been in third grade, where it was a requirement to play the keyboard to pass music class. The look on their face seemed astonished, even the angry woman seemed utterly shocked.

So, they asked me to play again, which, slightly frightened, I did. They'd thrown a series of questions towards me, and the way they were phrased (and the sneering tone evident in the woman's voice) told me they suspected me of lying. Unsure of how to respond, I apologized, saying this was all the instruction I had as though I suspected them of disliking it. Hadn't they, musical prodigies grown into instructors, realized I only used the basic keys a third-grader could?

Even so, it seemed my oblivious demeanor wasn't sufficient enough to appease them. Krispy instructed me to call in my father, saying the "adults would like a chat," assuring me that everything would be decided by the end of that day. I'd expected them to question my father, and for him to return with his diva-face etched into a frown and anger surging within him screaming, "We don't need this place anyway, a waste of my money, I tell you."

I hadn't expected for him to return, orange-packet in hand, and the brightest smile I'd ever seen smacked onto his lips. His eyes were glowing with happiness, his voice nearly toppling buildings down with its vivacity as he screamed, "Full-ride! You got a full-ride!"

It wasn't until home that my dad responded to my in-depth questioning, taking note of the panic that usurped me. I didn't want to go to this school, I knew it would be hell the second they asked me for a private audition in a studio off campus. I knew it was gonna be horrifying the second I saw the judges dressed, from head to toe, in such fancy attire I could only dream of seeing.

He explained that my skills were not extravagant (the lady had clarified that, enough) yet with some tweaking, the school could transform me into a pianist, one with an incredulous talent and grace that would leave the country speechless. That's exactly what they said, my father assured me, but I had my doubts still.

Yet it seemed his words rang true, I tore open the orange packet late into the night, and found the contents exactly as he described. A form for a full-ride scholarship, and an agreement for service to the school resided within it, and my eyes bugged out in shock mingled with horror.

The one prestigious place I desperately wanted to avoid, decided to accept me. This was hell written all over it. It was the worst decision I could ever make. Entering in as a senior with "mediocre" talents would've labeled me as an outcast, down casting me within seconds of stepping with the embroidered gate.

Yet here I stood, fingers locked around the straps of my backpack, fear dancing with in my stomach. With a feeling a defeat washing over me, I stumbled through the unlocked gates, my nose being raided with the scent of neatly-trimmed grass mixed with roses. It was a rancid combination, but if that's what the rich people like.

Thankfully, it didn't take long for me to find the main office, I had feared running into some elite wandering the hallways, jumping on the wrong foot without a proper introduction. Forcing a smile upon my face, I cleared my throat to garner the attention of the wide-eyed secretary. I didn't catch much else but the name 'Kyungsoo' pinned to his badge. "May I help you?"

His eyes glaring into my petrified state sent my heartbeat racing as I jumped, I cursed myself for lacking preparation in the current situation, quickly fishing out my thick orange envelope (I could see annoyance lingering in Kyungsoo's eyes...I was already labeled the typical high school brat). "Ah, yes, Ms. Ok? Welcome to our school, we were told of your arrival." He paused, a grimace touching his lips, "Though we were anticipating you much...earlier."

I swallowed nervously, careful to keep the smile pinned to my lips as I spoke in the most apologetic voice I could feign, "Yes sir, I understand but family issues popped up last minute," the lie glided between my teeth, usurping Kyungsoo's ears as he nodded his head in understanding. He handed me a printed schedule, one I assumed had been ready by 8:00 this morning.

"Yes, well, as tragic as that is, attendance for the last 20 minutes of school does not count for attendance, I'm afraid this will count as an absence." I nodded; the last thing I could care about was an absence for a day. He looked me up and down, as if judging me off the bat, I presume he was. His eyes lingered from my obviously under-the-rich state to my guitar case weighing me down. "I suppose you can drop off your things, but attending class at this rate would be pointless. I'd recommend just going home and coming on time tomorrow."

I bowed out of respect taking the schedule from his grip. I mumbled a soft goodbye, tumbling from the stuffy office to roam the halls. I deciphered my schedule to find my locker number situated near the top. I'd decided to leave my guitar, the heavier textbooks, and get out before the bell rang signifying the end of class. I suppose it wouldn't be horrendous if I failed, I was in uniform after all.

Unfortunately, my task died within ten seconds of its start. "I haven't seen you around school."

I nearly jumped as a voice entered my ears. I turned to find a boy with bright brown hair slicked upwards. His eyes reminded me of a puppy, to be forward. "Um, staring is cool too, I guess."

I broke out into a smile, shoving my guitar into my locker before I responded. "I was supposed to transfer today, but I got caught up with some stuff, so I'm late."

The puppy boy laughed. "Yes well, it seems like you missed quite a bit," I shut my locker, with puppy trailing behind me as I wandered the fanciful hallways of the school towards the exit. I was still keen on leaving before the bell. "Oh Sehun, by the way. Why'd you even bother to come?"

"My dad....is kinda strict on school," I lied partly, the last thing my dad cared for was my academics, but with music being the basis surging through these halls, I had the feeling my grades would suddenly be of upmost importance in his mind. "Shouldn't you be in class?" I countered.

"Mm, yea." He stretched his arms out in a yawn, "But I was too tired."

I raised an eyebrow, earning a velvet chuckle twinkling from his lips, "Well, this must be one strange high-school, in that case."

"No, this isn't quite the normal high school," A smooth chuckle tumbled from the dog boy's, Sehun he said his name was, lips. He released a sigh, enveloping the air in his odd demeanor, I didn't know what vibe Sehun gave off, but it was such a nostalgic aura, it left me shocked. A feeling of similarity shrugged off Sehun until it entered me; it was almost as if I was seeing myself, "I don't suppose you've caught on to that just yet?"

I absorbed Sehun's words, silence surrounded the both of us before I responded, tearing the serenity of quiet with my voice. "I don't really understand what you're saying."

My first mission lay forgotten, the bell resonating through the air as students piled out of classrooms, swarming the halls in packs. I sighed as the daily dash to lockers was revealed. I suppose it wasn't so bad, we'd just managed to follow a crowd of students outside anyway; I just hoped the path I took home was isolated.

Sehun's melodious laughter bounced in the air, his tinted brown eyes shimmering. "A lot of goes down here," I cringed, his candy-sweet voice sounded odd sporting swear words. Before Sehun had a chance to elaborate, I heard a muffled voice sobbing. "And here's a perfect example."

Before I had a chance to react, Sehun's fingers were already circled around my wrist, yanking me towards a crowd beginning to swallow two figures, girls, I think. "Krystal Jung." Sehun's voice dropped to a whisper hovering in my ear, his warm breath sent shivers down my spine.

This kid sure liked to get close, fast.

"Put her on a list of people to avoid, Transfer." I realized he still had yet to properly learn my name.

The girl begged, I heard her voice whimper and plead to be released. A scoff erupted from Krystal's lip, her thin smile spreading from ear to ear. "You chose this," her bittersweet voice lingered in the air, "You should've thought about this before you tried to cross paths with me." Her sickeningly sweet voice lowered to a hiss, almost like a snake.

Before I could respond to him, Sehun twisted my head until my eyes fell upon one of the most gorgeous teenagers I'd ever seen. His brown hair coated his scalp with perfect precision, his dark brown eyes glowing and a smirk perfectly placed on his thin lips.

The other girl, with Krystal, released a choked sob mingled with her voice. "P-P-Please don't make me do it."

My eyes drifted from the sickening scenario as Sehun spoke, "That's Jeon Jungkook, Krystal's male counterpart. Number two on the list."

Sehun's brown eyes were laced with disgust, sadness underlining his pupils as the girl's, slightly on the heavy side, croaky voice cascaded from her lips, tumbling into the air to mingle with hysterical laughter surging through the crowd. "That girl, Moyi Mina, number 3."

Mina, was singing, and she at it.

Sehun's words twisted into my brain, I found myself interpreting each word as a death threat. Sehun was providing me with exactly what I needed, what I lacked. A list of unapproachables, a list of approach-them-and-you-re-a-targets, basically he was giving me a survival guide in this alternate form of hell. I found my voice joining the chorus of laughter, "Can you write that down for me? I'll need a complete list to get out of here alive."

Sehun's melodious chuckle merged with the sickening laughter of our peers, his gaze touching mine as a smile graced his lips, "I thought you'd need my help Transfer, stick with me, and we'll get through this alive."

So, then began my battle of survival.

If I knew I was set for failure within the first week, I would've transferred out the next day.