My homeroom is on the third floor.

As I climb the stairs, I hear voices echoing from the third floor landing.

One of them is a girl's. She is cooing, talking in a sweet, girly voice.

"Kiss me..."

I climb the last few stairs and turn the corner. The girl is on her tiptoes with her arms wrapped around a guy's neck. She's very pretty, with long straight hair and giraffe legs. I can't see the guy's face, only the back of his head. They are nose to nose and he is looking down at her.

"Excuse me," I mumble. This is awkward. They are blocking my way.

The girl looks up, and giggles. "Oh, sorry."

She pulls the guy out of the way. He doesn't even look at me. Instead, he fists her hair and pulls at it, making her arch her neck. There is something fierce, hard, about the act. I have only seen it in movies. In dramas. Read about it. Making out, they call it. I've never, ever seen it up close like this ----- why, if I stretch out my arm, I could touch the guy's back. It makes me feel funny. Kind of dirty. Like I've seen something I'm not supposed to. Something forbidden. The sunshine pouring in from the window panes illuminates his hair and it glows like an iceberg; he shifts, and that's when I see the frosty blue at the tips. I avert my eyes and squeeze past them. I hear him growl and her answering giggle just before I round the corner.

There it is. My homeroom.

I take a deep breath.

A new school. Hana High School.

The new girl. Me.

I push open the glass door. I walk in, spy an empty seat all the way behind at the back. Good.

I angle my way quietly toward the seat by the window.

Students mill around, girls in red and gold pleated skirts and white button-down blouses with matching red and gold bow ties like mine, guys in black blazers and white shirts with red and gold striped ties and long beige pants. They swivel their heads to stare at me, size me up. They'll be whispering about me soon. I know the way it works. I used to be one of them, the ones that belonged, secure on my turf. Today I am the outsider. It's not a nice feeling.

Cliques spill out from every corner of the whitewashed walls. Foggy breaths hover in the air, quiver for space amid the hum of male voices, the girlish giggles, the raucous bursts of laughter.

These strangers that I'm going to spend the next two years of my life with are from the nation's elite. Hana High School is a private, and very expensive high school in Seoul, ranked among the top twenty most prestigious high schools in the country. It has an impressive track record of getting its students successfully admitted into the best universities, both at home and abroad.

I stare at my desk. It looks much the same as my desk in Incheon. The noise around me makes me feel lonely. Back in my old school, I was right smack in the thick of action: the chatter, the babble, the crowd. I used to be a popular girl. The pretty, perfect girl with her perfect grades, her perfect smile and her perfect family.

I am not that girl. Not anymore.

I ease into my seat, lean my backpack against the wall, scroll through my phone.

Texts from my sister.

And my father.

I tap on my sister's text. Hey, just checking in. You okay?

I text back, Yeah. Waiting for class to start.

She texts back almost immediately. Mum okay?

I stare at the text. No, I think. Mum's not okay. My chest is suddenly so tight I can't breathe. I imagine my responsible big sister, hundreds of kilometres away in Busan, ten years older than me, in her doctor's scrubs, the weight of my mother, of me, on her shoulders, frowning down at her phone, waiting for my reply. She's fine, I text back.

I ignore my father's texts. There are easily ten unread messages, since last night. I delete all of them. Then I switch off my phone, slip it back into my backpack.

"Hey."

I look up.

There is a cute boy, tall, slim-hipped, shiny, standing next to me, smiling down at me.

"You're new." His light brown hair flops over his brow, as his eyes slide over me, admiring. I've seen that look since I turned fourteen. That's when guys started noticing me, evoking a weird mix of emotions in me, equal parts horror and delight. A part of me wanted to run and hide; the other part wanted to bask in the warmth of their attention. I should be used to it by now, but it still makes me uncomfortable. Somewhere inside me, that awkward, gangly twelve-year-old me, all bony arms and knobbly knees and scrawny legs, still wonders if they've got it ------ got me wrong, somehow.

"I'm Yuta Nakamoto, but all my friends call me Yuta," he grins. "What's your name?"

"Aera. Shin Aera."

"Aera." He is smiling, his eyes twinkling. "That's a beautiful name." I'm swooning.

"Well, Aera. It's nice to meet you. I mean it." His smile widens. "In case you need any help, anyone to show you the ropes, I'm here, and..." he points to a seat in the front row, directly opposite the whiteboard, "I'm sitting over there."

"Hey, Yuta." A short, pretty girl in a pixie haircut joins us, looking between me and Yuta. "Who's this?"

"I'm Aera."

"You're new." She says almost accusingly. "I'm Hana. Han Hana." She grins. "It's easy to remember. Han Hana of Hana High." I laugh, and she chortles.

"So where are you from, Aera?" Yuta asks, his eyes curious.

"Incheon."

The bell rings.

"Later," Yuta murmurs, and saunters back to his seat.

"He's gorgeous, isn't he?" Hana startles me. She's slid into the seat next to me.

"Uh ----- " I'm not sure what to say to that, so I ask instead, "Is he Japanese?"

"Yeah. But he's lived in Seoul since he was a kid. His parents came here years ago."

"Oh."

"He likes you," she says, staring at me.

"I ----- "

"I don't blame him. You're really pretty," she says it, matter-of-factly. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Um ----- "

"I'm sorry," she sighs. "Just ignore that. I'm rude. I've got a big mouth. My mum says I have no filter." Another sigh. "I'm working on it." She grimaces. Points to . "Filtering."

"It's okay." Her honesty is so refreshing. I like her. I like how open, how candid her eyes are. "And to answer your question: No, I don't have a boyfriend."

She looks surprised.

"Oh, really? But you're so pretty you must have loads of guys after you."

I'm not sure how to respond to that, so I don't say anything. I must be looking uncomfortable, because she looks contrite.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you ---- "

"No. No. I'm not offended." I say weakly. "It's just ----- I don't really know what to say, you know? It's like - like my mouth's struggling to catch up with my head and I'm trying to come up with the right words and I can't think and I just end up going all quiet..." I pause. Then, add, "I'm still processing everything. Everything's new. Different." Changed. Irrevocably. "It's..." I search for a word "...overwhelming..."

"You're lost." Hana says, nodding her head wisely. "You're new, and you're feeling lost."

Lost. Is that what I am?

Hana smiles at me. Her eyes are so kind I could cry. "I'm here for you, Aera.  Let's be friends."

Friends. My heart warms. Such a lovely word.

"I'd like that." I swallow. "To be your friend."

Hana stretches out her hand, and I shake it.

"Friends," she says solemnly.

"Friends," I echo. And suddenly, I don't feel so alone anymore.

I have a friend.

The homeroom teacher comes in. He introduces himself as Mr. Aaron Lee. He tells us to call him Mr. Aaron. He seems like a nice guy. Quite hot, actually. Tall, lean and pleasant-looking. Youngish, maybe late twenties. I'm surprised. The teachers at my old school were all middle-aged. Mr. Aaron's not wearing a ring. Is he single? He tells us he'll be teaching Physics. He's been teaching it for ten years, he says. Ten years? He must be older then, maybe in his thirties. He calls out our names and when he reads out "Shin Aera", I yell, "Present!" so loud some of the girls snicker. I feel my cheeks heat.

The morning passes in a blur. Teachers come and go. Yuta keeps turning to wink and smile at me, and a few guys follow his gaze, and smile at me, too. The girls mostly ignore me. The pretty ones scowl at me. Territorial, I guess. I'm the only new girl, and they've known each other for years. I suppose they feel they have a stronger claim to Yuta and the guys. In my old school, there were mean girls, too. I stayed away from them. If there are mean girls here, I'll stay away from them, too.

At the cafeteria, Hana and I order diet cokes and a sandwich each. Yuta has stuck like glue by my side. We find an empty table next to the open window. Hana sits next to me, and Yuta sits across from me. He shows me his tupperware of fried noodles. My mum made this, he says, grinning at me. Want some? I shake my head, No. Thanks. Hana pouts, whines, I want some, and he shoves a forkful into . She almost chokes, and I giggle, and all of a sudden, there's a loud alpha-male roar and a cacophony of mock kissing sounds and wolf whistles, and when I look up, a tall, lean, very goodlooking guy is sauntering in, his soft, pale hair a halo in the light, blue tints at the ends, and I realize, to my surprise, that it's him. The guy who was about to lock lips with the giggly girl on the landing.

She's hanging onto his arm, and he's smiling down at her, his other arm draped casually over her shoulders. They make their way, a gorgeous couple, joined at the hips, to a table with a bunch of rowdy guys and pretty girls. The noisiest table in the cafeteria. And judging by the awestruck expressions on the other students' faces, the table where everyone aspires to be at.

"That's Na Jaemin," Hana sighs. "The hottest guy in school. The guy every girl is crushing on."

Yuta makes a sad face. "You're making me jealous."

I smile. Yuta looks pleased, his eyes soft on my face. He likes you, I remember Hana's words. Does he, really? After knowing me for less than a day? Hm.

"She's kissing him. I'm so jealous." Hana sounds wistful.

"Is that his girlfriend?"

"One of many," she says, lowering her voice. "He changes girlfriends like he changes his clothes. And," she leans in, close to my ear, and murmurs, "I hear that he never kisses a girl on the mouth."

"He's probably too busy kissing them elsewhere," Yuta smirks.

"Ew." Hana makes a gagging sound. "Gross."

"I could introduce you to Jaemin," Yuta says casually. "Our dads are friends."

Hana looks like she's about to pass out. "Are you serious?"

"Kidding." Yuta is grinning.

"You ----- "

She starts cussing at him, while I stare at the gorgeous guy and the beautiful girl. She's like a little kitten, climbing all over him, pawing him, planting little kisses all over his face. He's chatting with his friends over her head, one hand carelessly rubbing her back. My eyes are popping out of my head. This is the second time in three hours that I've witnessed such a blatant display of PG affection involving the same couple. The prude in me cringes. The voyeur in me is breathless for more.

A burst of wind rushes in from the open window, and the most bizarre thing happens: a lock of her hair lifts, and catches on his shirt button. She starts to tug at it, but the more she tries to free it, the more it gets wound up around the button. She starts to jerk her head frantically from side to side. Her hands are beating helplessly against his shoulders: Help. Help me. A weird little drama is playing out before my eyes, and nobody but him, her and me are aware of it. Hana and Yuta continue to bicker with each other. The other guys and girls at Na Jaemin's table are engrossed in someone's phone, heads bent low together, shoulders hunched, looking down at something.

The girl's head is now plastered flat on Na Jaemin's chest, as she takes a mini break, exhausted from her hairy struggle. He, in contrast, looks as cool and unruffled as before ------ well, except for the fact that he appears to have grown a second head in the middle of his chest.

I feel the corners of my mouth curve at the same moment he looks up, and our eyes meet.

There are easily three tables between us, but from where I am sitting ---- grinning, rather ------ I have a clear, unobstructed view of him and his kitten.

And that's when it hits me.

If I can see him, he can see me, too.

He stills. Stares at me.

I'm incapable of movement under his gaze. Held in the grip of those dark, dark eyes. Like that bull in a documentary I once watched. Staring, statue-still, at the matador across the divide. Frozen in its tracks. Spellbound.

Light from the window slants in, catches golden strands in his hair. In an instant, his eyes lighten, a fleck of silver at the edges.

I can't stop staring at him. I should stop staring at him.

"Help." Kitten Girl is squirming again, gasping now. Soft little moans. "It hurts. Jaemin, help."

He blinks, and air gusts out of my lungs. I hadn't realized I had stopped breathing. And it dawns on me that I'm sitting here, staring at him, still and dumbstruck, while conversations and laughter and the world carry on like normal around me.

"Help. Help. Ow. Help." She is flailing, panicking, like a fly in a trap.

A strange sound ------ part snort, part gurgle ------ bubbles out of me.

A laugh.

I'm laughing.

And -----

------ I'd swear his mouth just twitched. As if he's trying hard not to laugh.

And then, he looks away. Glances down to the bobbing head.

His face softens. He mouths something.

He runs a hand gently down the back of her head. She stops twisting. Her shoulders relax. Soon, she will start purring under the hypnotic spell of those clever, clever fingers. Like an artiste's: long, slender, sensitive. I can imagine those fingers coaxing, moulding beauty and fluidity out of a clump of stolid grey clay.

Slowly, deliberately, his fingers close over her hair. There is something almost possessive about his fist, her hair held captive in it. I stare, fascinated. The back of my neck tingles. Like when you get a heat rash if you stand too long in the sun. It is the oddest feeling.

And then, he yanks. Hard.

She screams. Clutches her head.

"Ouch! That hurts!" Threads of hair wave mournfully at me from the indifferent button.

"Why're you laughing?" Hana asks me curiously.

"Share the joke," Yuta smiles.

I drag my eyes back to my new friends. I am still smiling, I think.

"I saw something funny," I say lightly. Glance down at my watch, a gift from my father on my sixteenth birthday. How long ago that seems. "Should we head back to class?"

I join the rush of students traipsing back to their classes. I don't look at the beautiful couple. In seconds, I'm out of the cafeteria.

But all the way back to my homeroom, I feel lightened. As if a weight has rolled off me.

The hottest guy in school and his kittenish girlfriend made me laugh my first real laugh in three months.

It's good to laugh again.

I hadn't realized how much I've missed laughing.