I’m a .

That’s what mother calls me after she drains half a bottle of wine and what father calls her when he comes home from work to an empty dinner table. 

My brother calls me a whenever I steal his socks, and it’s always prefaced by fancy vocabulary. Insufferable . Raging . Insolent . Just to name a few.

“Heartless .”

Yeah, that’s a new one. Not the best I’ve heard, but I give it a solid eight out of ten because paired with a scowl that deep, I can tell he truly means it.

My hookup scrambles for his clothes littered on my bedroom floor, grumbling under his breath. Rubbing my eyes with my knuckles, I can’t help but giggle. 

Jeez, all I did was roll away and say I didn’t want to cuddle. So sensitive.

Mr. I-forgot-his-name shoots me an icy glare while slipping on his belt.

“What’s your problem?” I laugh breathily, allowing the blanket to slip from my chest. Buck , I flip onto my stomach, tucking my chin in my palms. 

“Y-you!” He sputters, buttoning up his shirt. “Y’know, it’s truly amazing that you spent last night my name, but now you’ve forgotten it.”

I roll my eyes. Here we go again. What part of this is going to be a one-time thing do guys not understand?

In the game of one-night stands, names are irrelevant. All I need to know is what’s between their legs and what they need to know is my favorite position. 

“I have the memory of a goldfish,” I drawl, pointing under my desk. 

He trails my gaze and dives for his socks. “You’re welcome,” I scoff.

“Whatever,” he grunts. 

Then he’s out the door. Jacket slung over his shoulder, he does the walk of shame, brushing past my twin brother who’s biting into an apple.

Leaning against my door frame in full school uniform, my brother raises a taunting eyebrow. I flip him the bird because his munching is literal ear . Haechan eats like a ing cow. 

“Morning, sis.”

“ off.”

And of course, since we spent nine months in the womb forging an unbreakable bond of unconditional love, my lovable twin brother leaves me be.

In my bloody dreams.

Haechan chucks the apple at me like an MLB wannabe, but since I’m the one who inherited all the athleticism, I catch it. 

“,” my brother gasps, hands dramatically flying to his chest.

“Get. Out,” I snarl, my mind painting a bullseye on his crotch. Acting wisely since he knows I have stellar aim, Haechan reminds me of the time and prances out of my bedroom. 

He doesn’t shut the door to spite me, so I tumble off my king-sized bed and slam it shut. The walls tremble. So do my hands. 

In the shower, I scrub my body with a dry loofah until my skin feels bare and raw. I wash away the remnants of last night, mystery boy’s touches, and the marks he made on my body.

After I emerge from the cloud of steam, pristine as the church, I throw on my school uniform. It’s two sizes too small, but that's not the reason I find it difficult to breathe. 

It’s my junior year. How thrilling. 

That was sarcasm, could you tell? 

“How’s my favorite girl doing today?”

“Stop trying to get into my pants, Na Jaemin.”

My sunglasses threaten to slip off my nose as I glare at his stupid toothy smile. 

Jaemin is God’s favorite. Equipped with a saccharine smile and winky eyes that sparkle, he’s built to wreak havoc over poor freshman girls. I’m convinced he’s a weapon sent from hell, destined to test pure girls’ self-control. It’s so easy to say no to sin, but with Na Jaemin, it’s yes, yes, oh, , yes! 

“Mm, still playing hard to get? This game is getting old, Hae,” he sighs, swinging his heavy arm around my shoulders.

“This is the only game we’ll ever play, Jaemin,” I snap. 

He playfully shoves me aside as a shock of blonde hair rounds the corner. 

Mark skids to a stop in front of us, huffing like the incompetent big bad wolf who couldn’t beat three fat little pigs. 

He animatedly straightens up. “Morning,” he chirps, and Jaemin fist-bumps him. 

I kick a pebble, wandering my eyes around the bus stop. Every soul has their head bowed, compelled by their phone screens. It’s such a sad time we live in. 

“Hi,” a voice squeaks, and I whip my head to the left.

With her doe eyes and signature pout, Hana waves good morning. 

“Well, good morning to you too, Hana.” Jaemin ruffles the back of her head. “Did that rich douchebag finally dump you?”

“Are we finally good enough to be your friends again?” Mark snides.

“I told you so, Hana. You were just a summer fling to Oh Sehun,” I drawl and Hana kicks all of us in the shin.

She packs some mighty power for being only 5’5. “No, you anti-cupids,” she hisses. “I wanted to ride the bus with you all. It’s our first day of school tradition, and just because I have a boyfriend now, doesn’t mean I love any of you less.”

“And!” Hana stomps her foot. “I baked cookies,” she huffs, tossing a Tupperware of chocolate cookies at Mark. He catches it and nods approvingly, the bus finally arriving.

Once we are seated in the back row, Jaemin clicks his tongue. “Twenty bucks, she doesn’t make it.”

Mark snorts. “Twenty for me too.”

Hana is the only one who has hope in little miss sleeping beauty. “She’ll make it.”

“She never makes it,” I hum, checking out my manicured nails. 

Lo and behold, just as the doors are about to close, a foot jams into the gap. Panting, Park Jang-mi crawls onto the bus on all fours. Her hair is a mess and the top of her shirt is still ed. 

“I made it!” She squeaks, and the whole bus applauds her as she sashays down the aisle. 

Hana pats the empty space beside her. Jang-mi raises an eyebrow at her. “Did Oh Sehun dump you?”

“For the love of god, we are very in love,” Hana growls and Jang-mi blows Jaemin a flying kiss. 

“Keep believing what you want, sweetie,” she chirps and I giggle. 

Hana’s always been a hopeless romantic. Half her life, she had her nose buried in thick chapter books, obsessed with fictional men. For God’s sake, she writes fan fiction in her free time and draws hearts around her crush’s name in her diary. 

It just so happens that Oh Sehun, an upperclassman that all girls salivate for, has taken a liking to her this summer. We all doubt his intentions. Obviously. Of all the girls he could have, he chooses our sweet little Hana. 

“. I forgot my lipgloss,” Jang-mi grunts, rifling through her makeup bag.

I pucker my lips and wink. “Here, babe. Take some of mine.”

Jang-mi smacks me on the forehead. “Keep your STD’s to yourself, Hae.”

I dramatically gasp and contemplate slapping her. 

“!” 

“How was the last night?” Jang-mi teases as we hop off the bus. 

“Mediocre,” I sigh, staring at the large metal gates, aka the entrance to hell on Earth.

In the near distance, two limos roll to a stop. 

Oh Sehun, all six feet and swoon-worthy material, steps off the first car, carrying his overpriced backpack. I can smell his expensive Gucci perfume from miles away. The stench of the rich is strong.

My twin brother and his so-called best friend hop off the second car. Haechan holds open the door for Jeno, the male taking a moment to adjust the strap of his leather shoulder bag. 

Lee Jeno won the genetic lottery. Built like a greek god at only seventeen, puberty hit him like a turbo bulldozer.

Haechan sneers at me, tauntingly sticking his tongue out. er. He gets to ride a spacious limo to school while I sit in a cramped bus seat.

“Remind me again why we never befriended Lee Jeno just so we could use his rich kid perks?” Mark questions, clearly turning green at Haechan’s special treatment. 

“You say that as if befriending Lee Jeno is an easy task,” Jaemin snorts. “With your vocabulary, you wouldn’t survive a conversation with him.”

“He uses words like preposterous, avant-garde, and pardon. So hoity-toity.” Jang-mi rolls her eyes.

“I also use words like pardon,” Hana chimes in. Jang-mi and I simultaneously reach out to pinch her cheeks.

“But you’re still an idiot, Hana. That’s why you hang with us,” Jang-mi chirps.

“Us, idiots,” I conclude. 

We’re back-row kids. Jang-mi and I spend more time studying our reflection than the information on the chalkboard. Jaemin sleeps through almost all his classes because of his rather strenuous nightly activities and Mark- Mark does origami. 

The paper plane he threw conveniently lands by Jeno’s feet, our class President slipping on it. My brother saves him from kissing the floor by grabbing the top of his arms.

Jeno sends an icy glare in our direction and we all avert our gazes. All except Jang-mi, of course.

She stares right back, twirling a strand of her hair. Jeno mutters a string of curse words under his breath, shaking Haechan off and taking his seat. 

Class commences and it’s an