e. I’m crapping doomed.

How was I supposed to get out of here? Class would start at seven.

I immediately reached for my phone in my pocket to message the idiot I asked this morning. I typed, “Byun Baekhyun! You told me you have soccer practice this morning.” In reply, my phone vibrated, “Coach said he’ll be late. Warm-up practice starts at nine.”

You’re dead to me, Byun Baekhyun.

Mr. Black-Sneakers, Kim Joonmyeon, made his way towards the head of the table, pulled his chair out, and sat onto it. Mr. White-Sneakers, Do Kyungsoo, went to proceed to the left side of the table. He sat two chairs away from Kim Joonmyeon’s. I moved farther from their spots, nearer the other head of the table.

Two students, probably other members of the student council, entered the room. And another entered. And another. Oh crap, e . . . I started shouting amateur profanities inside my head as they continually poured in. After a few minutes, the rectangular table was completely surrounded by seated student council members. In short, I was beneath the preposterous convention of stuck-up SC members.

They started discussing events, previous and upcoming ones. I could hear. One gave a quick rundown: soccer cup, taewondo competition, symposiums, workshops, inter-scholastic math olympics, halloween party and senior retreat. They also gave brief budget reports, some law implementations . . . yawn . . . .

Then I heard organizations. 

I immediately straightened up. Bump!

Ouch.

I just hit the table above with my head. Stupid table.

But wait, did they hear it?

One. Two. Three. No detectable movement.

I sighed in relief since no one budged to look under the table. I continually soothed the top of my head with a palm. Before I could break my neck in the position I was in, I just sat down on the cold, tiled floor, stretching my legs in front of me.

“We have a lot of events in hand and we’re getting busy with academics. I guess we’ll just have to drop all of the planning and organizing again to that mediocre organization.” Kim Myungsoo, the public relations director of the SC, spoke with tact - but he was an arsehole so that would make him a tactful arsehole. My eyebrows scrunched at his arrogant statement.

“I’d say we shoulder the major tasks. After all, it’s our job. We can ask them for help, maybe in the ads and logistics, but only if they’re free. And you know how it is. The administration always bestows the credits to us when it comes to such matter. I say we do the job since it's our responsibility.” Park Sunyoung, the SC secretary, contradicted Myungsoo.

“That’s why USHers was created, to do the worthless tasks for us. We’re losing prestige as student council with us sweating our asses off doing the arrangements.” Son Dongwoon, the SC treasury manager, spat in reply.  

They think their student council is so mighty high that they could just speak ill of that poor yet noble organization? What a bunch of narrow-minded future corrupt politicians. I was just happy that some of the members of the student council still had a heart, like Park Sunyoung, and of course, Do Kyungsoo, whom I was glad did not join that crappy talk.

“Kim Joonmyeon,” Lee Byunghun, a project commissioner, called their president. “How about the White Tablet . . . how are they taking the dissolution issue so far?”

“I’m taking care of it.” Kim Joonmyeon blankly muttered.

Yeah, right. “Taking care of it”. By breaching the boundaries of the golden rule of crushing? That’s no fair play. But no worries, we’ll be up and running again once I publish your story, Kim Joonmyeon.

Tock!

My eyes shot open on reflex.

A pen just dropped on the floor.

I stiffened in my spot, e