My mind was messed up and I became frantic over the jammed lock. My fingers slid down from the lock over and over because they were so slippery from the mass sweating and I started to bang on the door, screaming for help.

I tried once again, after countless unofficial prayers on my mind, it happened. The lock slid open and I rushed out from the bathroom. Only to find out that every single artwork that I’ve done about Jongin was ripped and taped across the hall—or school. I don’t know. I’m speechless. I can’t even think.

Everything was buzzing and I stayed quiet there because I didn’t know how to reply to this. Everyone was laughing—and cringing—on the hall. It was packed even though the classes should’ve get going five minutes ago. I looked around and I only saw people holding a paper with Jongin’s face on it. Each person owned a different picture but the wall still had a massive picture of Jongin’s face.

At a split second, they faced me. I’ve never been in the middle of attention—I’ve always been the invisible one. The ones who graduate silently, like nobody knew that they even exist in the first place. But now, I felt like I’m Regina George, except I’m not mean and manipulative. I’m just a total freak and stalker to the infamous eligible boyfriend, Kim Jongin.

They hissed, and whispered at the same time. I even spotted teachers among them, talking to the other teacher while pointing at me with their head nodded and shaking at the next second. I was about to run away—I exactly took two strong steps before the bell rang (presumably again) louder than usual and everyone scattered to their classes.

“Ms. Lee,” A deep, old voice interrupted my runaway plan.

I looked back and found the principal (Mr. Yoon), standing behind me and I could see the papers that he held was the same kind of papers that taped across the hall.

“I’d like to see you, please.” He continued.

I walked back, silently and followed him into his office, which was on the right side of where he was standing. I’ve never been called in before—not ever and I’m not planning to do so. The room was spacious for a principal office. It had expensive television and a big couch, presumably for the principal to sleep in whenever he got kick out by his wife.

I sat on the chair across his table and he sat across mine. He examined me for a long time, looking for something or a personality that he can blame to clean up this mess. But he heaved a sigh and placed my drawings on the table, spreading them so I could see them clearly. He had four drawings that he pulled out from the wall: one) Jongin’s face from the right side, two) Jongin’s face, smiling with his eyes squinting, three) Jongin playing soccer, four) I couldn’t even look at it. I lowered my head, resisting the tears to come through my lids.

“How is this happen?” He asked, slowly.

I stayed quiet.

“Isn’t drawing someone’s face…” He stopped for a moment, scrutinizing the drawings before he could say more. “Illegal?”

I stayed quiet.

He stayed quiet to see about my answer.

I didn’t have any answer because I know it was a wrong thing to do yet I still doing it for my pleasure. It sounded weird, and when you take a closer look to what I’m doing, it was worse than horrible. I didn’t know what to do. My mind blanked a few seconds after I got out from the bathroom and I still couldn’t get a hold of my brain.

“You know,” He sighed. “All of these are really good—you are a very talented person, Ms. Lee.”

Oh, how I hate my last name.

“It would be good for you to give this talent for art club.”

“I—I’m sorry, I have to do chores at home and have part-time jobs.” I lied. I’ve always been the one to do chores at home while my dad drinking from day and night, and I did have several part-time jobs to live. I’m busy every time. I’m not like other students that have a lot of time.

“Well,” He corrected his position. “I still need to punish you for causing so much mess.”

“Lee Yura, you are suspended,” I looked at the floor in distress and he continued. “However, seeing how talented you are, I pull back the suspension and you, Lee Yura, for exchange, you are obliged to apply your work to every art competition in the name of Sangin High School.”

“W—What?”

“You are going to add up the trophies,” He pointed at the long and big glass shelf that is full of trophies.

I’m this close to kill myself.

“Look,” He reasoned. “I see so many potential in you. Especially in drawing. Your art teacher tells me that too. You are most likely the person that can compete in championships. And I want you to use your gift.”

I kept quiet and nodded just to short things up. He replied my nod and made me leave his office to join my class—sociology class—and my mind went frantic again. I can’t go to class. I can’t meet other students. They would look at me and I never fancy being in the middle of attention. Of course, Sojung was also there, Jongin’s best-girl friend or so I thought.

I kept my head down so I couldn’t see anyone doing their thing and then I reached my class. I stayed quiet for a few second outside the class, procrastinating. I closed my eyes and all I could hear was the whisperings from my classmates. Some of the words contain: girl, that one, she, Jongin, and sick. And it hit me, how the things that I’ve done could affect Jongin. It made him bad too and I felt this burn in my chest.

The class went quiet as soon as I opened the door.

Even the teacher scrutinized me. She literally stopped her lecture only to look at me the same way everybody did, and maybe these stares will last longer than just a month. It could be for the rest of my live.

“Please, sit down.” Mrs. Oh—the sociology teacher—said.

I’d rather not.

I walked to my seat without looking at anybody’s eyes (including Sojung). I knew she was watching every single step that I took from the time I opened the door. I could feel it. Her eyes were boring into my skull to figure me out, just like others. I sat beside her, letting my hair hide my face.

That happened until break time.

By the time of break time, I had my science textbook open at the last page. It was blank and most textbooks ended with a blank page or the page before that. I used the page to scribble two mountains with thunders above it because that’s what I feel like. If I had a friend—that friend in every story that will cope by you thunder or not, I’d go to that person and tell how pissed I am. But I didn’t have one because I’m not good at making friends or just pure anti-social. I’m still figuring that out.

I could be both.

“Jongin!” Sojung yelled and I froze.

My hands won’t move and my fingers started to sweat unreasonably. The thought of him made me guilty and scary completely contrary to what I felt for these past years. What I’ve been feeling for him was all butterflies and flowers—everything great, but not today… or the day after… or ever.

I could hear his steps coming towards us—I mean, Sojung and I saw his figure next to me, as in next to Sojung. This was the nearest distance that we’ve had, and it was definitely not a development. I could’ve call it a development if it happened one week ago.

“Hi,” He timidly said.

I didn’t know who he intended the greeting for, but I hope it wasn’t me.

Not right now.