Dara's POV

Kwon Jiyong is the bane of my existence.

He's a torment I've been subjected to endure throughout my entire school life. And even now, at the age of 18 and attending college, he's here.

With me.

Same class.

The row in front.

Do you see my predicament? I guess not. Well, let me enlighten you.

We don't get on. At all. Never have and never will. On my first day in Kindergarten, he stole my juice. But me being me, refused to be taken advantage of so lightly so I pushed him. He pushed me back, so I pushed him harder and then it became a full on-scrap and the teachers had to restrain us. Jiyong had even bit one of them, thus why I call him Fang. No one else does though. He's just plain old devastatingly good looking (latter description provided by my sister, Durami, and numerous others, NOT ME!) Kwon Jiyong.

Ever since that fateful day, we had exchanged snide comments, pulled pranks (I so won that war), and numerous other ways to rub each other up the wrong way. Antagonizing him usually provides a good source of entertainment, only it also gets me into heaps of trouble. For example, painting his locker pink and plastering posters of him over the school when he was a kid taking tap lessons, because his mom “forced” him to, says he, earns you a two day suspension. Locking him in a cupboard costs you a week’s suspension (How was I supposed to know he was claustrophobic?). And then, adding up all the other 'incidents', notably Jiyong stealing my clothes from the locker room and leaving them on the roof (I'd never been so embarrassed), meant we'd come as close as you could get to being expelled. I'm pretty sure the only reason we'd been allowed to remain at the school was because of my mom, the vet, who had saved the principal's cat Snowdrop. Only this time, I'm sure my mom's reputation will not secure my place here. I've promised her already that the old Dara is gone, and the new, well-behaved Sandara Park is here to stay. It's just going to be harder than I'd first envisaged.

I hadn't realized he'd be majoring in English, much like myself, until I'd walked in and saw him sitting in the front row, girls flocking around him, gawking. I was devastated.

He'd been pretending to read his textbook when I'd walked in, feigning ignorance to his growing fan club. But I knew he was only too well aware of their less-than-obvious gawking because of the tenseness in his shoulders. He kept biting his lip too, something he only ever did when he was nervous. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

I've never really understood the attraction most females feel towards him. I have yet to see how those physical attributes are so appealing: blonde shaggy hair that has that just-got-up look about it, auburn eyes that are the only way of discerning his emotions when he wears a permanent mask of reticence. Smiling is oh-so-rare for him. Although, when I'd entered the room and he'd looked up, I could have sworn, just for a second, that his lips had twitched upwards in the Jiyong equivalent of grin.

I'd scowled. His reply? A raised eyebrow.

The class is mostly full now, all save a few remaining seats towards the back where I sat.

A large bulging man suddenly entered the classroom with a decrepit briefcase in hand. He has grey thinning hair and half-moon-shaped glasses that are perched on the bridge of his nose. He stood at the front of the classroom, moving back and forth on the balls of his feet, hands clasped behind his back.

"Welcome," he said. "My name is Mr. Yang." He smiled.

"If you speak to any of my previous students, they will tell you I'm a hard task setter. They'll tell you that I'm unfair, that I don't understand that there's a party tonight and they just have to go and won't be able to write my 3,000 word essay for the next day. Well, I say though, you're here to work, first and foremost, and if you have time, which you won't, you can do what you like."

A chorus of groans reverberated across the room. I have a feeling I may not be seeing all of these people tomorrow.

I slipped my notebook out of my bag, knocking my pen off my desk. It settled under Jiyong's seat, landing next to his boot. Damn. He looked down, picked it up and turns round, his eyes locking with my own.

Give it, I mouthed. An annoying grin stretched its way onto his face as he imperceptibly shook his head. Jerk.

Jiyong turned round and began tapping my pen. It's so annoying! Tap-tap-tap… Ugh. I'm about to tell him to stop when a loud thwack drew my attention back to the front. Mr. Yang has smacked his ruler down in front of a fangirl (See what I did there? Fan becomes Fang in…oh, never mind), who had been practically drooling over Jiyong. No joke, there's saliva on the desk. How pathetic!

"I expect your sole concentration. Those of you who have also opted for the Creative Writing class will be fortunate enough to have me," he said, paused, and then remarked, "please don't all cheer at once."

I smiled. I wouldn't mind having him for both of my classes. I like his sense of humor.

"This term, we will be studying a creative masterpiece: a contemporary romance novel written by Gabrielle Zevin. The book is called Ambiguity and it displays duel messages of how everything is not as it seems, and how easy it is to mistake loathing for love."

Why oh why??? I hate romance novels. I loathe mush. It's just so unrealistic and so dramatized that it makes the chances of the events in Stephen King's work more likely. Love at first sight in juxtaposition to ghosts influencing the actions of a caretaker?  I’d go for option number two as the more likely probability of actually happening.

I sound bitter, perhaps, but that stuff never lasts. How do I know? My mom had divorced Jungmin when I was 5. I couldn't call him Dad after all he'd done and after all he hadn't done. He'd been cheating and I'd caught him. He said he'd stop, but he didn't. I didn't say anything to my mom, how could I? We were a family and I didn't want to split the three of us up. Durami had yet to be born. But it didn't matter, because a few months later, he finally told my Mom and left us to be with her. I haven't seen him since. A year later, my mom had a boyfriend and it had looked pretty serious, like they were going to get married and we'd be a family. I'd liked him a lot, too. That had ended as well when Mom told him she was pregnant with my half-sister, Durami. And just like Jungmin, he left.

"I want you all to read Chapter 1 by tomorrow for an in-depth discussion," Mr. Yang continued, "because if I allow you to roam the campus now, I will expect your full attention tomorrow." He gave us all pointed looks from behind his desk.

"Those in my Creative Writing class will also be given the day off. But I will, however, be expecting to see a sample of your work tomorrow. I don't mind what genre. Poetry, a short prose, whatever. I don't care what’s on it as long as it's good and shows me what I'm dealing with."

I'm excited, and practically revving to go. This is exactly what I want to do: write, and immerse myself in a cleverly constructed prose. And I like my teacher, he seems as if he's going to work us hard, stretch us and throw book after book at us. I actually can't wait! The only downside to all this is that Jiyong is in the class.

"Disperse," Mr. Yang barked. And as one, we all stood up, and filed out of the room. I walked behind Jiyong, glaring daggers at his head. If he can turn around, I'll finally know whether looks can actually kill.

Jiyong was leaning against the wall when I entered the hall, his lips twisted into an unholy grin as I gave him my best death glare.

I continued glaring. And he's still there. I guess looks can't kill. Damn.

I'm just going to have to take a more direct approach if I want my dream to reach fruition.

The short girl with black hairthat had sat next to Jiyong was also waiting at the end of the hall, watching us intently. I waved at her, plastering a fake smile onto my face in which she reciprocates with a dirty look: ty eyes and firmly pursed lips. So scary. Note sarcasm.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I snapped.

"Going to college," he replied. "What are you doing here? Are you stalking me?" He's grinning from ear to ear, humor dancing in his eyes. Oh, I so want to wipe that sorry smirk off his face!

"Don't flatter yourself," I growled. "I have better taste."

He pouted his lips, placed his hand over his heart feigning hurt. "That's cold. I may have to write a formal complaint about you for verbal abuse. Luckily, I have a pen here," he tauntingly swung my pen in front of my face, provoking me. I leaped for it, only to have it pulled from out my reach at the last second. He began swinging it just above my head then, which is way out of my reach since he's a good three inches taller than me. The height difference is just another reason to despise him.

"Just give it back, Fang," I snapped. "Now."

"Manners Santokki," he smirked. I let out a shrill cry, my hands clenching into tight fists. I hate that nickname, and everybody, including Jiyong, knows that it's a big no no.

I leaned in closer. "Listen Fangiiiieee,” I began, his eyes narrowing at my own nickname for him. "You don't like me, and I ain't so fond of you either. What say we try to get along this year?"

He his chin thoughtfully.

"Don't think too hard," I said, "I don't want you to override your brain for tomorrow."

He rolled his eyes, "Just thinking of some terms and conditions."

I shook my head, "The only term is we avoid each other. I ignore you, you ignore me. It's simple."

He grinned. "Could you really ignore this?" he asked, his outstretched hand indicating his body.

"Trust me, my eyes will be so relieved. It causes me a lot of pain looking at that."

"Causes you a lot of pain knowing that you can't have that," he amended, "though I never actually said I wasn't interested." He smiled then, not a grin, but an actual smile…with teeth. My heart gave a tight squeeze. He has a nice smile. He leaned in closer then, his minty breath washing over my face. We're so close that I'm sure just another inch closer and our noses will be touching. My breathing hitched.

I jolted back, unnerved by our close proximity. Jerk.

His grin instantly disappeared in exchange for the mask. I looked at his face, but he refused to make eye contact, almost like he's embarrassed. Only, Jiyong is never embarrassed.

He shot a fleeting glance at the clock on the wall, his heel, and doesn't look back.

Now, what the hell was that?

Soooo, how was it?  We get to see a different Jiyong and Dara here. Unlike in my previous stories.

Twas a short chapter. Just a little something to get us started. ^^ 

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