Amaya woke up that morning with this feeling of undeniable dread, resting in the pit of her stomach. It was there most mornings, to be fair, but somehow today it was different – although she wasn’t sure how. As always, she paid it no mind, rolling out of bed half-asleep as she turned off her alarm. She got ready for school in the same mundane way as always: pouring her usual bowl of cereal and splashing the same amount of milk into the bowl as always, brushing her teeth and styling her hair in the same way as every other day. She pulled on the same uniform that she always wore – a dark skirt, white blouse, and navy sweater – tying the same red bow around her neck and throwing on the same uncomfortable blazer she always wore. As she makes her way out the door, she makes sure to take her pills; three blue ones and two red, the same as every other morning.

Repetitive. Routine.
The way it always was.
Calm.

The train ride to school was uneventful, as always, but she made sure to wish the old lady she sat beside on the carriage a nice day before she stepped onto the platform and rushed past the crowds of smartly-dressed businessmen and women who, just like her, had caught the train to the city. She made her way out of the station, scanning her ticket before she left, and began the short journey through the bustling streets towards her school.

It was not soon after that Amaya found herself staring up at the iron gates of her school, trying her best to ignore the way her breathing became ragged when looked upon them. Taking a deep breath, she walked past the brick walls that surrounded hell and through the gates.

Immediately, Amaya was surrounded. It wasn’t like the train wasn’t crowded or the city wasn’t, but somehow this was different. In the streets, Amaya didn’t know anyone, and she could breathe, but somehow when she stepped onto campus her lungs wouldn’t work and she felt out of place; on the streets she could be a nobody and no one would notice, but here everyone paid attention to the nobodies.

Students rushed past her to their classes, or to their friends, bumping shoulders unintentionally – or at least Amaya liked to think so – but swallowed their apologies when they recognised her straight hair and flushed cheeks, continuing on like nothing had happened. Other kids shoved past her – the popular ones – but unlike everyone else, they didn’t hesitate in glaring at Amaya, not even having an apology to swallow in the first place. Teachers made their way to the teacher’s lounge, carrying old test papers and coffees long-gone cold in their ink-stained hands, too busy to notice the smaller girl swallowed by the crowd.

Chaotic. Crowded.

And then, standing proudly in the centre of the courtyard, surrounded by a thick crowd of hormonal teenage girls and male students, there were the twelve people she had hoped not to see. Not today, at least.

She would have been able to tell them from a mile away; their air of superiority, their stride, even the style of their hair and their piercing gaze made them easily distinguishable, despite the crowds of students gathering around them in an attempt to be accepted into – or at least noticed by – their group, blocking Amaya’s curious gaze from settling on their faces and their cold stares from noticing her presence – thankfully, might Amaya add.

The kingkas.

Exo.