1
It's taking every bit of self-control to avoid gagging right now. My stomach is in dangerous territory and if I even think about it...
You can do this.
I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I've eaten much worse and take another bite of soup, managing not to spew it across my empty lunch table.
On Tuesdays, the cafeteria serves gluten-free, meat-free, lactose-free, calorie-free, oxygen-free and any other 'free' restriction that comes to mind.
My school is basically an almond mother.
I stare at my soup in disgust, it's a tad shade darker than vomit with the texture of warm, curdled yogurt and of course I eat every last bite. Why wouldn't I? It's half the price of the other lunch options. I have no choice but to shove it into my mouth and try to avoid thinking about all the pepperoni pizza slices two tables over, currently guarded by the soccer team.
Even a trip to the salad bar would be a major glow-up for my stomach but I can't justify the 3 dollars extra for rabbit food.
"Oh, shit!" The soccer players erupt with laughter as their goalie tries flinging a pizza slice across the cafeteria like it's a frisbee, missing the trash can. The slice lands with a slap, cheese and grease oozing out onto the floor.
"Dude, that was so close!" It was, in fact, not very close. Jackson Wang missed the can by at least three feet, so I doubt there's a real career in his future.
It's a little embarrassing to admit the slice in question that's now seasoned with a fresh layer of dirt and dust, still looks more appetising than my soup.
A second teammate tries and makes the shot, earning a bunch of whoops from the rest of the table.
I wonder if any of them have ever had to pay for their groceries, or skipped a meal entirely.
I stare at the discarded slice. No, probably not.
At this school, money rarely comes in a form that isn't a shiny black card winking in the light.
Speaking of rich luxury.
Jennie Kim walks by, elegant salad in hand and grabs one of the large wooden tables in the center of the cafeteria.
She's wearing the same navy-pleated skirt and white-button down I am but it might as well be an entirely different outfit on her impossibly thin, curvy frame.
Sometimes I wonder how she doesn't fold like paper under the weight of her Burberry backpack.
"I can't decide," Jennie sighs to the girls on either side of her. She picks at her salad with all the enthusiasm of a cat pawing at its dry food.
"And all this stress is making my cortisol levels higher. I can feel a break-out coming." Her voice carries like she's two seats down from me, not two tables.
That's the singular perk of the empty corner of the cafeteria I've carved out for myself, I can see and hear everything that happens. Not like anyone would actually care.
I'm a ghost here. A living, breathing ghost. Completely invisible.
"Both dresses would look amazing on you, Jennie," says Lisa from Jennie's right-hand side.
Over the past four years, Lisa has mastered an impressive ability that's promoted her to the leagues of Jennie's inner circle: the art of talking without ever saying a word.
That, and her entire family's a power-suit-wearing combination of high-risk publicists and defamation lawyers.
"Well, obviously," Jennie snaps and brushes a stubborn strand of black hair out of her face. She's got the sharp cheekbones, pouty lips, and big, brown eyes that'd be reserved for a Bratz doll anywhere else.
But this is a private school, home of the disgustingly rich, land of the best plastic surgeons.
You could make a game out of guessing which physical features came from which doctor.
"I like the Prada dress better," Jisoo chimes in from the left. "It looks hot. Really accentuates your figure."
Jisoo's dad runs some Korean tech company, but her mother's a celebrity stylist, so her opinion tends to hold more weight with Jennie.
"Of course you do," Jennie says. "Leather is your aesthetic."
Granted, I've rarely seen Jisoo out of our school uniform, but her glossy, black hair, heavy eye makeup, and kitten heels aren't making it a hard sell.
"This is about more than just looking good," Jennie continues. "It's about which dress Jungkook is going to prefer." Her eyes widen like she's just told a deep, dark secret to them.
I can't imagine it's a surprise to anyone, least of all her friends. If I had to guess, most of Jennie's looks and probably half the student's were curated with Jeon Jungkook's opinion in mind.
"You could just ask him," Lisa says. "Some guys like that, you know. Picking out their girl's outfit." She shoots Jennie a toothy smile as she says it, showing off the pearly white veneers her parents got her as an early graduation present.
It's the wrong thing to say, though. I know it, and so does Jennie. She whips around to face Lisa, frowning.
"I can't just ask him," she retorts. "If Jungkook thinks I'm dressing just for him, it'll make me look desperate and clingy. Guys don't like that." Lisa looked embarrassed after that.
My prime time people watching gets interrupted when some soccer player accidentally knocks his elbow into my lunch tray and sends my cup of water flying across my skirt.
"Hey!" I call out, but he's already on the way to his table, unaware he just soaked my thighs with ice-cold water.
Ugh. Great.
It's already seeping through the skirt and thick tights. Irritation bubbles up as I try to pat the spill with the napkin that was attached to my tray.
I don't have time to run back to my dorm and change, so I guess I'll be wearing a giant wet spot to History class.
I glare at the back of the soccer player's head. Asshole didn't even notice.
"Here," a new voice says. "I've got some extra napkins."
I glance up, shocked that anyone saw the incident, but smile gratefully as I take the clump of napkins from his outstretched hand. "Thanks, Taehyung."
"No problem." Taehyung shifts awkwardly on his feet, looking like he wants to be anywhere but here while I finish dabbing at the wet spot.
He's a tall, skinny kid with arms too long for his navy blazer and freshly bleached hair that he always has a new style for each day.
"I'm actually glad I caught you before lunch is over, Sohee." He spoke.
It's a challenge to keep the surprise off my face. I'm not sure anyone here has ever been glad to catch me.
"I'm not sure if you saw the email, but the Dean is moving up the scholarship presentation," he explains. "He wants us to give it to tonight."
The soup is now doing somersaults in my stomach, washing machine style.
"Tonight?" I ask.
No, I definitely didn't see the email.
I fumble with my phone and see that Taehyung is telling the truth: the Dean has rescheduled our bi-annual scholarship presentation to tonight, 6 PM, in the auditorium.
The presentations are supposed to be a formality. A song and dance we give to school faculty to prove that Taehyung and I aren't wasting our full-ride scholarships by slacking off or partying.
But, more than anything else, these meetings serve as a reminder.
While Taehyung and I might've been the only two students in the country with high enough scores to score a full-ride scholarship, we're still outsiders that need to prove we belong here.
It's my least favorite part of the semester and though I've given these presentations six times with Taehyung, the dread never leaves.
He shuffles one foot in front of the other. "It's something about scheduling changes. My part of the PowerPoint is done, so I just need you to finish yours. Do you think you could have it done, like...preferably before 5:59 PM? And with no typos this time?"
I can tell he's trying not to sound annoyed with me but it sneaks into his voice anyway.
We both know I'm the weak link in these presentations.
I give him a strained smile. "Yeah, no worries, Taehyung. I'm sure I can finish by then."
As long as I start directly after lunch, that is.
It's fine.
Totally fine.
I would've had to give this same presentation in a week, anyway.
"Okay," he nods, and for once, he looks more nervous about this presentation than I do.
"Thank you."
"Yeah, no. Of course." I push my soup around with my spoon and clear my throat before continuing, "Hey, that history paper last week was pretty intense, right? I mean –"
"I should get some food before the kitchens close," he cuts me off. "I'll see you tonight, Sohee." And then he practically runs in the opposite direction, presumably before I can hold a gun to his head and force him into more small talk.
I don't blame Taehyung for icing me out the same way everyone else does. In any other context, coming from families whose coupon probably wouldn't be enough to warrant a friendship, but here... I used to think it'd make us friends.
Except, Taehyung has managed to tread these waters much better than I have.
If you squint, you can almost imagine he's one of them and hanging around me has the opposite effect.
Just one more year.
I can survive one more year here.
I'm still sulking when the cafeteria doors swing open, and the room seems to take a collective pause as the school's golden boy steps through.
After four years, I should be used to the sheer amount of attention that Jeon Jungkook's presence commands, but it still feels surreal. Every head turns his way.
Conversations halt. People pause mid-chew. It might as well be a ticketed event.
"Hey, Jungkook! We'll see you at the game this Friday, right?"
"Your hair looks so good today, Jungkook. What products do you use?"
"You're welcome to sit with us, Jungkook!"
"I saw your meet last week, Jungkook. You were awesome."
"Can I buy you lunch, Jungkook?"
If the praise or admiration fazes him, it never shows. He accepts the compliments humbly, making rounds to wish the soccer team luck and joke with the theater kids.
He asks Eunwoo if he's recovering from his broken leg alright. He takes a detour by the chocolate muffins to purchase one and drops 500 dollars into the donation box while he's there.
"Thank you so much, Jungkook!" The dinner ladies gawk at him, like a fresh piece of meat.
Cougars.
It's like watching a k-drama in action.
One of them tries handing him the entire basket of chocolate muffins in return but he just shakes his head with an easy smile. "No, that's alright. I just wanted to support you guys."
Even his voice is annoyingly perfect – smooth and low like velvet against the skin.
"Jungkook!" This time, Jennie's voice rings out over the rest.
She gestures him over with a smile and a wave of her fingers. "Come eat with me?" The entire table, including Jennie herself, shifts down by one chair so that the center seat is free for Jungkook.
"Of course," he says and strides over with all the effortless confidence of someone who only understands rejection by definition, not example.
Jennie lights up like a Christmas tree when he nears and folds his long legs into the offered seat. He's so tall I can only imagine his knees bump into the bottom side of the lunch table, but he manages to make the movement look graceful.
I've never been starstruck by Jeon Jungkook and certainly not enough to ask if I can buy his lunch, but I can't say I'm completely immune either.
After all, I've got eyes and handsome's a painfully inadequate word for him.
He's so pretty it makes my teeth hurt.
The dark hair that kisses the nape of his neck, long, thick lashes and a sharp jawline are a dangerous combination on their own, but with his tall muscular build from years as swim team captain, his looks are downright deadly.
He's also a Jeon, and even in a school full of trust fund babies, he's operating in a league of his own.
He's the one percent of the one percent of the one percent. It only means that one day he's going to inherit more money than God.
So, I can't blame the student body for jumping at any opportunity to try and shimmy into his good graces. Though good looks and wealth aside, there's one thing about Jungkook that's always given me pause.
His eyes.
You'd think someone who regularly volunteers his time at the local hospital, heads up the school-wide anti-bullying commission, and probably, for all I know, climbs into trees and rescues kittens, would have the warm, kind eyes to reflect his lifestyle.
But you'd be wrong.
His eyes are empty. Devoid of kindness, light, of any kind of human warmth and so dark it's unsettling.
If eyes are supposed to be the window to the soul, Jungkook's soul is looking pretty hollow from where I'm sitting.
"I'm excited about your party this weekend, Jungkook," Jennie tells him, leaning in close and tugging on his bicep.
I think it's meant to be a loving gesture, but with her pointed acrylic nails, it looks more like a claw closing around its prey. "I actually planned the Park's Banquet last year. We held it in London. My cousin was there, you know. Duchess of Cambridge, Aria."
Right.
Duchess Aria.
A second cousin by marriage, and suspicious as her connection to the British monarchy might be, she's never hesitated to lord it over the rest of the student body.
She spends another two minutes listing off her party-planning qualifications and Jungkook gives an Oscar-worthy performance of pretending to care.
Maybe I've just got an active imagination, I mean, the guy's clearly a saint.
I take another slow bite of my soup and watch as Taehyung snags a tray and heads straight for Jennie's table.
The school's best and brightest have filled it to the brim and nobody seems particularly interested in making room for Taehyung – not until Jungkook chimes in.
He gestures him over and people move and switch and rearrange like it's a game of musical chairs until there's just enough room for Taehyung to squeeze in.
Jennie's smile falls as she repositions, but she doesn't argue with Jungkook. Nobody does.
His favor is the golden ticket around here, and while I can't say what Taehyung's done to earn it lately, I suppose I should just be glad that one of us has.
I can keep my head down for one more year.
I glance at Taehyung's tray and there's a twinge of satisfaction when I realise he's eating the soup too.
