AVA'S POV
Detention is my most unwanted companion. It lurks like an unwelcome shadow, a consequence of my unapologetic choices. I sit here, slumped in a cold metal chair, surrounded by the dim lighting and an equally miserable collection of misfits. A fitting punishment for a girl who refuses to fit the mold.
Apparently, Ms. Kim caught me smoking and she started acting as if it was the end of the world. Mine, maybe, but the world? Hardly. I can feel the weight of her disappointment radiating from her desk at the front of the room. Her thick glasses slide down her nose as she glares at me, but I just roll my eyes.
To my left, a boy with an undercut and a permanent scowl doodles on his desk with a ballpoint pen, his concentration unwavering despite the heavy silence. To my right, a girl with bright pink hair sits chewing gum like it's her last lifeline, casting furtive glances at me as if my mere presence might inspire a revolution of chaos.
Ms. Kim clears her throat, and I instinctively turn my gaze away from her. She launches into another lecture about "poor choices" and "consequences," her voice a dull drone that fades into the background. I zone out, mentally crafting the best escape plan to break free from this mundane purgatory. The wall clock ticks loudly, mocking my impatience as I tap my foot beneath the desk, my mind wandering to more thrilling thoughts: Jaehoon's smirk, the way his eyes seemed to light up when he was close enough for me to see the flecks of gold in them.
"Are you even listening?" Her voice pierces my thoughts, pulling me back to the dim classroom, and I force myself to focus on her frowning figure.
"Yeah, totally," I lie, plastering on a bright smile that only makes her scowl deepen, and the moment the bell rings, the corners of my lips curl up. "Time to face the world again."
Before she gets to respond, I'm already moving, bolting toward the door like a caged animal finally set free. I'm annoyed, which means someone has to face my wrath. I need to find Jihoon or Aera to unleash my frustration on. My fingers also itch for the comforting grip of a cigarette, the familiar ritual of inhaling and exhaling—an act of defiance against a world that seems to conspire against me.
I'm about to turn the corner when someone bumps into me, sending me to the floor. My eyes widen as I curse under my breath and glare at the rude, unlucky-enough-to push-me-to-the dirty-floor guy. "Shit, I'm sorry," He says, offering his hand to me as if I'd take it.
"You should be sorry," I snap, glaring at him with all the repulsion I can master. "I don't need your help, freak." I'm already dreading the fact that everyone might be staring at me, taking pictures and recording videos that would make headlights in my social media feed for the next week. The last thing I need is for this to turn into an embarrassing spectacle.
I stand up as gracefully as I can, my heels not helping, and dust my skirt. When I turn to him, eyeing him better, he's a tall, lanky figure with tousled hair that looks as if he just rolled out of bed, and glasses that make him look like a complete nerd. I hate nerds, which makes this guy even more irritating. There's something about the way he stands, all awkward limbs and nervous energy, that makes me want to roll my eyes.
"What the hell are you ugly thing looking at?" I snap, although I know he's far from ugly. There's something undeniably attractive about him that I'm trying so hard to deny. But the guy seems unfazed by my words, looking at me with those dark eyes of his as if he can see right through me.
"I'm just wondering how can someone be so rude," He says, looking more serious than I'd like. I know he's right, but I'm still offended.
"How dare you talk to me like that? Wait, how dare you talk to me at all?" I rest my hand against my hip and tilt my head, raising an eyebrow at him. He's a nerd. I'm the IT girl of this godforsaken school. I should be towering over him, my presence commanding respect, but instead, here I am, arguing with a guy who looks like he belongs in a library, not a high school hallway.
"I'm talking to you because you bumped into me," He replies, his voice steady, unyielding. It's infuriating how calm he is like he's already accustomed to my brand of hostility. "It's impressive how you throw insults like confetti."
I clench my fists, caught somewhere between admiration and irritation. But before I can respond, the sight of Jaehoon across the hallway makes me freeze and I gra the nerd's arm, urging him to help me. "Quick, I need to hide."
"What for?" He asks but I don't have time to explain. The only thing running through my mind is hiding before Jaehoon has time to see me. But much to my disappointment, the closest door is the library and I find myself pulling the nerd along inside the suffocating place, the two of us hiding behind a tall shelf filled with dusty books that smell like forgotten stories. I press myself against the cool metal, trying to catch my breath as adrenaline courses through my veins. "What's happening—"
"Shut up." My hand finds its way against his mouth as I watch Jaehoon's eyes scan the room, probably looking for someone. And then the corners of his lips curl up into a smile before he walks to someone... Haneul. Of course. What does she have that I don't? I didn't even notice she was here, for God's sake. The whole thing is crazy, so terribly unfair. Why does the bad boy always have to fall for the good girl? I sigh, taking my hand off the nerd's mouth before I drag my fingers through my hair.
"Are you okay?" He asks hesitantly and I roll my eyes, leaning against the wall. All my grace is gone.
"What do you think?" I snap, shaking my head in disbelief. "If you tell anyone about this, I promise I will make you regret the day you were born."
"I don't think I'll have to tell anyone, enough people saw you already." I look back at him, at the way he shoves his hands inside his sweater pockets, and at the way his glasses frame his face, giving him an unassuming, almost vulnerable look. It's infuriating how unbothered he seems by the entire situation. Here I am, ready to combust from humiliation, and he's just standing there, acting like I haven't just made a spectacle of myself.
"All the nerds of the world could rally together and write an epic documentary about this," I shoot back, frustration bubbling up inside me like a pot about to boil over. "I'll make sure they get the details right—like how I fell thanks to the charming, klutzy nerd who thinks he's above it all."
"You're terrible," His scoff—or is it a laugh?—fills the air, and I feel my heart rate quicken, the sound oddly infectious. "You surprise me, you really do. I thought the rumors about you were just that, rumors, but they're right after all. You're horrible. Stop blaming others and putting them into boxes. People have feelings, unlike you."
His words hit me like a splash of cold water, shocking enough to make me take a step back, the anger slipping away as if it never existed. I know he's right, but to say it this openly, this bluntly, feels like a slap in the face. "You don't get to judge me."
"I'm not judging you," He fires back. "I pity you. You're so desperate it's truly sad."
With that, he turns around and disappears through the large library doors, leaving me alone to drown in my thoughts. Who is he and why did he think he had the right to say those things? The nerve of that guy, to stroll into my life like he owns the place and toss around judgments as if he knows me at all.
I run my fingers through my hair, fists tightening until my nails dig into the palms of my hands. It's nasty to say you pity someone. It's better to hate someone than to feel sorry for them. I always thought I was either admired or feared and I loved that, but not pitied. Last of all by someone like him.
I convince myself I like being like this—untouchable, unbothered, the girl who strides through life with confidence so fierce it could burn through steel. I want to believe that pity is for the weak, for those who crumble under the weight of their own inadequacies. I should revel in the power I hold, in the way I command attention without even trying.
But as I straighten my skirt and exit the library after Jaehoon is out of sight, in the back of my mind, the nerd's words replay like a broken record.
