Umbrella

Your world revolved around Jung Ahyeon. You hated that it did, but it did.

The hallway when she and her friends came around the corner. The cafeteria line when her voice cut through the noise, sharp and bored. You always knew where she was. You had to. In the name of self-preservation.

“Did you get that shirt from a lost-and-found bin?”

You didn't look up. You never looked up. Looking up meant seeing her face—cold, dismissive, like you were something stuck to the bottom of her shoe. It meant seeing her friends, their expressions arranged into that kind of amused disgust. It meant acknowledging that you were the entertainment. Again.

Your knuckles went white around your tray. Heat shot up your spine, that familiar, useless anger that never went anywhere. It just sat in your chest like a caged animal and rotted.

Thump.

Your shoulder ached. Behind you, their laughter rang out. It was genuine, like this was the real highlight of their day.

It never stopped. The small things. The little cuts.

Her friends "accidentally" knocked your books out of your hands in the stairwell. Her voice, floating down: "Oops." Melodic, filled with fake innocence.

The way she'd look you up and down before you had to give a presentation. One eyebrow raised. Her face filled with contempt, like she already assumed you’d fail. Just enough. Just enough to make your carefully prepared notes dissolve into static in your brain.

You hated her.

You had to.

What other choice did you have? Just… taking it? No. Hate was better. Hate was something solid you could hold onto at night when your room was dark and your brain wouldn't shut the fuck up. Hate was clean. Hate was easy.

You hated her. You did.

And yet.

You watched her. Even when you tried so very hard not to.

The way she held her head. The line of her jaw. The way her hair fell, so perfect and shiny, like she'd stepped out of a commercial. Her uniform always perfectly tailored. She moved through the world like she owned it. Like she’d never had a single doubt in her entire perfect life.

She was terrifying. Untouchable. Horrible.

And—god, you hated yourself for this—damn beautiful.

You hated that you thought that. You hated that some small, pathetic part of you wondered what it would be like to be her. Wanted to be like her. No fear. No shame. Just… clear-cut confidence.

The distance between your lives wasn't just wide. It was like a canyon. Uncrossable. You knew that.

You knew that.

~~~

Something was wrong. You felt it before you even saw her.

The air in the hallway was different. Buzzing. Electric. Everywhere you looked, people were hunched over their phones, faces glowing blue, mouths open in shock or twisted into smirks.

Then you heard her name.

"—Jung—"

"—her dad—"

"—embezzlement, dude, like millions—"

Your head snapped up.

There she was. Walking down the main hall like always. Posture perfect. Designer bag on her arm. But for the first time, the crowd didn't part.

Instead they moved around her. Whispering. Staring. Smiling.

Good, you thought. Fucking finally.

You leaned against your locker and watched the show.

Her friends saw her first. The same girls who used to trail behind her like servants. They moved towards her, but not the way they used to. There was no excitement on their face, no adoration. Instead their faces were cold, cut from stone. Calculating looks in their eyes.

You couldn’t hear all of what they said, but you got the gist of it. You saw the body language, the way they angled just slightly away from her. The way their eyes darted around to see who was watching. One of them reached out to touch her arm, but it was brief. Faux.

“I’m so sorry, but like, my mom said—”

“—it’s just too much right now, you know?”

Jung Ahyeon’s face stayed perfectly blank. Frozen.

Then her boyfriend walked past.

You watched her turn toward him. You watched her mouth start to form his name.

He didn’t even look at her.

Just kept walking, his friends trailing behind him, one of them laughing at something on his phone.

You almost started to laugh. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep it in. 

Rats abandoning a sinking ship.

Then you saw her face. Saw the mask crack.

It was just for a moment, a flash. Confusion, then panic, then this horrible realization spread across those pretty—godamnit—features. She looked around, searching for someone, anyone, who would meet her eyes with something other than judgement or morbid curiosity.

Not a single person did.

Your stomach twisted. Just a little.

No. Fuck no. Don’t.