I woke up to my alarm screaming like it hated me personally. I slapped at my phone blindly, missed twice, and finally shut it off with a groan, burying my face into my pillow.
"Rachel," I muttered to myself, voice muffled. "You survived high school. Get up."
Today was graduation day.
That sentence felt fake. Like something people said in movies while dramatic music played in the background. I lay there for a second, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above me, trying to feel something big.
I felt… sleepy.
From the kitchen, I heard my mom humming to an old-school Nigerian gospel, soft and comforting. The smell of fried eggs and toast drifted into my room, followed by the sound of my dad arguing with the radio in Korean about the news.
Normal. Safe. Mine.
I dragged myself out of bed, padding across the room in socks, catching my reflection in the mirror. Brown skin glowing faintly in the morning light. Braids tied up messily. Sleep still clinging to my eyes.
"Last day," I whispered to my reflection.
She didn't look impressed.
After a quick shower and a fight with my wardrobe that I won only barely, I settled on my uniform which was clean, crisp, and slightly too warm for the weather. I blew out my hair carefully, already knowing humidity would betray me by noon.
Breakfast was loud in the way families are when they love each other.
"Don't forget to take pictures!" my mom said for the fifth time. "I will," I replied for the fifth time. My dad just smiled over his coffee. "Enjoy today, Rachel. It's important."
I nodded, even though I wasn't sure why, it may be because everyone was gonna separate after today into a new phrase.
Outside, the sun was already doing too much.
By the time I reached school, the air buzzed with energy, voices overlapping, laughter echoing, uniforms half-signed already. It felt like everyone had decided today was a free-for-all.
And that's when it hit me.
The last day of school was supposed to feel magical.
It didn't.
It just felt… hot.
Like the sun had personal beef with me.
The cicadas were screaming their lungs out, my shirt was sticking to my back, and my hair freshly blown out, thank you very much had started curling at the edges again like it was trying to expose me.
People were running around the courtyard like they'd just been released from jail, signing uniforms, snapping selfies, crying in slow motion. I stood there, clutching my phone, pretending I wasn't dying inside.
"Rach!"
I turned, and there she was… Hana, my Korean-American bestie, sprinting toward me like a caffeinated fairy in sneakers. Her backpack bounced behind her like it had a personality of its own.
She skidded to a stop and immediately grabbed my wrist.
"Tell me you're not going without me!"
"I literally haven't moved," I said flatly.
"Good. Because I'd haunt you."
She looped her arm through mine, chattering nonstop about graduation outfits, about how our class president cried on stage like a K-drama extra, about how she was totally not going to miss school but would die without seeing our group chat.
Meanwhile, I was just... watching everything.
People laughing.
Teachers smiling for once.
The janitor handing out free lollipops like peace offerings.
It felt like life was ending and beginning at the same time.
And then like my internal playlist switched to heartbreak edition, he arrived.
Jaeon.
White shirt untucked just enough to look rebellious. Black hair that always looked effortlessly messy. Earbuds in, expression blank, hands in pockets. He stepped out of a sleek black car like he was allergic to public transportation and joy.
Every girl near the gate went silent for half a second, and then…
"Oh my God, it's him."
"He looks so hot today."
"Of course he does, it's graduation!"
I was trying very, very hard not to stare.
I failed.
Hana smirked. "You're looking again."
"I'm not."
"You so are."
"I'm admiring the weather."
"Girl, you just checked the weather on his face."
I burst out laughing, trying to shove her away, but she held on tighter, nearly tripping us both. We were a mess. The kind that people stared at but in an affectionate way, like, there go those two again.
"Come on," she said, tugging me toward the building. "We're gonna be late for the last roll call of our lives."
The classroom felt different that day. Empty and full at the same time. Balloons tied to chairs, snacks everywhere, and that faint smell of instant noodles and marker ink.
Our teacher, Mr. Kim, gave his final speech; Emotional, but funny. He said things like "You are the future!" and "Don't be afraid of who you are!" and halfway through, he started crying.
Everyone clapped. Someone started recording. Someone else started crying too.
Me? I just smiled. It felt weirdly comforting.
When it was over, we all cheered, threw our notebooks, and took about a thousand pictures. Even I got pulled into a few—the 'token foreign student' who somehow became part of the chaos.
Then, of course, the after-ceremony madness began.
"Let's go to karaoke!"
"No, let's get boba!"
"Beach trip!"
That last one stuck. Within five minutes, everyone was talking about it. A spontaneous, last-day-of-school beach trip.
Hana turned to me, eyes wide. "We're going."
I blinked. "You mean they're going."
"No, we."
"I don't even have my swimsuit"
"You don't need it."
"I didn't bring extra clothes"
"I got you."
"I don't like sand."
"Then stay on the bus."
I sighed. "Hana!"
Then she dropped the nuke. "Jaeon's coming"