It is the first day of the rest of your life. You rest your head and run through such cliches, trying to find the proper motivation to smile. You are depressed, or at least not as happy as you wish you could be. You are torn. Torn between never letting yourself want anything again and forcing yourself to try even though it's hard.

It is the first day of high school. You have considerable emotional baggage, but you assume this to be a given. In the end, you have to try because there's nothing left to do. You are as unsatisfied as ever with this conclusion. You assume this to be a given.

I walk through the door, expecting time to slow down for me to take in my surroundings. It doesn't. I'm shoved along, my eyes darting back and forth just trying not to bump into anyone. The only thing I can notice is how the ceiling is too high to be in my range of vision, and the plates displaying room numbers are more decorative than might be necessary. I don't particularly care about these things, so I forget them immediately.

A couple stops in the middle of the hallway to share a kiss. I dodge them and hide inside my homeroom class. This is a prestigious academy; haven't they been raised to avoid such indecent displays of public affection? I run my hand through my hair, mulling it over for a moment. It bothers me, and I do wish that someone would have said something, but I am not rash enough to create enemies on my first day. Even if such a thing is entirely inappropriate...

The more I think of this, the sicker I feel. So I move on.

My first class is Algebra I. Mathematics and I don't mix well, but I force myself to look at the bright side. Maybe now, since I have to be here first thing in the morning, I'll put a little more thought into this class. Maybe I'll study a little harder, since it'll come to mind as I sit in this room each morning. Maybe I won't struggle, seeing as I can easily ask the teacher for help without disrupting any classes.

I think of all of these things, but I'm really wondering how on earth I'll stay awake with Algebra first thing in the morning. Let alone retain anything. I stare idly at the board, reading over today's date a few times. I wish someone would sit here with me and say something. Even if they weren't saying it to me, it might calm me down if I could listen to them talking. But I'm just left here, listening to my own silly thoughts.

The day is over before I can really say what's going on. All I can think is, "Where did the time go?", as I stare at my locker. It comes over me all at once. I pause, still holding a Chemistry textbook midair. I'm overwhelmed for that moment. Where am I and what am I doing and why does it look like this? I thought... I didn't know what to think. The textbooks lined up on the shelf of my locker and the jacket I left here in case I got cold, they are there but they aren't there. Because, I don't see them. I don't see anything.

I breathe, completely aware of the act.

Then, I start to move again. It feels a little like I just woke up, except I've technically been here all day... Except, I haven't been here before now.

My thoughts make perfect sense except they don't and I am not to speak them right now. Until later, when I've seen things.

The textbook goes in the locker with the other textbooks because that's how it is. I stare down at my chest, fascinated by the color of my uniform. Yellow was always my favorite color, and... This shade of it is so lovely. And the sleeves are so puffy, I feel like Snow White. I love this uniform.

I close my locker, holding my hands against it to feel the cool metal on my palms. The lockers are hot pink. The headmaster is male.

The headmaster is in the closet.

I nod to myself as I view the hallway. The entire building is overwhelmingly pink. I might believe that the designers he hired were very feminine, but for him to approve the designs... I nod.

Then I laugh so hard.

It is the next morning. I wear the exact same clothes and my hair looks exactly the same. Uniform. Literally.

I stare at my face in the mirror. It's the same face.

I love that uniform.

"Miss Arakawa..."

So... pretty.

"We should really be leaving now."

"Yes."

And then we leave, because that's the thing to do.

The vehicle stops moving and my driver stops holding the steering wheel. We're already to the school. I open the door, step outside of it, and then close it again. Then I have to walk into the building, except my driver is excellent and so I don't have to walk far.

…

We are supposed to be having a class on Art History. However, it ended with several minutes to spare, and the teacher is now slumped over her desk, indifferent to how we spend our free time.

I am listening to people who talk, even though they're talking about things that irritate me.

They are gossiping about a host club, of all things. Isn't such a thing immoral? Yet, they discuss it so openly, as if it isn't an embarrassment. They're discussing how attractive they find each member, gushing about their favorite boy. Really, what the hell?

I twist a strand of hair around my fingers, pulling it a little too hard when they squeal about "what a great kisser Suoh must be". W-wha... Suoh?

Isn't that the chairman's surname?

Images of the chairman's various affairs flash through my head, not necessarily welcome there. My eye twitches. A homosexual and a lady's man, at the same time? At the age of 48, pleasuring students for profit?! What, what, what, what...?!

"He's so dreamy, with that princely personality..." A brunette is blushing.

PRINCELY? So he has an ego like that, too? What the hell?!

What kind of school am I going to!?

I go over this in my head, worrying it's only going to sound good up there but not trusting anyone enough to take it anywhere else.

So, so. The chairman. He's older now. And he's frustrated because the men don't look at him how he wishes. But the girls adore him, because of his status. And it makes him feel powerful where he's powerless, so he takes advantage of the situation. And it inflates his ego, to the point he considers himself like royalty here.

Except this is wrong, and he needs to realize this.

So I'm going to the host club. To shut it down. None of this. Not here.

I march off, but I can only maintain the stride for so long. Actually, I'm terrified. I don't want to go to a place like a host club. It'll be full of deviants, and everyone will think that I'm the kind of girl who's into that sort of thing, and my family will be so ashamed.

By the time I'm in the right hallway, I am barely moving towards the room. I don't want to be here. I said I wasn't the rash person who'll make enemies before I've even been here that long. And I don't want to be in this hallway where everyone will think I go to host clubs. My arms are crossed around me; I'm getting chills and my hands are clenching around my arms so tights that the circulation might cut off. I want to run away and I want to get it over with, but mostly I don't want to be here.

"Excuse me..." someone asks from behind.

My body feels like it just recognized the existence of gravity. Everything is heavy.

"Are you..."

And then I run.

I tap my foot, wishing Chemistry could last a few more hours. But there are only a couple more minutes, and then I have to follow through, or else I can't respect myself, because whoever that person was has the complete wrong idea, and if I don't straighten this out soon people are going to think that I am the type of girl who wants to go to creepy host clubs. And I don't.

The bell rings and I have to go on auto-pilot to even go through with this. So my legs move on their own and I don't see anything until I've pushed open the door to the third music room.

And then, the rose petals. Rose petals from somewhere I can't figure out, and everything is all pink again, and there is a reverse-harem standing in front of me, and all of them are staring at me, and there is no old creepy chairman, because all of them are young and beautiful, and this is a host club, and what am I doing here, and oh my god one of them is walking towards me, what am I doing here.

His expression is very soft and I can't believe how blue his eyes are. I can't remember what I'm doing here, what am I doing here?

"Why, hello there beautiful." His voice... It's... Oh, oh my. "What can I do for you today?" It takes me an hour to realize he asked a question, and another to think of the answer.

"Um... Where is Suoh?" My voice sounds wary and uncertain, not at all possessing the confidence lacing his.

He smiles softly, closing the distance between us with a single step. And suddenly, he's tilted my chin and I am overwhelmed by the amount of his face. "Why, I'm right here, my darling."

His voice gives me chills, and by the time I notice that perfect blonde hair I know I'm dead before the kill. I swallow hard.

"...I see." Did my face catch fire? I think it did. The rest of me too. I think I've combusted. I really shouldn't set this nice boy on fire, so, I think I'll be leaving now.

I jerk my head backward and I am out of his embrace. I nearly slam into the door, but I twist just in time to remember how my hands work and make it out alive.

I sprint away, fighting the strong feeling that I'd ought to stop, drop, and roll.

Behind me, a host club full of beautiful deviants is laughing.

"Who was that, now?" Someone finally asks.

Kyoya adjusts his glasses, reading off his laptop. "Arakawa, Kotori. A first-year... Daughter of the president of a large video game company. ...The youngest of the family by ten years."

Kaoru raised an eyebrow. "Ten whole years?"

Kyoya continued. "Two older brothers in their mid twenties... A sister who died very young, cause of death-"

Then, the door opened and girls flooded in, so Kyoya closed his laptop and everyone smiled.

I really dislike Algebra. I mention this because it's the third day now, and we actually have to study the subjects we are taking. In my mind I am glaring at the teacher for assigning homework, except that's rude so my glare looks like apathetic gazing, rendering it completely ineffective for expressing my displeasure. In the end I can't change that we have been assigned this homework, but I like to think that my textbook can hear the nasty thoughts I am having about it.

Yes, yes, solve your own damn problems for once, you stupid-

This is not a productive line of thought. I am properly upset, however. This is gibberish. They put the alphabet in my equation, and I am not enjoying this.

I glare at my book, except my glare looks a whole lot like quietly doing your homework.