Disclaimer: I don't own Gakuen Alice. I got this line, Sending a cheque once a month does not make him a father, from A Walk to Remember. Disclaimed.

Know that I change tiny details in published chapters whenever I see something in the current chapter I'm writing that doesn't match them. Truth be told, I still haven't fully made up my mind yet when it comes to how I'll portray their personality and dispositions. Annnnnd, I've decided to add a couple of questions in every chapter (like the ones below). No need to tell me your answers (though they'll be greatly appreciated), just . . . think.

1. What do you think of Taylor Swift? In relation to her brand of feminism? And as an artist?

2. If you could be somewhere else, where would it be? Why?

The world's got a funny way of turning round on you
When a friend tries to stab you right in the face

— Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, False Pretense

Natsume Hyuuga

"I thought you'd be home early," Kaoru, Natsume's mother, said as he entered their house. She was seated in the living room, her feet propped up on the center table as she lazily watched Banana School.

"I am early," Natsume said while removing his Chucks and putting them in the shoe cabinet.

"Yeah, early in the morning that is," Kaoru said before taking a sip of her morning coffee.

When Natsume didn't respond and only continued walking towards the kitchen, Kaoru continued, "Will you ever greet me in the morning?"

Closing the refrigerator door after getting a carton of milk, he said, "Thinking about it."

"Your dad called—"

"He is not my dad," he gritted out. "He's just some asshole you fucked when you were young."

"It was a nice fuck."

"God, you're disgusting."

He wished Kaoru would act more mother-like. Like the ones who religiously attended motherhood seminars, knitted winter scarf, and baked gingerbread cookies. Not exasperate her son even more.

"Look, we even popped out a good-looking boy."

"He could've just jacked off into a blanket or didn't push too hard."

"Now, where's the fun in that?"

Natsume knew his mother's wild spirit, especially when she was younger. She told him about her misadventures when she was drunk. That's why he knew that her mother took a morning-after pill that advertised a ninety-nine percent effectiveness. But of course, there was the one percent catch.

And he was the result of that one percent chance of failure.

"Anyway, your father is—"

"Sending a cheque once a month does not make him a father. You know that, mom," Natsume said in a firm voice and proceeded to go upstairs.

Once in the safety of his bedroom, the first thing he noticed was the crisp white expensive-looking paper on top of his desk. Embossed with gold ink were the names of the man he used to fondly call dad and the woman he cheated with.

The immense urge to leave this place he once considered home resurfaced. He wanted to find another earth, start a new civilization, and stay there.

But where? Natsume wondered in vain.

Mikan Sakura

"That new Taylor Swift song was bomb," Anna said. "I can't get it out of my mind!"

"Goodness, Anna, stop. I hate that bitch." Sumire said.

"Bad news, Shouda. At the rate she's going, you're gonna hear and see her everywhere in the next two years or so," Hotaru said.

"She was born to dominate the charts, honey," Mikan said.

"I honestly thought that 1989 sucked all her creative juices but boy, was I wrong," Nonoko said.

"I know right! Her creativity knows no limits," Mikan said before playfully singing. "I've got a list of names and yours is in red, underlined. I check it once, then I check it twice, oh!"

"Ugh, stop singing that wretched song," Sumire exclaimed as she covered her ears which encouraged the other girls—except Hotaru—to sing louder. She continued, "Taylor is the perfect example of a bad feminist."

"True, but she profits off every aspect of her life. And I respect her for that," Hotaru said.

"We all know you love everything that screams gold and cash," Mikan said.

"Money makes me a better person." The girls giggled at Hotaru Imai's honesty and love for wealth.

"Lovely morning, ladies?" asked a blonde teacher with a beauty spot near his left eye.

"Good morning, Mr. Narumi!" the girls greeted in chorus, Hotaru's much less enthusiastically. Their conversation about the blonde celebrity was temporarily abandoned when they entered the classroom.

"Bonjour, cher élèves!" Narumi said as he walked towards the teacher's table. "Please ensure that you indeed belong to this Literature Appreciation class."

Holding a couple of stapled pages in his right hand, Mr. Narumi continued, "This is the poem set included in the syllabus. Tomorrow, we will dissect Emily Dickinson's Much Madness is Divinest Sense."

"Will there be a recitation?" A student from the back asked.

"Yes, of course. This is a class meant to explore romance and the passions of the human race. And I don't think spending the whole term writing 500-word reflection papers—which you could copy online—counts as exploration. I will be calling on students randomly so it is best to be prepared. Comprendre?"

When the class nodded in understanding, he continued. "Moreover, you need to choose a class beadle. A responsible one, s'il vous plaît. Whoever wants to volunteer for today will only be temporary . . ."

"I volunteer, Mr. Narumi," Mikan said.

"And by temporary, I mean until the term ends. Thank you, Ms. Sakura. A great reward awaits you," he paused. "in heaven."

The class laughed then he continued, "We'll officially begin with our class tomorrow. Quite a number of your classmates . . ." he paused to look at the class attendance sheet. "Ah, Mr. Hyuuga and his posse, are absent."

He proceeded to pack his things on the table and said, "I expect everyone to answer the question on the board next meeting. Class dismissed."

Scribbled on the board in thick pink chalk was the question:

IF YOU COULD BE SOMEWHERE ELSE, WHERE WOULD IT BE?

Natsume Hyuuga

That night, he found himself perched on the overhang under Mikan Sakura's bedroom window.