As a rule of thumb, bad things usually happened during anything deemed 'school hours.' Maybe because all of Kang Minhee's teachers were absolute shit, but still. Couldn't the kid catch a break?

"Minhee. Earth to Kang Minhee,"

Hyeongjun waved his hand in front of his face, shaking him violently. He loudly popped a gum bubble in his mouth, sheepishly ducking when the teacher asked who was chewing gum.

"What do you want, Jun?" Minhee groaned, offering him a scrap of (unused) tissue. He balled up the wad of gum and stuck it in his pocket, likely to rot.

A puzzle. He was his best friend of... well, less than a year, but still a mystery. Plus, Minhee swore that he'd walked onto the bus in an orange T-shirt, but his eyes didn't lie. Hyeongjun's shirt was clearly blue.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Hyeongjun asked innocently, brushing away a stray strand of hair. Something about the way sunlight reflected in his eyes made them look almost green, the color of a mint leaf.

"Your shirt. Wasn't it orange?" Minhee asked, shoving his Pikachu pocket notebook into the water bottle pocket of his backpack.

"What are you talking about?" Hyeongjun shook his head, wearing a puzzled expression, "I've been wearing a blue shirt since this morning,"

Huh. Maybe he really was hallucinating. Pulling an all-nighter to start studying for midterms (that started next month) wasn't the brightest idea he'd ever had. Minhee had planned to take a nap on the bus and zone out for the rest of the field trip, but the ever-bouncy Song Hyeongjun seemed to have somehow consumed five cups of coffee and a bag of gummy candy before the bus was even moving. And of course, being excited by yourself wasn't fun.

Usually, Wonjin would fill that role, bickering and teasing him. But alas, today was the sophomore-only field trip. Meaning their beloved hyung had to bear through another day of being hounded by teachers about his terrible grades, or perhaps the 0.01% chance he had to go to a not-so-decent college. Poor Wonjin, right?

"No snacks on the bus!" their homeroom teacher called from the front of the isle, "I don't want to see a single crumb left behind. Do you understand?"

A wave of assenting groans, though her glare seemed to be mainly focused on Minhee. He wasn't quite sure why. A beyond excellent student, full-ride scholarship worthy student, former child prodigy student who was well-behaved and helpful? Any other teacher would kill to have such a specimen in their class.

Not Mrs. Go, though. From forcing him to lug textbooks halfway across campus to purposefully marking turned-in assignments late, the slight almost-fifty-year-old seemed to have it out for him. He'd almost cried after he was marked with a C-, even taken it to the principal who, after much digging, found the papers crumpled in the corner of her desk drawer.

Sorry, the snake smiled through mouth full of pointed teeth. Must've slipped my mind.

Her catlike nails, glossed over with black nail polish, glinted in the overly bright 9:00 sunlight. But unlike Hyeongjun, who seemed to only soften like butter under its glare, sunshine somehow made the snake resemble a sharpened knife more and more.

The driver blasted a collection of Psy songs, nodding along to curses and sexual innuendos that might have been funny in the early 2000s, but just seemed flat now.

Hyeongjun didn't seem to mind. He was nodding along, mouthing the lyrics to Daddy while his hands moved seemingly by themselves.

"Hey, who'd you get that body from?" he sang mischievously, poking Minhee's shoulder, "I got it from my daddy,"

So much energy. The not-quite-kid had either gotten ten hours of sleep or was having an intense sugar high.

"Would you be quiet? I'm trying to nap," the class president grumbled behind them. His nostrils might as well have had steam shooting out of them as he indignantly pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. As if on cue, Ms. Go glared at them from the front.

"No shouting, Minhee, Hyeongjun," she warned with devilish glee, "That's strike one for both of you,"

He hadn't even been talking. Not to throw anyone under the (literal) bus, but Hyeongjun had been the one only singing. It wasn't as if the other kids weren't quieter than them. A boy two rows in front of them was full-on screaming at his phone. But no, Satan's daughter just had to single them out.

"Hey, where'd you get that body from?" Hyeongjun now whispered, bopping his head to the beat, "I got it from my—"

"That's strike two, boys," she sang in a honeyed voice with a smirk that would make drama bullies jealous, "One more and you're out. You know what one more write-up means, don't you?"

Yeah, she'd get fired for being unprofessional. But Minhee wasn't about to say that out loud, considering he still actually cared about school. While Hyeongjun didn't quite flaunt rules, he didn't seem to really respect them either.

A text pinged in on said rule-disrespecter's phone, one that made the color drain out of his face and his intense shoulder-shaking session stop.

Jun, Minhee texted, What's wrong?

He waited for the vibration (seriously, even a phone notification set her off) before giving Hyeongjun his best concerned face. Hyeongjun shook his head, shot him a reassuring smile.

It's nothing, his fast fingers typed. Just hyung trying to scare me.

It didn't seem like that at all. In the maybe ten months he'd known Hyeongjun, he'd never seen him get so terrified. Not even when they redeemed their free movie tickets and watched IT in theaters. But some niggling feeling begged him not to push, to leave him alone.

I swear Go isn't human, he responded, emoji less as always.

Hyeongjun covered his mouth with his hand, suppressing his breathy laughter.

She's not!!!! Hyeongjun messaged back with a bit too much vigor.

What was that supposed to mean? Ms. Go wasn't human? What else would she be, an alien imposter? But before he could push more, the bus lurched to a stop.

"What was that?" a boy in front of them hollered before laughing like a monkey.

"Are you deaf or did you just not hear the weird noises earlier?" Monkey's seatmate scoffed with an eyeroll.

Huh. Minhee must have been stewing in hate a little too long to catch something as dire as that.

Cue general mass-panic. They were barely an hour into the three-hour drive. How would they get to the uber-boring cultural museum now? Such a devastating loss.

"Bus #305 will come to pick you up," the driver announced over the speakers, "Until then, you guys are gonna wait here. Listen to your teacher, alright?"

Luckily, they'd managed to pull into a rest stop in the middle of nowhere. Heavy backpacks were transported to stone picnic tables and multiple people shuffled to the restroom.

Hyeongjun's knuckles were white as he clutched the straps of his backpack.

"This isn't good," he muttered, "This isn't good, this isn't good, this isn't—"

"Hey, Jun?" Minhee asked, playfully drying his wet hands on the back of Hyeongjun's shirt. Seeing as how he didn't even flinch, something serious had to be happening.

"I'll... I'll be right back. Don't tell Ms. Go, please,"

Hyeongjun's voice was urgent while his mind was far away, head stuck in space. Talking to him when he was like that would do no one any good.

"Where are you — you know what, alright," Minhee announced exasperatedly, stepping backwards, towards the picnic tables.

Hyeongjun turned on his heel, sprinted behind the bathrooms and ran off to who knew where.

"Kang Minhee," Ms. Go called again, annoyance seeping into her strict teacher voice, "I've been calling you for the past five minutes. That's strike three,"

Her smile was a tad too gleeful, like she'd been waiting for this. For a second, Minhee swore he saw a forked tongue flicker over her teeth. But whatever odd delusions he'd been having could wait. Right now, he was in big, fat trouble.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

She'd left the rest of the class with some helicopter tiger parent, which wasn't the greatest idea on anyone's part. Not that this small detail would matter later, but at the moment, that was all Minhee could think of. Poor schmucks.

"Kang Minhee," she began, clicking her long nails together like a cartoon villain so certain of his schemes, "I've been extremely patient with you this year,"

Not really, Minhee almost retorted. But no, he was a determined to be a good kid, even if his teachers thought otherwise. So, like the sheep he was, he stared at his sneakers and nodded.

"Why won't you just be honest with me?" she demanded in a deathly quiet whisper, forked tongue flicking out again. She pulled it back in so rapidly, Minhee wasn't even sure if he'd even seen it.

"Honest? What have I been lying about?" Minhee blurted in genuine curiosity.

He'd been sticking to the straight and narrow route starting from middle school. Never cheated on tests, or stolen anything, or done illegal drugs. What was there left to be honest about?

"You know," she hissed.

Wait. Hissed? Why did that grass-whistle like sound seem... familiar?

"I... don't?" Minhee asked, "I guess I'll—"

Hissing is a sign that a snake feels threatened in some way. Snakes hiss to make themselves seem intimidating to predators.

Why was he remembering that now? It wasn't like his teacher was a snake. That would be impossible. Sure, he hated her, but to think she was an actual snake? That was taking things too far. He must be really sleep deprived to be hallucinating this much. First Hyeongjun's shirt and now this.

"Insolent child,"

Well, that sounded almost like an actual snake hiss, if snakes could talk. 10/10 if this was a snake imitating competition.

Unfortunately, it was not an imitation.

The skin on her legs flayed like a fillet, each chop morphing her stocky limbs into something writhing and scaly and not at all mermaid-like. Rather, it reminded him of the fat python he'd seen on some pet handling show.

Two squirming snakes replaced her feet. Now his teacher looked like a demented Starbucks mermaid.

This was impossible. Teachers don't just become snakes. He was dreaming, right? This all had to be a dream.

Nope. One pinch confirmed that this was all horrifyingly real. The irises of her previously dark eyes had turned a dangerous shade of amber. A fang hung over her lower lip, a drop of blood glinting off the curved end.

"Snake— you're a snake mermaid," Minhee almost gasped, "Then... what? Why- just, where did Ms. Go go?"

Snake mermaid didn't seem interested in talking, just slithered over to Minhee and lunged. Could snakes really slither that fast? Weren't they supposed to be slow? Wasn't that cheating?

"Shit, what the hell?!"

They were just out of earshot. Plus, it wasn't as if any of his classmates would be willing to jump into danger for the outcast. Especially if that outcast was being chased by some horror movie beast.

Again. Another lunge. This time, its nails managed to nick the side of Minhee's neck, leaving pale scratches against flesh.

Nothing. Kang Minhee had nothing, not even a spare pencil to attempt to gorge its eyes out. He'd left his backpack at the picnic tables. He was utterly defenseless and alone and was about to be mutilated by some mythical monster. The only thing saving him at this point was the fact that he was an incredibly fast runner.

Another tree. Ducking under stray branches wasn't easy nor efficient, but the last thing he needed was an open field.

"Sstay sstill, boy," it hissed, "It will be easier,"

No. Minhee did not think he would stay still.

Think. He had to think and run at the same time, which arguably wasn't his strong suit. A snake. She had two snakes for legs. What did he know about snakes?

Could snakes climb trees? Probably, he thought he'd seen something about that on the pet handling documentary. And she had two snakes, so they could just wrap around the stump and scooch up. Also, Minhee wasn't good at climbing trees.

All he could think of was the "Snake Bite Leg What Do" meme, which was not at all helpful then and there.

A branch. He was pretty sure snakes weren't immune to being stabbed, even if the edges were blunted.

Minhee's calves screamed in pain. He couldn't stop, otherwise he'd most definitely die.

"Here, doggy!" Minhee screamed, tossing the branch like he was playing fetch. It only bounced anticlimactically off its forehead before curved fangs turned wood to ribbon.

That was stupid. Now he didn't even have a stick.

Imagining his father's crestfallen face was... horrifying. Sobbing over his photograph, trembling hands gripping the wooden frame. The white striped mourner's cuff on his upper arm. Minhee couldn't put his dear dad through that. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.

What would the mother from his dad's starry-eyed narratives think? Would he recognize her in heaven? Would she be proud of him? Would she be even half as beautiful and kind and perfect as Dad described her?

He couldn't take it. His leg spasmed and he fell face down into wet grass. A flash of light he assumed was heaven and then a familiar voice.