Every Thursday morning, the English teacher asks for a volunteer to read a passage from the book we're studying. And as always, I try to make myself invisible so as not to be questioned. But this time, my technique doesn't work.

"No volunteers? Very well, then I'll choose at random," decrees the teacher, pointing her finger at random on the call sheet where the names of all the students in the class are noted. "And the one who's going to read is... Jungkook! Go, page 51."

My blood runs cold and I freeze. Why am I so unlucky? A lump begins to form in my throat and fear grips my gut. On the page of my book, the words become blurred and jumble together, unreadable. I'm not going to make it... I'm pathetic.