by Jessica Jung
Finally, Leah’s chatter slows down and I mentally prepare, dreaming that, this time, Umma will ask me how my day at DB was and be sympathetic and understanding as I tell her about Mina and Mr. Noh and give me her blessing to go to the trainee house tonight. But when she finally turns to me, she says, “Did you finish your homework, Rachel? And the chores I asked you to do?” She shoots a pointed look at the sink full of unwashed dishes.
Poof. Dream gone.
My jaw tightens as I clench my teeth. “My day was great. Thanks so much for asking. I was training all day, and then I went to see Appa at the gym.” I pause. “Sorry about the chores,” I add, choking the words out like a chicken bone stuck in my throat. Not that I’m sorry for focusing on training, but her eyes are narrowing at me in that “I will make you regret the day you were born” way that she used to get whenever Leah or I were misbehaving on the subway during rush hour in New York.
She sighs, reaching into her tote bag on the table. “Always training. Why don’t you try something different? It’s not healthy being so obsessed with one thing.” She pulls out a huge stack of papers and hands them to me. I glance down and see UNIVERSAL COLLEGE APPLICATION stamped across the top. I feel dizzy with panic as my mom claps her hands, a huge smile on her face. “Rachel! I brought these home for you—tomorrow at Ewha there’s an educational seminar! It’s meant to prepare high school students for the college-application process. Why don’t you go? They can help you start to fill these out, and maybe I can even show you around the campus after.”
My chest fills with heat as I raise my hand to push away the stack of applications. But then I see Umma’s face—lips smiling, eyes hopeful—and a wave of guilt washes over me. We’ve been here for six years and I’ve still never seen the campus where she works—a far cry from the hours I used to spend reading books under her desk while she held office sessions. I pull the applications toward me with a sigh. “Umma,” I say carefully, “you know I would love to see Ewha, but I just… can’t. Tomorrow is Sunday.”
“We’re talking about the rest of your life, Rach, not just one day,” Umma says lightly.
“Sure. But… training is the rest of my life. Isn’t it? I mean, isn’t that why we came here?”
Leah puts down her chicken, her eyes moving between us worriedly. She’s used to me and Umma tiptoeing into these arguments.
Umma looks down at her plate and sighs. “There are… a lot of reasons why we came to Korea.” She opens her mouth like she’s about to say something more, but then she shakes her head slightly. She turns to me, and when she does, I can almost see tears in her eyes, but her voice is even and clear. “You know I used to be a volleyball player.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes—is Umma really going to compare her high school volleyball days to my K-pop training? “But where would I be now—where would our family be—if I had given up everything for that dream?”
“But that’s exactly what you’re asking me to do—to give up everything I’ve been working for just for some college seminar.” I shove a piece of chicken in my mouth, skin and all. To hell with the extra calories.
Umma shrugs, looking sad but determined. “I’m just suggesting that maybe you should keep your options open.” She picks at a piece of seasoned watercress on her plate. “You never know what the future might hold, Rachel. And if things don’t work out with your training… I just don’t want you to feel surprised.”
My eyes fill with tears, and I blink hard, unwilling to let them spill onto my face. Even after six years, my mom’s attitude toward my training still gets to me. Sometimes I wonder if she regrets moving to Seoul—if she wishes she had just sold Halmoni’s apartment and washed her hands of the whole thing. Or if she even believes in my talent. I bite my lip, about to excuse myself from dinner, when Leah jumps in, pushing herself onto her knees as she turns to face Umma.
“Actually, funny you should mention that seminar, Umma,” she says. “The Cho twins are having a weekend-long study session to prep for college. They’re even hiring a private tutor and studying late into the night. A study slumber party, I think they called it. Right, Unni?” She smiles innocently up at our mom.
I straighten up. It’s now or never, Rachel. “Right,” I say slowly.
“How did you know about that?” Umma asks Leah, raising her eyebrows.
“I overheard Rachel talking to Hyeri on the phone,” Leah lies easily.
I focus on chewing my chicken, trying to keep my face neutral. My sister, ladies and gentlemen, the future Oscar winner.
Umma’s gaze turns to me. “Why didn’t you mention this, Rachel? This is just what you need to get you on the right track.”
I nod, swallowing down a fresh surge of frustration along with my chicken. “I just… didn’t want to spend the night away when I haven’t even gotten to my chores yet.” I glance toward the full sink. “Sorry,” I add again for good measure.
“Oh,” Umma says. “Well, those dishes won’t take too long. Why don’t you finish up and head over to the Cho house? Knowing their parents, they’ll have hired the best tutor in Seoul. I’ll pack some leftover chicken for you to take.”
“Really?” I feel guilty for lying, but it’s quickly replaced by a buzzing energy that spreads across my body. My first night at the trainee house! One step closer to my dream. “Thanks, Umma.”
She smiles and begins to clear her plate away, packing a few pieces of chicken into a small bright-green Tupperware container. When her back is turned, Leah gives me a big thumbs-up. I wink at her and mouth, Thank you.
As soon as I’m done with the dishes, I hurl myself into the shower and quickly twist my wet hair into tight Dutch braids. I slip into a pair of black leggings and a creamy, cozy oversize off-the-shoulder sweater top that is the perfect amount of slouch. I throw on my comfiest pair of pajamas—the cartoon Snoopy ones I bought at Dongdaemun last spring—over the whole ensemble so Umma won’t get suspicious seeing me all dressed up. With one last glance in the mirror, I grab my bag, quickly scooping up Umma’s Tupperware, and head out for my first night at the trainee house.
Three
Umma’s words are ringing in my ears as I walk to the bus stop. If things don’t work out… I just don’t want you to feel surprised. Of course I’ve always known that being a K-pop star is not a guarantee, but I’ve wanted this dream for so long, I’m not sure I even know what the alternative looks like.
It all started when I was six years old. There was one other Asian girl in my class, Eugenia Li. Even though she was Chinese, everyone was always asking us if we were cousins or twin sisters. I didn’t think much of it until one day when I got stung by a bee during recess. I was sitting in the nurse’s office, waiting for Umma to come and take me home, when Mrs. Li walked through the door. The nurse didn’t realize she had done anything wrong and instead was all smiles as she told me that my mom was there to get me. For the first time, I realized the world didn’t see me the way I saw me, or the way my family saw me. All they saw was my face; the shape of my eyes and my nose; my thick, straight black hair—and it made me interchangeable with girls like Eugenia, even though we looked nothing alike. When my mom finally picked me up at school, I couldn’t stop crying. The bee sting was still burning on my skin, but when Umma asked me what was wrong, all I could think about was Mrs. Li. “I wish I wasn’t Korean,” I remember sobbing into her shirt. So she scooped me up and carried me home, and when we got there, she tucked me into bed and grabbed her laptop. That was the first time I saw a K-pop music video. We watched them for hours, and I marveled at the singers—all so unique and beautiful and talented.
I was hooked. I watched K-pop music videos constantly, memorizing the lyrics to my favorite ones and putting on little shows for Leah on the weekends. The music made me feel proud to be Korean.
I wish I could say that time with Mrs. Li and the school nurse was the only time I ever felt rejected by the world, but it wasn’t. There were the kids who made fun of the kimchi Umma packed me for lunch; the woman
who once came up to me in our corner bodega, screaming at me that I should “go home” (even though I lived around the block, I got the feeling that wasn’t what she meant); there was the time I dressed like Hermione Granger for Halloween and everyone insisted that I was Cho Chang. Through it all, there was K-pop. It made me feel understood, like there was a place in the world where I belonged, where people would see me for me.
I’m thinking about all this as I walk to the bus stop. The spring Seoul air is breezy and crisp, sidewalks littered with so many fallen cherry blossoms that they stick to the bottom of your shoes, turning the whole city into a haze of pearly pink petals. I walk to the corner, popping into the GS25 for a Pocari Sweat, and then hop on the bus to the trainee house, a few blocks down from DB headquarters. The seats are filled with young couples in matching sweatshirts sharing earbuds, businessmen and -women watching old episodes of Running Man on their phones as they head home from work, and halmonis clutching canvas granny carts stuffed to the brim with groceries and empty bottles. I plop down on a seat and tip the last of my drink into my mouth as the breeze from the open window whips back my braids. The old lady next to me pokes me in the side, gesturing to my empty can. “Dah mashussuh?”
“Neh, Halmoni,” I say, handing it over.
“Komawoh,” she replies, pinching my cheek. “Ahh ipuda!”
I bow my head. “Kamsahamnida.”
The bus careens down the street, barely skidding to a stop when people want to get on or off. In New York, I was never allowed on public transportation by myself, so getting used to it when we moved was a big learning curve. Luckily, just like the rest of Seoul, the buses and subway system are fast, super clean, and easy to use. But the best part of life in this city? There is free Wi-Fi literally everywhere you go.
I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Hyeri: If my mom asks, I was at your house tonight.
She immediately texts back: Sure. Juhyun says “Don’t have too much fun without us tonight!”
I laugh but shove my phone back in my pocket without replying. The less they know, the less likely it is that they’ll slip up if interrogated. I’m so buzzed from the adrenaline of lying to Umma and going to the trainee house that I get off one stop early and walk the rest of the way. I need to get some of this energy out before I face Mina and the others.
I’m about half a block away when I realize I still need to change out of my pajamas.
I duck behind a particularly large bush lining the sidewalk and unbutton my pajama top, stuffing it into my tote. I’m watching the street, making sure that no one is approaching as I wiggle out of my pajama pants. They catch on my ankles and my fingers fumble, but I can’t stop myself in time. I trip over the pajama’s pretzel twist around my legs, spinning and falling face-first in the dirt.
I groan, sitting up slowly and brushing the dirt off my sweater. Thank god no one saw that.
“Wow… that looked like it hurt.”
Everything in my body freezes. I turn my head and see two brand-new white-and-black Nike sneakers standing on the sidewalk. My gaze drifts upward, taking in a pair of perfectly tailored Ader Error track pants and a Burberry sweater that I’m sure cost more than my entire wardrobe, all worn by a boy with silvery highlights in his hair, sparkling brown eyes, and cheekbones that could probably cut glass.
Not just a boy. The boy. Jason Lee.
Holy shit.
“You okay?” he asks, a concerned smile on his face. “Here, let me help you.” He holds out his hand.
“You’re… Jason… Lee,” I stammer as I struggle to my feet. Even before shooting to stardom with DB, Jason was famous for his YouTube K-pop covers. After one of his videos went viral, Mr. Noh himself flew to Toronto and convinced Jason to move to Seoul, where he quickly became Korea’s most beloved pop star. Being half-white, half-Korean actually works for him here, with everyone from preteens to stalker fans to ahjummas praising him for his big, double-lidded eyes and olive complexion, as if he handpicked his genes himself. Somehow his foreigner status gets him voted “Korea’s Sexiest K-pop Star,” while mine gets me mandatory Korean culture lessons.
“Oh, so you’ve heard of me?” He arches an eyebrow, his smile widening. He’s definitely got the smile-like-the-world-is-your-friend thing down—for him, the world probably is. “What kind of things have you heard?”
“Well, my sister Leah told me about your musical therapy chari—”
“Voice of an angel? Smile of the devil? Body of a god?”
“Uh… what?”
“You know, most girls faint when they see me. But I guess you did fall, so that’s something,” he says, almost to himself. “So, tell me, what are they saying these days?” He beams down at me, his mouth open in a ridiculously cute smile.
“Mainly that you steal vinyl records from Mr. Noh’s office,” I say, slightly rattled by his obvious arrogance. So much for the sweet, humble star boy who starts charities and loves his fans. “And that you have a secret werewolf lover that you only see during the full moon.”
“Whaaaat? That’s wild! Who said that? How dare they!” He looks wounded, flashing me his signature puppy-dog eyes before a sly grin spreads across his face. “I’d never steal from Mr. Noh.”
I roll my eyes. This is the K-pop star the world is so in love with? “Of course not. God forbid you do anything to mess up your perfect reputation. But rumors about your magical, shape-shifting girlfriend you’re fine with?”
“A gentleman never kisses and tells,” he replies smoothly. “Besides, you know what they say: the more people are talking about you, the more you’re worth talking about.”
“Maybe that’s how it works in your world,” I retort. Of course the infallible Jason Lee wouldn’t need to take the no-dating rule at DB seriously.
Jason pauses, looking down at me. “I feel like you’re mad at me.”
“Nope. Not mad—just trying to get to the trainee house before practice is over,” I say, pulling at the ends of my sweater and hoping I didn’t just give Jason a glimpse of my underwear.
Jason’s eyes light up. “The trainee house! Why didn’t you say so? I’m on my way there too. I’ll walk you.”
“No, thanks,” I reply, but he ignores me.
“So why don’t I know your name?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. “Any DB trainee brave enough to wear Snoopy pants in public is worth talking about.”
My cheeks redden with embarrassment again, but I force my voice to stay composed. “I’ll have you know these are my favorite pajamas. Sorry we can’t all be beautiful werewolves,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“I disagree,” Jason says.
“What are you talki—”
“You’re obviously beautiful,” he continues.
My body freezes. Uh… what?
“And I’m pretty sure you could bite my head off if you wanted to. Plus, it is a full moon tonight if you hadn’t noticed.”
Ohmygod. I need to get out of here. I reach down and start unwinding my tangled pajama pants, shooting a death glare at Jason.
“I don’t need an audience,” I snap.
He has the decency to blush but makes a big show of turning slowly around so his back is to me. “Better?”
Seething, I go to yank off my pants in one final move, but I’m so flustered that the waistband gets caught around my ankle again. I trip forward, falling face-first into Jason’s back. Instinctively, I wrap my hands around his waist to steady myself, my cheek buried between his shoulder blades. Without realizing what I’m doing, I inhale deeply. He smells like maple and mint.
“Rather forward of you,” Jason says. I can’t see his face, but I can hear the smirk in his voice. He turns his head, looking at me over his shoulder. “Or should I say backward? Enjoying the view?”
Kill. Me. Now. I step back, my face burning as I finally free myself from these traitorous pajama pants and shove them deep in my bag. I’m torching these things as soon as I get home.
“Thanks,” I say, tossing a st
iff nod in his direction and running toward the house, leaving him laughing on the sidewalk.
“You’re welcome, Werewolf Girl!” he calls after me. Great. Another nickname. Just what I need.
I’m cursing myself, Jason, and the entire Charlie Brown gang as I fling open the front door of the trainee house.
Holy crap.
The place is packed with DB trainees and stars, every square inch covered in empty soju bottles and soda cans, with music practically pounding off the walls and a brand-new Samsung Frame playing all the latest K-pop music videos.
And then it hits me. Jason was headed here too—to the trainee house. This isn’t a training session.
It’s a party.
A group of guys turn toward me and wave, yelling out their greetings. I recognize them, but I’m in too much shock to think clearly. I wave back slowly.
“Yo, Jason!” one of them calls over my shoulder.
I immediately drop my hand as Jason enters behind me. His friend walks over, and they do that bro hug thing where they clasp opposite hands and clap each other on the back. I really need to get out of here.
“Who’s your pretty date?” Jason’s friend asks, looking me up and down. Then I realize. This isn’t just Jason’s friend. This is Minjun—lead dancer of NEXT BOYZ and global K-pop superstar.
“This is…” Jason pauses, glancing at me.
“Rachel,” I say. At least my voice is still working normally. I haven’t completely shut down from shock. “I’m a senior trainee at DB.”
“American,” he observes, his eyes twinkling. I almost step back, bracing myself for an oncoming insult. “Welcome, Rachel. I’m Minjun,” he says, like my sister doesn’t keep a poster of his face taped up above her bed and kiss it every night. “Grab a drink.”
