Shine

by Jessica Jung

  Jason slips an arm around my chair and grins lazily at me, all traces of his shadowy expression gone. “Eh, ignore them, Rachel. Minjun just wants to get me back for leaving the noraebang early after the party the other night. I’ll pay for our drinks.”

  I glance back at Yujin, who’s gesturing discreetly to her phone and tilting her chin toward the stage. I turn to Jason, understanding dawning on me. This is why Yujin brought me here. Not just to make a viral video. To make a viral video with Jason. It’s now or never.

  Mustering all the courage I can, I grab Jason’s hand. The room erupts into even more frantic whispers, and his eyes widen in surprise as I stand, flashing him a smile. “Come on. Everyone’s already talking. We may as well give them something to talk about.”

  For one gut-punching second, I think he might not follow me. Then he smiles back and stands. “You know what they say, Werewolf Girl.” His hand grips mine, and my heart sputters into a series of somersaults as I pull him toward the stage.

  The whole café is cheering and whistling. Then Minjun hands me a microphone with a bemused expression as the other NEXT BOYZ members are stamping their feet and catcalling in front of the stage.

  “We’re all rooting for you,” he says with a wink.

  Jason grabs a mic from another stand. He glances at me from across the stage. “You ready for this?”

  I look for Yujin’s face in the crowd. She gives me a thumbs-up and turns her phone toward the stage.

  I gulp. Cameras on. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Three twenty-five,” he says, turning his face away from the mic so only I can hear him.

  I frown in confusion, and he nods down at his shoes.

  “That’s how much these cost me. Three hundred twenty-five dollars. I let you go last time, but I’ll expect full payment if you ruin these, too.”

  I can’t help but laugh right into the mic, my shoulders starting to relax.

  The audience quiets down as the pianist begins to play the opening chords of a familiar ballad. Everyone in the café lets out a collective sigh. It’s a Chung Yuna classic. A love duet from the eighties that makes me tear up instantly. A sudden memory rushes into my mind of Umma and Appa slow dancing to this song in the tiny blue kitchen of our New York apartment. I remember sitting under the table watching them, and knowing, even as a kid, that that was what it looked like to live from a full heart. Between Appa’s late nights at the boxing gym and his clandestine law classes and Umma working through the weekend to get back on tenure track, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen them dancing like that.

  Jason starts to sing the first verse. His voice is a lot like his arms. Strong but gentle, a melody that feels like it’s wrapping you up in a warm embrace.

  I look out at the audience and see Yujin clutching her phone, pointing it directly at us. I feel a familiar panic start to rise in my chest as I stare into the camera lens. My own thoughts start to buzz in my head, drowning out the music. What was I thinking? That I would decide to make a viral video and my camera fright would just magically go away? I’m such a fool. I should just vomit on the stage again—that would absolutely go viral.

  Next to me, Jason’s voice is building toward the chorus. It’s my cue to join in with the harmony, but I freeze. My mouth opens and nothing comes out. I turn to Jason, panic in my eyes. He grabs my hand, attempting to move me across the stage as he continues to sing the chorus solo, but my arms feel locked at my sides. There’s a short musical interlude before the start of the second verse and Jason steps behind me, putting his hands on my hips and spinning me. My training instincts kick in and I lean into the spin, twirling across the tiny stage. A smile starts to spread across my face as I remember how I used to spin Leah around our kitchen floor, shouting K-pop lyrics at the top of my lungs as she would squeal with glee. I belong here. A tingle of warmth spreads through my body as I grab Jason’s hand and wink. Just like last time, I mouth right before the second verse starts. Everyone in the crowd is totally silent. I focus on the feeling of Jason’s hand on mine as our voices braid together like fingers interlocking. It’s just like that day in the auditorium. We were meant to sing together, and I can see in his eyes that whatever I’m feeling, he’s feeling too.

  I break gently away from his grip and walk across the stage as I sing my solo verse. I think of six-year-old Rachel listening to K-pop for the first time, feeling special to be Korean for the first time. I think of eleven-year-old Rachel singing her heart out at a noraebang, wishing an impossible wish. They would be so happy to see me here on this stage now. One step closer to living our dream. To sharing our love of K-pop with the world. And then Jason’s voice weaves with mine again and we’re unstoppable, feeling every rush, every high, every beat of our hearts in the thrum of adrenaline.

  He walks toward me until he’s right at my side, one hand gripping mine, the other raised like he’s about to touch my face, but he pauses. A question. I decide to answer just this once, and as our voices lift into the final line, I press my cheek against his palm for the briefest of moments.

  I slowly pull away as the song ends. We look at each other, eyes burning, the energy between us saying everything I can’t. Everything I don’t even have the words for. It’s magic singing with you.

  Suddenly, the crowd erupts into cheers, jumping to their feet in a standing ovation. We both blink, breaking out of the moment. He smiles and takes my hand, turning toward the crowd. We take a deep bow. Yuna rises from her booth and joins us onstage, embracing me tightly.

  “That was absolutely lovely,” she says, taking my face in her hands. “The best cover of my song I’ve heard in years.”

  I bow my head. “Thank you so much. I hope we did it justice.”

  She moves to hug Jason. In the crowd, I see Yujin lower her phone, a huge smile on her face. I suck in a breath as I snap back to reality. Part one of the plan is complete.

  * * *

  That night, I lie in bed thinking about Jason’s smile and the way our voices melted together in a perfect harmony. I can’t help but feel a stab of guilt for using him as part of my scheme, but he said it himself—he’s been there. He knows how tough training at DB is. We have to do everything we can to go after our dreams.

  Still, I can feel the guilt gnawing away at me. I scroll through my Finsta feed (the one no one but the Cho twins knows about), trying to keep myself distracted. Looks like Hyeri and Daeho got tteokbokki after working on their experiment all day. Cute. I make a mental note to bug Hyeri about her crush later and double tap to like the photo.

  There’s a knock on my door, and Umma pops her head in. “Rachel, are you sleeping already?”

  “I’m just resting,” I say, sitting up in bed. “Long day at training.”

  She purses her lips. “Did you finish your homework?”

  I think of the mountain of schoolwork I haven’t even touched. “Yes, Umma.”

  Her eyes scan the room like she’s looking for something to disapprove of, landing on the equally large mountain of clothes on my bedroom floor. “Look at this room. It’s a disaster! You can’t expect me to constantly clean up after you.”

  “I don’t expect you to,” I say, sighing and flopping back down on my bed. I close my eyes and go into my dream world instead, where she asks me how training is going and I tell her all about the magic of singing with Jason. Maybe we would even listen to the original Chung Yuna classic together and I’d tell her about my memory of her and Appa dancing in the kitchen. But nope. I can still hear her going at it.

  “I’m home,” Appa calls from the front door.

  “Yeobo, come here and look at this pigsty your daughter is living in,” she says.

  Appa joins her in my room. There are dark bags under his eyes, and it looks like he’s lost some weight since the last time I saw him. Late nights at the gym and night school seem to be taking their toll on him. Maybe I should offer him some of Juhyun’s depuffing eye cream.

  “Talk some sense into your daughter!”
Umma says.

  “Rachel, clean your room,” Appa says tiredly.

  “Yes, Appa,” I say. I don’t want to stress him out more than he already is. “I’ll clean it tomorrow.”

  “There. Done. Harmony restored to the Kim household,” Appa says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he drags his feet out of my room. Umma frowns worriedly and hurries after him without closing my door. I roll out of bed to close the door myself, but before I can, Leah pops her head in, talking a mile a minute.

  “Hi, Unni,” she says, waving her hand in my face. “You’ll never guess what happened on Oh My Dreams today. Park Dohee’s character and Kim Chanwoo broke up! Apparently she had been carrying on a secret love affair with his brother this whole time! But it wasn’t really her fault because he had hypnotized her into believing she was a single aerialist who lived with him in Australia and—”

  I flash back to Kwangtaek. I can’t wait to tell Leah the truth about her favorite TV couple, but now is not the time. She would never leave my room. I steer her over to the door and shove her through it. “Come back later, little sis. It’s resting time.”

  “But I don’t have anyone else to talk—”

  I close the door and lock it. Sighing, I flop back onto the bed and close my eyes. But it’s pointless now. Guilt is coursing through my body like I just pounded a triple-shot espresso. I can’t stop thinking about Appa’s tired eyes and Leah’s sweet face. If I could just debut already, it would all be worth it. They would be able to see that everything they’ve sacrificed for me—leaving jobs, leaving friends, leaving the States—wasn’t for nothing. Debuting would solve everything.

  My phone pings with a Kakao message. It’s from Yujin.

  Check your Instagram.

  Oh my god. My hands are shaking as I open the app on my phone. A video of me and Jason singing at Kwangtaek pops up at the top of my feed.

  It already has more than two hundred thousand likes.

  I keep scrolling through all the major K-pop fan and gossip Instagrammers that I follow, and it’s everywhere. Whatever Yujin did to leak it, it worked.

  And people are freaking out.

  I scroll through the comments, not daring to breathe.

  Is that Jason Lee’s yeochin?

  Her voice is amazing. They sound so good together!

  #FullMoonLoverReveal?

  OMG this song, I’m crying!

  Where can I download this??? I need it for my ringtone!

  My phone is buzzing nonstop with texts from the Cho twins and Akari (HOLY SHIT, Oh my god! Yujin is our hero!). My Instagram DM pings, and I see a message from Coach Sloat (Congrats, Rachel! Let me know if you and Jason ever want a private tennis lesson!). There’s a pounding at my door, and Leah cries, “Unni! Open the door right now! Is this really you?” But I can’t focus on any of it.

  I lie back in my bed and hold my phone against my chest, a huge smile spreading across my face. Any feeling of guilt I had earlier washes away as I watch the likes rack up and I let out a giddy scream.

  I did it. I freaking did it!

  I’m one step closer to my second chance.

  And I’m not going to let it pass me by.

  Eight

  Twelve pairs of eyes are locked on me, watching my every move. I straighten out my blazer and smooth out a little wrinkle at the top of my black skinny jeans. Today’s look is chic and professional—the model of a picture-perfect K-pop trainee—because that’s exactly how I need the DB execs to see me.

  Mr. Noh sits at the head of the long rectangular boardroom table, his face gleaming in the table’s shiny mahogany surface, his fingers steepled together beneath his chin. Yujin and I stand at the opposite end, posture perfect. Just a couple days ago, she was my co-conspirator. Today, it feels like she’s my lawyer.

  “The video that was leaked has gone viral,” Yujin explains. “People love hearing Jason and Rachel sing together. It’s the number one most-played video of the week on Instagram and already has over three million hits. There’s buzz around them. If Rachel does a duet with Jason, the buzz will only grow. We’re guaranteed success.”

  “Hold on a second.” An exec by the name of Mr. Lim holds up a hand. He’s even older and more critical than Mr. Noh, with wiry glasses perched on the edge of his crooked nose. “Are you suggesting we give Rachel another chance after she vomited on our star? Ms. Chung, with all due respect, I think you’re letting your personal feelings for the girl get in the way of your better judgment.”

  I maintain a straight face, reminding myself to let Yujin do the talking, just like we discussed.

  “Jason has clearly moved past it,” Yujin says, gesturing to her phone. “Perhaps it’s time that we did too.”

  “Time?” an exec named Ms. Shim says incredulously, the veins bulging out of her impossibly thin neck, her mouth twisted into what I assume is a permanent scowl. “It’s only been a couple of weeks. It’ll take a lot longer than that for Rachel to earn back our trust, if that’s even possible. That was the worst audition I’ve ever seen in all my years at DB.”

  Several of the other execs murmur in agreement. I clench my fists by my sides but stay silent. As much as I hate being talked about like I’m not even in the room, speaking without being spoken to is not an option for any K-pop trainee. Not even a viral one.

  Mr. Noh holds up a hand and everyone falls silent.

  “I think that’s enough for today. It’s clear the majority of you think that Rachel is… not ready,” he says. He sounds almost disappointed. “Does anyone have any closing remarks?”

  My body temperature skyrockets. What? No! I can’t let it end this way. Not when I’m so close. I can feel myself about to explode when Yujin touches my elbow gently. She gives me an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Don’t make it worse, she’s saying. You’re already on thin ice. My heart sinks. She’s right. Better to still be in the program and not be singing the duet than to get kicked out altogether. The plan has failed.

  I swallow everything—my tears, my pride, the last shred of my hope. I turn to follow Yujin out of the room when someone stands up abruptly.

  “Wait!” he says. We both turn around to see one of the execs—a younger man with a boyish face and freshly styled hair—holding up his phone. “I don’t think we can close this conversation without seeing the video in question. Mr. Noh, permission to connect my phone to the projector?”

  Mr. Noh pauses and then gives one terse nod. “Go ahead, Mr. Han.”

  Mr. Han glances over at me and gives me a small wink. What? Is he really trying to help me? A spark of hope reignites in my chest.

  He streams the video on his phone and casts it onto the projector, and suddenly sounds of Jason singing fill up the boardroom. Some of the execs’ faces soften in recognition at the familiar chords of the Chung Yuna classic. To my left, Ms. Shim sighs happily, a faraway smile on her face, her hands clasped to her chest, as Jason continues to sing on the camera. Is there anyone in the world who doesn’t have a soft spot for this boy?

  I hold my breath, waiting for my part. When I hear my own voice play back at me, I sneak a glance at Mr. Noh. His eyes are hidden behind his glasses, and as always, he’s tapping his fingers in time to the music. All the execs are. Some of them even start smiling and singing along. By the final chorus, I see Ms. Shim dab at her eyes. I crack a smile of my own. Tears! Always a good sign.

  The song ends and the video fades to black. Everyone claps and Mr. Han whistles. The hope in me is growing, but I don’t dare breathe comfortably yet. Was it enough?

  “I have to admit, that was quite lovely,” Ms. Shim says, almost begrudgingly.

  “And people love them together,” Mr. Han says, scrolling through his feed. “Social media is quite literally exploding over this performance.”

  “That may be true,” Mr. Lim says gruffly. “But it was never Rachel’s talent that was in question. We all know the girl can sing. But can she be professional? We’ve all seen the media training reports. Ca
n she perform in front of the cameras? Is she devoted to upholding the image of the DB family? That’s a completely different matter.”

  “That’s true,” Ms. Shim says. “We need her image to be spotless if she’s going to accompany Jason. And that display of hers at the audition was not exactly spotless.”

  “But why does it have to be spotless?” Mr. Han challenges. “We know their duet will be a big hit—we’ve already got the numbers to prove it. It’s a strategic business move. Not to mention, the audience these days is more interested in seeing authenticity over spotlessness. Like this video—they want to see real, relatable people exhibit raw talent and discipline. And Rachel has that. Plus, you only need to watch her sing to see she’s clearly gotten over her camera shyness.”

  My face burns at this last comment, but I don’t dare open my mouth.

  Truthfully, I can’t believe what I’m hearing. All K-pop executives, but especially DB, are known for being incredibly strict and set in their ways, accepting nothing less than a performer who will put the needs and wants of DB before anything else. Tradition over innovation. Rote perfection over authenticity. That is the K-pop way. But Mr. Han sounds like he sees things differently. I don’t really know what to make of it, but I find myself nodding along to everything he’s saying.

  “Rachel,” Mr. Noh says, speaking to me directly.

  I straighten up immediately. “Yes, Mr. Noh.”

  “Why should we give you a second chance?”

  My impulse is to look to Yujin, but I force myself to keep my eyes fixed on Mr. Noh. He only wants to hear from me right now. I take a deep breath, lifting my chin. “Because,” I say, “there’s no limit to how brightly I can shine. That video was just a taste. If you give me a second chance, I’ll work twice as hard and shine twice as bright. Give me three chances and it’ll triple. And I know there’s no one who can do this better than me.”