by Jessica Jung
The room is silent. Mr. Noh leans back in his seat, his mirrored eyes boring into mine. I hold his gaze, standing tall. He nods in approval, a small smile playing on his face.
“Meeting dismissed,” he says.
I blink as the execs gather up their things. I glance at Mr. Han and then at Yujin, who both look just as confused as me.
“Wait!” I cry as Mr. Noh heads for the door. I realize I’m breaking all kinds of rules by addressing him, but I need to know. He turns, raising an eyebrow. “Does this mean I’m doing the duet with Jason?”
A wide smile spreads across his face. There’s a calculating tilt to it that makes goose bumps rise on my arms.
“Yes, Rachel,” he says. “You’ll be singing with Jason. But it won’t be a duet. It will be a trio. You, Jason… and Mina.”
A trio. I’m singing with Jason and Mina.
“Oh, and, Ms. Kim.”
My head snaps up. “Yes, Mr. Noh.”
He eyes turn steely and sharp, and he looks right at me. “I’m not in the habit of giving third chances. No matter how brightly you shine.”
* * *
On my way home, I nearly skip off the bus, stopping by Dunkin’ Donuts to pick up a treat for Leah. I get a box of glazed doughnuts and a strawberry banana smoothie, her favorite.
I feel like I’m in a dream, one that I don’t want to wake up from. I’m singing with Jason. I, Rachel Kim, am singing with Jason Lee! There’s a huge grin on my face, dampened only a little by the fact that Mina will also be singing with us. She wasn’t a part of my original equation.…
Whatever. That’s a problem for tomorrow.
I race up to the apartment. “Leah!” I yell as soon as I’m through the door. I kick off my shoes. “Unni’s home and I have your two favorite things. Snacks and gossip!”
I step into the living room and come to a sudden halt. Umma is sitting on the couch, her phone clasped in her hand so tightly, her knuckles are white. She narrows her eyes at me, her lips pressed into a hard line.
“Umma,” I say hesitantly, “you’re home early.” The look on her face makes my stomach churn. A thought flicks through my mind. Something’s happened with Appa. She’s found out about his law classes and she’s angry we’ve been keeping it a secret. I scramble for the words to explain, but she speaks first, her voice completely flat.
“Do you want to tell me what this is?” she says, holding up her phone.
I walk forward slowly, Leah’s smoothie sweating in my hand. A video is playing on Umma’s phone. Not just any video. A video of me.
And it’s not the one that just went viral.
It’s me at the trainee house party, clothes so drenched in what can only be alcohol and sweat that you can see my bra straight through my tank top. I’m totally out of it, laughing at nothing and dancing on the table with a champagne bottle in one hand and a bright-green Tupperware in the other. I notice Umma’s eyes narrow in on the container as Lizzie and Eunji egg me on in the background of the video, whistling and hooting. God. I can’t even call it dancing. I’m flailing my arms and legs and making a total fool of myself. I have no memories of this at all. What the fuck did Mina put in that drink?
I flash back to the party. To falling asleep on the couch and seeing Mina from across the room, her phone pointed directly at me. I gulp, my throat so tight I can barely speak.
“Umma, where—”
“Someone texted me this video today,” she says quietly, her eyes burning.
I swallow hard. I should have known Mina wouldn’t stop at just drugging me and ruining my audition. I open my mouth to say something, but Umma holds up her hand. “Before you try to explain yourself. Just tell me. Is this the trainee house?”
I stare down at the floor, completely silent. I nod once.
“And did I or did I not tell you that you are not allowed to go to the trainee house?”
“You did tell me,” I whisper, my voice raw.
“So you lied to me when you said you were going to study with the Cho twins. And then you went to a place I explicitly told you not to go. And then you got out-of-your-mind drunk and put on a strip show in front of your good-for-nothing K-pop friends?”
I look up, tears in my eyes. “Umma, please, it’s not what you think it is.”
“Why are you crying?” she snaps, raising her voice. I cower back. I’ve never seen her so mad before. “What have you done to deserve to cry? Tears are for the sorrowful, but you’re not even sorry.”
“I am!” I cry. “I am so sorry for lying. And I’m sorry that you had to find out this way. I never even imagined—”
“What do you think your father will say when he sees this? He’s going to be heartbroken.” She shakes her head, her voice catching. “I knew this K-pop world would be a bad influence. It’s poisoning you.”
“It’s not,” I insist. Tears are streaming down my face now. I desperately try to wipe them away, but I can’t get them to stop. “Please, Umma, just let me explain.”
“When did my daughter become such a disgrace? How can you live with yourself like this? Huh, Rachel? You’re out of control!”
In the midst of my guilt and regret, I feel another emotion swell to the surface. Anger. Can’t she even give me a moment to explain myself? She’s supposed to be my mother. She’s supposed to be on my side.
“Well, maybe I wouldn’t have had to lie if you tried to be supportive for once! The whole reason we moved here was so I could train, but you act like it’s just some hobby I’ve had for the last six years.” I explode. “You think I wanted to sneak out behind your back? I had to do it because of you and your rules. I had to give myself a fighting chance at being noticed by the execs. And I succeeded, by the way. Most parents would be proud that their daughter is going to be singing with Jason Lee in his next single.” I stop abruptly, out of breath.
A look of surprise crosses her face. “You got the duet?”
“It’s not a duet anymore, but yes.” I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. “I did.”
“Well… congratulations, Rachel. I know how badly you wanted that.” She stiffens. “But it doesn’t change what you had to do to get it. This industry is toxic.”
“It’s not toxic, Umma. It’s competitive. It only accepts the best from people.”
Umma lets out a disbelieving laugh in one short breath. “The best from people?” She holds up her phone. “So this is your best? You, drunk and making a spectacle of yourself in front of everyone you train with?”
My face burns with embarrassment, and when I open my mouth, nothing comes out. I want to tell her about what Mina did, about why I was so drunk in that video—but it would only make her think that she’s right. And she’s not. Not about this.
Umma’s glare is unforgiving and her voice is hard and clipped. “I let this go on for far too long. I won’t have you be a part of this anymore. Not when training makes you act this way.”
She turns her back on me, walking out of the living room. I stare at her in disbelief. Is she seriously going to end things like this?
I storm after her into the kitchen.
“What do you mean you won’t have me be a part of this? Didn’t you hear me? I’m singing with Jason Lee. Right before the DB Family Tour in the fall. This is just how DB debuted Electric Flower almost seven years ago, Umma. It means everything I’ve worked so hard for over the last six years is about to happen. It means they’re going to debut me.” I’m begging now, all the anger slowly ebbing out of my voice. I’m desperate for her to see me, for her to believe in me—and maybe even a little desperate for me to fully believe in what I’m saying too.
“Please, Umma. Please. I’m so close.”
She says nothing as she grabs an onion out of the fridge and starts chopping away at it. The onion fumes mingle with my rising panic, and tears start streaming down my face. I can’t hold back my sobs as Umma turns to face me. Her posture is still rigid, but her eyes are no longer snapping with anger—instead, she almost lo
oks sad. “Rachel,” Umma says, “there are so many things you just don’t understand. That you just can’t understand at seventeen.” She sighs. “But you are my daughter. Which means you need to try. So, sing this song with Jason and see where it goes.”
Just as my shoulders start to relax, she holds up a finger.
“But,” she says, her tone final, “you said it yourself. If you haven’t debuted by the time the family tour starts, I’m pulling you from DB. End of discussion.”
She abandons her half-cut onion on the kitchen counter and walks into her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her. I collapse into a chair, Leah’s smoothie and doughnuts wilting on the table. How did I go from feeling on top of the world to crashing headfirst into rock bottom in just a few hours? I choke out another sob. This song with Jason and Mina isn’t just the next step on the way to debuting anymore. It is the only step. If it doesn’t work, everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve been dreaming of… is over.
Nine
Whoever said exercise gives you endorphins had clearly never been a K-pop trainee.
“Maybe you should take a break, Unni. You look miserable—and you’re going to give yourself premature forehead wrinkles.”
Leah sits cross-legged on my bed, snacking on a bag of honey butter chips. I guess there’s one Kim sister who shares Korea’s obsession with turning salty snacks into sweet ones.
I frown at her in the wall mirror and lean forward to inspect my reflection, smoothing my hand across my forehead. “What wrinkles?”
“They come with your ‘I’m so stressed I look like I haven’t pooped in three days’ face.” She tosses a chip into the air and catches it in her mouth. “Basically, the way you’ve looked since your trio training with Mina started. You really should relax.”
She waves her bag of chips under my nose, but I grimace at the smell.
She’s not wrong, though. It’s been a week since my showdown with Mr. Noh, and things are crazier than ever before. There are constant weigh-ins and interview drills and nonstop cardio. I’m waking up at 4:00 a.m. every morning to make it to DB by sunrise, training all day, and falling into bed around midnight—only to get back up and do it all again the next day.
It’s still only on weekends, but I’m not about to try to renegotiate my training schedule with Umma. Things are tense enough between us as it is; we’ve barely spoken since her ultimatum. The days keep ticking away until the start of the DB Family Tour and the new girl-group debut, so I can’t rest. Not even for a second.
Luckily, Leah’s here during the week to whip me into shape. And she’s almost as strict as the DB trainers.
“Do it again, Rachel,” she says as I get back into formation. “From the top.”
Leah hits play on her phone. My muscles scream in pain as I go through the dance routine for what feels like the hundredth time that night, stopping only to watch video playbacks from my rehearsals with Mina. There’s this one move in the second verse that I keep messing up, and the trainers’ constant critiques play in a loop in my head:
You’re never going to debut if you can’t get this move right, Rachel!
You’re dancing is a disgrace to DB, Rachel!
Your dancing looks like an elephant in a zoo, Rachel!
Rachel!
I practice so late that Leah falls asleep on my bed, honey butter crumbs dusting her chin, and my own eyes start to droop. I tuck a blanket over her and reach for the empty bag of chips to toss it. There’s still one honey butter chip inside. I’m so hungry that even this sugary potato chip seems appealing to me right now.
No. I shouldn’t. DB weighs us almost every day. And Mina and I are being fitted for our music-video outfits tomorrow.
I kind of freaked out when Yujin told me there was going to be a music video. The trainers with their constant critiques are like a horde of bees swimming around in my head, and I know the execs are going to be watching me like a hawk that day, seeing how I handle being up close and personal with the cameras for an entire shoot. But then she softened the blow with the news that we’d all be getting custom outfits for the video. And a whole day of trying on clothes? Definitely worth it. Now I just need to ensure the execs can’t make a single complaint about my body.
I sigh, toss the chip bag in my trash bin, and then press play on Leah’s phone one more time.
* * *
“Ai-yah! Look at your stomach. Like a cow. Take that off immediately.”
I’m struggling to breathe in this purple sequined corset. It pinches around my waist so tight that it physically hurts to suck my tummy in enough to keep the whole thing from popping off.
“Too bad,” the stylist, Grace, says, undoing the corset fastenings while her team of underlings helps me step out of my skirt—a lavender leather nightmare with a huge tulle train bursting from the back. “I was really hoping the mermaid concept would work. Next.”
Thank god.
She pulls me into a Twiggy-esque orange checkered dress with dramatic bell sleeves, then steps back and grimaces, twirling her finger in the air for the next outfit.
A white leather jacket with matching high-waisted snakeskin shorts.
A golden yellow romper with ruffled shoulders that nearly fan up to my ears.
A floral jumpsuit with a chunky silver belt and sheer lace sleeves that make my arms itch.
Being a Barbie doll isn’t as much fun as I’d imagined it would be. I’m in each outfit for less than ten seconds before Grace signals for the next one. Mina is going through the same wardrobe fitting to my left, her face pinched as people zip her up on all sides in a pink latex dress. God, she looks like bubble gum. It would almost be funny if they weren’t about to dress me in the exact same thing.
“You know, it’s so rare to find someone who looks washed out in every color she tries,” Mina says, glancing in my direction. “I almost didn’t see you there. You blend right into the wall.”
I catch one of Grace’s assistants smirking in my direction, eyebrows raised. My face burns, but I don’t back down. I can’t. Not when I know there isn’t anything Mina wouldn’t do to keep me from succeeding.
“Luckily, the people who matter do see me; otherwise they wouldn’t have decided you couldn’t handle singing with Jason on your own,” I say smoothly.
That earns me more than a few snickers from the room, and Mina’s mouth drops open in fury. But before she can snap back, Grace swoops in, pulling a tiered black fringe dress from the clothing racks.
“Let’s try this flapper-girl look,” she says. I step into the dress as she plonks a pearl-encrusted headpiece on top of my hair. She circles around me, tweaking the fringe and scratching her chin. “All right. I can see it. I can see it.” She snaps her fingers at one of the wardrobe fitters. “Mark this one down as a maybe. And let’s get Rachel to try on some shoes.”
Just then Heejin, one of our trainers, whisks into the room, iPad and a bottle of barley tea in hand.
“Rachel, Mina, get over here for your weigh-in,” she says briskly. “And quickly. I don’t have all day.”
The fitting team helps me out of my dress so I can get weighed in just my bra and underwear. I walk over to the scale, where Heejin is waiting for me, Mina following closely behind.
“After you, Princess Rachel,” Mina says with an overexaggerated arm flourish.
Ignoring her, I step onto the scale. Heejin squats down next to the calculating number, watching closely with her pen poised over her iPad.
The number pops up and I’m… twelve pounds heavier than last week?
What the hell!? That can’t be possible!
My jaw drops and I sputter, “I… this is… the scale must be broken.”
“What is happening here, Rachel?” Heejin says, whipping her head to look at me in disbelief. “You know I have to report a weight gain this huge to Mr. Noh! There’s no way you’ll be allowed to continue with the trio. What did you even do to gain twelve pounds in a week?!”
Mina snickers behin
d me, and I turn around just in time to see her lift her foot off the back of the scale. I narrow my eyes.
Mina. Of course she was stepping on the scale as I was being weighed to make me look even heavier. This is a new level of petty. My body feels ready to burst with rage. “Pretty pathetic attempt at sabotage, Mina. Seems like you’ve lost your nerve,” I say in a low voice.
“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean, Princess,” she replies, her voice sweet but her eyes glinting with hatred.
“All I have to do is tell Yujin what you did to me, and you’ll be kicked out of DB forever.”
Mina smiles indulgently. “You mean all you have to do is admit to Yujin that her perfect, perfectly behaved Princess Rachel went to a party at the trainee house and—gasp!—got drunk?”
“I didn’t ‘get drunk,’ Mina. You put something in my drink! You drugged me! You and the other trainees did it on purpose so I wouldn’t—”
“That’s a great story, Rachel,” Mina cuts in over me, “but I’d love to see you prove it.” She smirks at me for a moment, and when I don’t reply, she walks away.
I want to storm after her, but there’s no point. She’s right. I could never prove it, and even if I could, what good would it do me? I would have to admit that I was at a party and that I was drinking. I would lose my spot singing with Jason, and if that video ever came out, I would probably get kicked out of DB altogether.
Instead I turn back to Heejin with gritted teeth. “Please let me try one more time,” I ask. “There was obviously a mistake.”
Heejin sighs, irritated. “Hurry up, then.”
I step off the scale, pause for a second, and then weigh myself again, shooting a death glare behind me to make sure Mina isn’t joining me this time. The number that pops up on the screen is the same as last week. I breathe a sigh of relief, and Heejin nods, satisfied.
