by Jessica Jung
* * *
Three hours later the excitement has worn off for both of us.
It was still dark outside when Leah and I left the apartment—a fact I hadn’t realized when she woke me up at 4:00 a.m. But, according to Leah, even when you have a guaranteed spot at a fan signing, you still have to wake up at the crack of dawn because it’s not enough just to be there. You have to be at the front of the line when you get there too.
There are already a handful of people in line by the time we get to Style Dome, and we settle in to wait, but Leah’s so tired she keeps nodding off and dropping her poster—a giant handmade one complete with a photo timeline of Jason’s journey from local Toronto YouTube singer to worldwide K-pop sensation and covered in glitter, pink washi tape, and handwritten notes.
“Here, let me hold that for you,” I say, taking the poster from her.
“Thanks, Unni.” She stifles a yawn, her eyelids drooping.
The line grows, winding down the block behind us, and I glance at my watch. Still an hour to go before the signing starts. “I’m gonna go get us some drinks at that café over there,” I say, pointing across the street. Maybe some sugar will get her energy up. “Be right back, okay?”
She nods, her eyes half-closed.
I sprint across the street, poster in hand. I take a quick scope around as I enter the café. The last thing I want is for Goo Kyungmi to pop up and snap a picture of me holding some Jason Lee fan poster. Luckily, the coast is clear. Just a few early birds drinking coffee and an employee mopping the floor.
I order an iced coffee for myself and a strawberry cream frappé for Leah. Just as I step to the side to wait for my order, someone in a hoodie runs by, knocking right into me. I slip on the freshly mopped floor, the poster falling from my hand as I reach out to balance myself on a nearby counter.
“Are you okay?” a voice says from behind. Wait. Not just any voice.
Turning my head up, I see Jason looking down at me. “Rachel?” he says incredulously, pushing down the hood of his sweatshirt.
“Hey.” I smile, trying to use my foot to slowly slide the poster behind me, but he’s too quick.
“Here, let me get that for you,” he says as he swoops down and picks it up. He flips it over, a huge cocky smile spreading across his face.
“Is that for me?” he says in delight. “Handmade by the Rachel Kim herself?”
This can’t be happening to me.
I grab the poster out of his hands, noticing a rip at the bottom of it. “I… it’s not—” I sputter, tripping over my tongue-tied words. “It’s my sister’s. She made it. And she’s here with me! I mean, I’m here with her. I wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want to come. It’s school break and I said I would.”
Oh god. Why can’t I stop talking?
“So yeah. Got it? Let’s just go through the points one more time so you really understand. The poster is my younger sister’s. I’m only here because of her, and now it’s ruined and she’s going to be so—”
“Order number seventeen!” the barista calls.
Saved by the barista. I turn my back on Jason and grab my drinks, tucking the poster under my arm.
Jason grins. “Well, I gotta get to the signing. I guess I’ll see you in line.” He winks and jogs out of the café.
I make my way back to the line and spot Leah surrounded by a group of girls. I’m smiling, thinking Leah has made some friends in line, but as I get closer, I see Leah’s arms are crossed and she looks like she’s about to cry. “If your sister’s really DB’s ‘best trainee’ like you’re always claiming, why did you have to come to a fansign to meet Jason Lee?” The group of girls around her bursts into a fit of giggles as Leah’s face turns a deep red. “Your sister’s probably the worst trainee they have—that’s why they keep her so far away from the real stars like Jason.”
I’m almost at the line, and I get a good look at the familiar heart-shaped face of one of the girls. My heart drops into my stomach. The girls from our apartment.
I march up to Leah, balancing the drinks in one hand and steering her forward with the other. With a smile I turn toward Heart Face. “The line is moving. You girls better get back to your place in the back of the line.”
She scowls at me but starts to walk away. Suddenly, she whips around, a sickly sweet smile on her face. “By the way, Leah, thanks so much for telling us about this fansign. It’s just too bad none of us wanted to go with you—although I might have reconsidered if I knew you didn’t have any other friends to invite and would have to bring your sister!” She throws her head back in laughter as she runs to catch up to the rest of her friends.
I look down at Leah and her crumpled, tearstained face. “Leah,” I say hesitantly, but she doesn’t look at me, instead forging ahead through the double doors of the Style Dome. I trail behind her, the weight of what just happened settling into my shoulders like a backpack filled with bricks. Leah was too young to have much of a social life in New York, but I know moving to Korea made things even harder. Everyone at school knows who Leah is because they know who I am—the rumored DB trainee, the future K-pop star. Half of them want nothing to do with her because of it (K-pop fame—really any kind of fame—is way too nouveau riche for some of the snobs at our school), and the other half only want to use her to get the latest K-pop gossip or peddle conspiracy theories about me.
I’m barely paying attention as the line pushes me forward into the Style Dome. But as I look up, Leah’s brush with her middle-school mean girls goes right out of my head. A huge glass-and-bamboo elevator cuts through the center of the store, which stretches up seven floors to a giant skylight. Each floor features a different color, from white on the first floor to black on the seventh. All around us, racks and racks of clothes are lined up in a perfect gradient from cream to pearl to ivory to blinding, fluorescent white so bright I can barely look at it.
I want to fling myself in it. All of it.
I’m so distracted that I don’t realize we’ve made it to the front of the line. A signing table has been set up right in front of the elevator, all silky off-white with mini pom-poms and Lucite chairs.
Minjun notices me first. He taps Jason on the shoulder. “You didn’t tell us your girlfriend was coming.”
Jason smiles just as wide, wiggling his fingers in a wave. “Why, hello there, loyal fans. Fancy seeing you here.”
Leah’s entire body is vibrating next to me, and she elbows me hard. I look down to see her face split into a grin so big I can practically see her molars. Looks like the mean girls are forgotten.
“Ouch,” I say, rubbing my side.
She ignores me. “Unni, quick, quick, give me the poster!” she says, grabbing at my arm.
“Um… about that…” I hold out the ripped poster, hanging my head. “I accidentally ripped it in the café. I’m really sorry, Leah.”
For a second her face falls. But then she smiles, squeezing my hand. “It’s okay, Unni. It was an accident. Besides”—she whips out a roll of washi tape from the pocket of her skirt and starts ripping off pieces—“I came prepared.”
She patches up the poster at lightning speed and eagerly slams it down on the table in front of Jason. “Jason oppa, this is for you. I wanted to show you how far you’ve come from your YouTube days and how you captivated the world with your singing and your glorious hair.” She presses her hands together under her chin and beams. “I’m your number one fan!”
Jason pores over every corner of the poster. “I love it,” he says in awe. “You even added a sticker of the Toronto Raptors! I need to take a photo with this.”
He pulls out his phone and snaps a selfie of him with the poster. Then he smiles and waves Leah over. “How about a selfie of the two of us?”
Leah gasps, pointing to herself. “A selfie? With me?!”
She scrambles behind the signing table and leans in next to Jason, holding up a finger heart as he snaps picture after picture of the two of them. I hang back, watching the scene. My
heart swells. I haven’t been able to give Leah much time since I started training to do this song with Jason, and she looks so happy right now—for that alone this trip was worth it.
Of course, it would be even better if I could take a look at some of these clothes while I’m here.
I’m about to slip away when Leah turns to me and says, “Unni, can I borrow your phone? I forgot mine this morning and I want some photos too!”
I hand her my phone and they take a few more pictures. I’m mortified as Leah starts calling out matching facial expressions (“Surprised face! Diva face! Now Jason Lee Number One Fan face!”). But Jason just does what she says, looking amused. Suddenly, he turns to me. “Hey, get in here. We should take a photo of the three of us.”
“Me? Oh no. No thanks. Nope.” I shake my head, hanging back farther. “This is Leah’s day.”
“I would love a photo of the three of us!” Leah squeals.
“See,” Jason says. “Leah wants a photo and it’s Leah’s day.”
She nods sagely. “He’s right. It’s Leah’s day and I’m Leah.” She runs over and grabs my arm, dragging me to stand between her and Jason. Jason passes my phone back to me and snaps a selfie on his own. Leah is cheesing, both her hands posed in finger hearts now. I smile as brightly as I can, but being this close to Jason is making my heart race. This was exactly what I was trying to avoid.
His arm is on mine and I sneak a glance at him, only to catch him looking right at me. He smiles. My stomach swoops.
Shit. Forget about heart racing; it’s practically flying out of my chest now. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Minjun smirking at us and I quickly look away from Jason.
“All right, that’s enough selfies!” I say a little too loudly.
“I’ll send them to you,” Jason says. “Let’s add each other’s numbers.” I hesitate, and he raises an eyebrow. “We should have each other’s numbers, don’t you think? We do work together.”
He has a point. Nevertheless, I roll my eyes at him as I unlock my phone and pass it over.
Behind us in line, a girl with green hair raises her voice. “You’re not the only ones who are here to see Jason, you know,” she says, clearly annoyed.
“Yeah, we want to meet him too!” a fan wearing a black NEXT BOYZ concert T-shirt chimes in.
Her friend, who’s wearing a matching T-shirt in white, catches my eye and squints at my face. “Wait, isn’t that Rachel Kim… from the video? She’s the one who was singing with Jason!”
“Oh my god it is,” Black T-shirt says. “Rachel, I love your voice!”
I blush, flattered. My first public recognition! “Thank y—”
“Can I get a picture with you and Jason?” White T-shirt asks.
“Wait, I want a photo too!” the girl with the green hair cries.
“Rachel, Rachel! We love you!” The crowd starts to swell forward, people screaming my name from all directions. I smile nervously, taking another step back behind the signing table and putting an arm around Leah.
“Is that bitch really Jason’s girlfriend?” another person yells.
“You’re not pretty enough to date him!” screams another.
Whoa. This was cool for about two seconds, but it’s getting overwhelming real fast. The crowd is pushing even closer around the signing table, hands grabbing out to touch us, when Jason jumps to his feet. “Hey, cool it, everyone! Step back!”
His words get swallowed up in the chaos. One girl gets close enough to rip Leah’s poster out of her hands. “Hey!” I yell, trying to pull it back—but it’s no use. People are everywhere.
Suddenly, the NEXT BOYZ’s security team rushes over, surrounding me and Leah as they guide us through the still-screaming crowd of fans. I look back at Jason, his face crumpled and distressed despite the throng of girls chanting his name, before walking through the Style Dome doors.
“That was so wild,” Leah says as we’re walking to the subway afterward, her face shining with excitement. “I can’t believe some girl stole my Jason Lee poster.”
“Aren’t you upset about that?”
“What? No! It was awesome! We started a fan riot at the signing!”
More like a feeding frenzy. I grab her hand. “Come on, Leah. Let’s go home.”
* * *
Later that night, I’m lying in my bed, trying and failing to focus on my botany text—there’s a big class trip to Jeju Island coming up, and only people with grades above a 90 will be going—when a Kakao message pings on my phone. It’s from someone named Sweet Coffee Boy.
Jason.
Part of me wants to delete the messages and put my phone down, but my hand has a mind of its own and instead I find myself with a big goofy smile on my face as I scroll through all the selfies he just sent me. There’s a ton of him and Leah and then a whole series of the three of us together.
For Leah’s next poster ;)
I smile to myself, excited to show her the pictures in the morning.
My messages ping again.
Oh and…
One more photo pops up. My breath catches. Our faces fill the screen. It’s a selfie he must have snapped right at the moment we were looking at each other, his lips quirked up in a smile, my lips parted in surprise to catch his eyes on mine. My finger hovers over the delete button on my phone. I know I shouldn’t keep this picture—what’s the point? What if someone saw it and thought something was going on between us when there is definitely nothing going on between us? It’s just not worth the risk. But then one last message appears on the screen.
This one’s just for you. Good night, Werewolf Girl.
My lips spread into a smile before I even realize it.
Eleven
Side step, hip pop, slide, and… No. Hip pop, slide, and side step right… or was it left?
I blow a strand of hair out of my face and glare at myself in the training room mirror. This is one of the easiest steps in the whole dance routine, so why am I having such a hard time with it?
The room is open to everybody for a block of free practice time every Friday afternoon. Usually I’m at school too late to make use of it, but the twins’ driver offered to drop me off on his way to taking Juhyun and Hyeri shopping in Gangnam. It’s crowded with trainees, including Mina, who’s hanging out in the back, gossiping with Eunji and Lizzie. I hear Mina’s loud laugh and look over my shoulder, catching her eye, but I quickly look away. I don’t want to interact with anyone today. I just want to nail this move.
I take it again from the beginning. I study my reflection in the mirror, but all I can see is Jaehyun, our lead dance trainer, scowling at me.
“All wrong,” he shrieked at me at our last practice. “How can you mess up such an easy move? I don’t understand what Yujin sees in you. Again!”
I kept my face stoic, refusing to let his voice be added to the symphony of harsh critiques that were playing on a loop in my head, instead starting again with as much energy as I could muster. He cut the music almost immediately.
“Nope. Wrong already. I can see you overthinking it before you’ve even taken a step. Start again.”
I took a deep breath, trying not to grit my teeth. But Jaehyun noticed the frustration on my face.
“Look, if this is too hard for you, go home,” he said, cutting the music again and storming over to me. “You think giving me attitude will make you a better dancer? Get your head out of your ass and try harder. If you can’t even get these dance steps, you’ll never get anywhere.”
I still can’t get his voice out of my head. It’s like some horrible carousel spinning around and around in my head—the more I fixate on it, the more I mess up, and the more I mess up, the more I keep fixating on it. I collapse on the floor, seething at my sweaty reflection. I see Mina watching me, but for some reason her expression isn’t as scornful as it usually is. She looks more annoyed and maybe a little bit… pitying?
I cover my face with my hands. I must look truly pathetic if even Mina feels sorry for me. It al
most looks like she’s about to walk over when the door to the practice room swings open.
The trainees all stare as Mr. Han walks in, and they immediately start whispering among themselves.
“What’s an exec doing in a training room during open practice?”
“I bet Mr. Noh sent him to do his dirty work.”
“Do you think he’s here to kick someone out?”
“Sumin is looking kind of sloppy these days.…”
Lizzie straightens up, twirling a strand of hair around her finger and batting her big double-lidded eyes in his direction. I can’t blame her. Compared to the rest of the execs, Mr. Han is like a Korean Chris Hemsworth. It would be hard to imagine him sitting around with a bunch of wrinkly old men in power suits if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.
He strides across the room—oblivious to the fact that half the room is talking about him and the other half is staring at him longingly—and stops right in front of me. I stiffen. Wait—am I the one he’s here for? The whispers stop as everyone watches us, not even bothering to pretend like they’re not eavesdropping.
“Hello, Rachel,” Mr. Han says cheerfully. He leans forward and lowers his voice. “You have a call from your mother in the main office.”
I balk. “Is everything okay?”
“Oh yes, everything is fine. It sounds like she just wants to check in on you and ask when you’ll be home for dinner.”
The room erupts into quiet giggles.
I don’t know which feeling is stronger at the moment: my need to leave the training room and never come back or my need to go to the main office and destroy their phone. Trainees aren’t allowed to have our phones on us while we’re on DB campus, so our parents call the office if they need to get ahold of us.
Not that anyone’s parents ever do. That’s like announcing to all of DB that your parents still treat you like a child. It’s bad enough I live at home and go to school when most of the other trainees my age live at the trainee house and train full-time. This is just what Mina and her minions need to torture me for weeks on end.
