by Axie Oh
“I don’t buy it.”
“Damn, Jenny. Maybe I like to hang out with you ’cause you don’t take my bullshit.”
I laugh, but I wish he’d just tell me. It can’t be just that I’m American. There are other kids from the US here. I’d like to think it’s because he just likes me—as a friend—but I don’t know, something about his attention seems pointed.
Yet if it’s not to make Sori jealous then why does he keep singling me out?
“Jaewoo-yah! What are you staring at?”
I look over to see Jaewoo’s head turn toward a girl who’s approaching him. Though I listen carefully, I can’t make out his response from across the room.
After class, everyone packs up and leaves quickly, presumably to get in the lunch line. When I look over, Jaewoo’s moving as fast as the rest of them, though for a different reason. According to Gi Taek’s recounting of XOXO’s schedule, he has a recording session to get to.
“See you later, Jenny,” Nathaniel calls as he rushes out.
I pack my things at a much slower pace. Honestly, I’m a little disappointed.
After separating to opposite sides of the room, Jaewoo and I spent the entire class apart. I know I said I’d “think” about being his friend, but seeing as he ignored me all class today, and I pretended to, what would that even mean?
It sucks watching him talk to other people when he won’t talk to me. I know it can’t be the same as it was in LA, but I miss how it felt that night, to have all his attention on me.
I resolve to talk to my counselor about switching out of dance class sooner rather than later.
Outside the studio, the hall is empty, all of the students having gone to lunch. As I make my way toward the elevator, a door to my left shifts slightly open.
“Psst,” a voice calls out.
I approach the door slowly. “Jaewoo?” I ask in surprise. It’s definitely him, though his hood is up and his face is in shadows. “What are you doing?”
“Is there anyone in the hall?” he asks.
I glance around. “No.”
“Good.” He grabs my hand and pulls me in.
Sixteen
“First a stairwell, now a broom closet.”
“If you’re thinking of small places we’ve been in,” Jaewoo says, a hint of mischief in his voice, “the stairwell wasn’t the first.”
His reference to the picture booth, and that moment inside, makes my stomach do all kinds of twists and turns.
“I still have that sticker photo,” I say.
“Oh, yeah?” He leans back, not quite touching the rack of cleaning supplies behind him. The closet is so small that if I were to spread my arms, I could touch the door and the back wall. “Do you have it with you? Right now?” His eyes drop, then slowly move upward. It’s obvious that if I had that picture, it would be in my backpack, not on my person. Is this an excuse to check me out?
Normally I would be thrilled if it were, except that I’m wearing my decidedly uncute PE clothes.
Not like him. Dressed to impress, even in sweats. Speaking of which . . .
“Don’t you have a recording to go to?” I ask.
He frowns, clearly confused, then says, “Oh, Nathaniel told you.”
Sure.
“I have some time. Our performance isn’t until the end of the show, so technically we don’t have to be there until then.”
“I see.”
“Still, it’s polite to get there early and stay the whole time.”
Meaning, he really should be there, but chose to stay here longer, with me.
My heart swells in my chest, which is not exactly helpful when I’m trying to keep a level head. Concentrate, Jenny. Don’t let the cute boy’s words distract you from the times he’s brushed you off in the past.
Outside in the hall, voices approach. We both listen carefully until the voices grow distant, disappearing altogether.
“I wanted to talk to you,” Jaewoo says, “about Nathaniel.”
I blink, surprised. “What about him?”
“Stay away from him.”
I cross my arms. High-handed, much?
He hurries to explain. “Last fall, a tabloid released an article about Nathaniel, that he was dating someone . . .”
“I know,” I say. “He told me about it.”
“He did?” Jaewoo looks surprised. “Did he give any details?”
“Just that the other person involved was Sori.”
Jaewoo sighs. “It came at a bad time. We were only six months out from our debut, preparing to release “Don’t Look Back.” Then we got the news that Bulletin dropped that bomb. We had to cancel shows, interviews. Of course it was the worst for Nathaniel. Not only was he forced to break up with his girlfriend, but he stopped getting invited to do solo activities, and his SNS accounts were flooded with hate comments.”
It’s hard to imagine anyone getting upset enough at another person for dating and openly attacking them for it on their social media profiles. Especially Nathaniel, who’s so friendly and easygoing.
“Honestly, I don’t know how he does it,” Jaewoo says. “He claims none of it matters, but it can’t be easy.”
“And Sori?” I ask. “What was the fallout like on her side.”
“Luckily her mother is the CEO of Joah Entertainment, and she was able to force the tabloids to blur out Sori’s face in the photographs. There were some rumors at school . . . but that’s it.”
Well, not exactly. Even if her character wasn’t attacked by trolls on the internet, people like Jina, and I’m sure others, bully her at school. I’ve also only ever seen her alone.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll try to stay away from Nathaniel. For his sake,” I clarify. “Not because you told me to. I don’t want to get him into trouble.”
I can see now that Jaewoo, unlike Nathaniel, is very careful with his public image, talking to everyone equally and not singling anyone out for special attention. Nathaniel is the complete opposite. He really doesn’t care.
“It’s not just out of concern for Nathaniel,” Jaewoo says.
Even with only the dim light of the bulb above us, I can see the high color in his cheeks.
“I don’t want you to be friends with him,” he says. “Not in the way you’re friends with me.”
It takes me a moment to realize . . .
He’s jealous.
“I meant everything I said.” He looks down, unable to meet my eyes. “But my motives aren’t entirely selfless.”
In the distance, a bell rings, signaling that lunch has officially started.
“We should go,” Jaewoo says, but neither of us moves.
I wonder if he sees the irony that in order to warn me away from a potential scandal with Nathaniel, he’s pulling me into stairwells and closets. But of course I’m not going to point that out to him.
A lock of his hair has fallen forward and I reach up, my fingers sweeping slowly across his brow.
“Jenny . . .” His eyes are heavy-lidded, his lips parted. As he moves closer to me, I grab onto the front of his hoodie, clutching it. Just as my eyes flutter closed, the door swings open.
Seventeen
Youngmin stands outside the door, his eyes trailing from me to Jaewoo. “Why are you in the broom closet with Jenny-nuna?”
I’m frozen in place, wondering how I must appear with my face flushed. I quickly let go of Jaewoo’s hoodie. Luckily Youngmin doesn’t seem to notice the movement, his eyes on Jaewoo.
“Why do you think we’re in here?” Jaewoo says.
Oh boy. He’s stalling.
“Were you looking for something? I saw the light was on. Though . . .” He frowns. “That doesn’t explain why the door was clo—”
“You dyed your hair!” I interrupt, pointing to Youngmin’s head. His hair, which was blue yesterday, is now fire-truck red. “It looks good!”
My distraction seems to work because Youngmin beams. “Thank you! Our manager says I’m the only one in the band who ca
n really pull it off. He sent me to get you, Jaewoo-hyeong. We were supposed to have left for EBC fifteen minutes ago.”
“Oh, right,” Jaewoo says. “We shouldn’t keep him waiting.”
I wonder if Jaewoo and I will ever acknowledge what almost took place in the broom closet, or if, like before, we’re going to pretend it never happened.
“Hyeong,” Youngmin says, hesitating, “that ajeossi is outside again.”
It’s like these words flip a switch inside Jaewoo because his whole demeanor changes.
With jerky movements, he takes out his phone, quickly tapping against the screen, then holding it to his ear. Catching my eye, he explains, “I’m calling campus security. Hello?” Someone must have picked up on the other line. “There’s a suspicious adult, male, mid-forties, hanging around the arts department.” He holds his hand to the receiver. “Which side?” he asks Youngmin.
“East side,” Youngmin tells him, and Jaewoo repeats it to the operator.
“Thank you.” He hangs up. “Don’t worry, Youngmin-ah. They’ll get rid of him.”
We start walking, Jaewoo at the front, flanked by Youngmin and me. Tension radiates from Jaewoo in waves. Something about the appearance of this man has really ticked him off.
“Who is he?” I ask Youngmin.
“A paparazzi ajeossi,” Youngmin explains. “He’s the one who sold the story of Nathaniel and Sori to Bulletin.”
Jaewoo’s anger suddenly makes a lot more sense. This is the man who hurt his group member, his label-mate and friend. With him, it’s personal.
“Do you get followed by paparazzi a lot?” I ask.
Youngmin wrinkles his nose. “Not really. Though sometimes they wait for us outside the company . . .”
“That’s different,” Jaewoo says, and his usually even-toned voice has an edge to it. “At concerts, at fan events, even in places where there isn’t a designated media zone like outside Joah’s building or the broadcasting stations, media are expected, even invited. But at our school? Outside our dorm? At the homes of our families? That’s not right.
“When our fans take photos of us it’s because they want to feel close to us, they support us and have our best interests at heart. Paparazzi just want money; they want to expose our private lives for profit.”
“People have even gotten hurt,” Youngmin says. “There have been cases where idols have gotten into car crashes trying to get away from paparazzi.”
“Wow, that’s awful.”
We reach a hallway that splits in two directions. Jaewoo finally stops and turns to me. “Youngmin and I will go out the east side. If you follow this hall it’ll take you out the north exit. Follow the garden path to the cafeteria.”
I feel like we’re in a war film and he’s drawing the fire. It’s a similar feeling to how I felt that night in LA, when an unmarked van had pulled up to the curb to take him away.
“The paparazzi ajeossi should be gone by now,” Jaewoo says, and I know he says it to reassure me.
They both wait for me to leave first. “Good luck on your live show,” I say. “I’ll be sure to watch.”
Youngmin holds up his thumb and pointer finger, pressing the pads together and crossing them slightly until they form the shape of a tiny heart.
“If you see me making this sign to the camera, know that it’s for you!”
Later that night, Angela, Gi Taek, and I watch XOXO’s performance on Top Ten Live in a small restaurant right off campus that sells Korean food at cheap prices. We split a plate of tteok-bokki between us as we wait for our other dishes to arrive.
Gi Taek spears a cylinder of the spicy rice cake with a toothpick. “Don’t let me eat more than three. I’m on a diet.”
“How can you stop at three?” Angela exclaims. “I could eat a whole mountain of tteok-bokki.” She’s foregone the toothpicks in favor of chopsticks for easier access.
I rest my chin on my hand and watch the entirety of XOXO’s performance, noticing details I hadn’t picked out the first time around. Like how even the choreography tells a story. As the camera pans closer to the performers, Youngmin flashes the heart sign to the camera.
“That’s not usually part of the routine,” Angela says. “How cute!”
A jingle above the door signals the entrance of another customer. I’m surprised to see though that it’s Sori who steps through the door. Without so much as a glance in our direction, she walks over to the counter, places her order, and takes a seat at a table a little way down from us.
Angela leans across the table and whispers, “Should we invite her to join us?”
Gi Taek shakes his head. “She’d never say yes.”
The restaurant owner calls out our order and Angela dashes from the table, coming back with a plate of kimchi fried rice. We dig in with our spoons.
“What are your plans for the weekend?” Gi Taek asks us. He’s far surpassed three tteok-bokki by now.
“I’m going to visit my halmeoni on Sunday morning,” I say.
“Where does your halmeoni live?” Gi Taek asks.
“She lives near Gyeongbokgung Palace, but I’m actually visiting her at the health clinic where she stays on the weekends. It’s also around there, though a few stops away on line three.”
“That’s not far from Ikseon-dong,” Gi Taek says. “My sister lives in the neighborhood. There are a lot of cool cafés nearby. We should hang out.”
“I’m in!” Angela says.
“I’d love that,” I say.
We make plans to meet on Sunday in the late afternoon after I visit my grandma.
The bells above the door chime again. This time Jina enters, accompanied by a few of her friends.
She glances over at our table, then says something to the boy behind her, who laughs.
“She’s in your class, isn’t she?” Gi Taek asks. “Kim Jina?”
“She is. She’s also in our PE class,” I say, nodding at Angela. “Do you know her?”
“I went to middle school with her. She doesn’t exactly have a great reputation, like there were rumors of school bullying.”
Angela and I exchange a look. Why am I not surprised?
After ordering at the counter, her group completely ignores our table; they have a more vulnerable target in mind.
They take seats at the table directly next to Sori’s, talking loudly to one another. Their voices carry throughout the small restaurant:
“She’s sitting alone.”
“Doesn’t she have any friends?”
“What a loser.”
Sori, who’d ordered a hot noodle dish, bends slightly forward, her hair falling over her face.
The restaurant owner calls out that the last food items we ordered are ready. Gi Taek, Angela, and I all stand at once. There are three plates of food on trays and we each take one.
We form a line, with me in the front, and head through the restaurant, bypassing our table, where we’d already cleaned up the food on our dishes.
We set our trays down at Sori’s table. I sit opposite her, while Gi Taek and Angela sit beside us.
And then we proceed to completely ignore her, continuing our chat. At one point, I think Sori might get up and flee, her spoon hovering in the air. But then she resumes eating.
We stay—eating and gossiping and joking and laughing—until she’s finished her meal.
Eighteen
I think I have a handle on my classes and schedule by the end of the week. After the ten minutes of homeroom, I have math or computer in the mornings, followed by study hall where I take my LACHSA courses online, then either PE or dance—which I’ve decided to stick with for now, since besides homeroom, it’s the only class I have with Jaewoo. Then after lunch follows orchestra, individual practice, and more study hall.
Though I’m wondering if it was a mistake to stay in dance for that reason, when it’s not like Jaewoo and I ever speak to each other, both of us adhering to the whole “secret friends” policy.
I just wish it was e
asy for me as it clearly is for him. Maybe having secret friendships is part of an idol’s training, like that whole list Angela went over: dancing, singing, and learning how to ignore a specific girl all day long only to pull her into a broom closet and almost kiss her.
It seems effortless for him to pretend I don’t exist while my eyes are pulled in his direction constantly. Even my thoughts won’t give me a break. What did that moment in the closet mean, if it meant anything at all? I’m just so confused.
It’s honestly a relief when the weekend finally comes around.
I spend Friday emailing back and forth with my world English teacher, who assigns me excerpts from the Norton Anthology of World Masterpieces, which I purchase online as an e-book. When I notice that there aren’t any Korean authors or poets listed in the syllabus, I email to ask if I can supplement a few for extra credit, and he emails back with an enthusiastic “go for it.” Riding that high, I text Eunbi about my portfolio for music schools.
Sunday morning, I grab my dad’s ratty old Dodgers cap and my cello already packed in its travel case, then hop onto the subway, transferring once to the orange line and taking that all the way to my grandma’s clinic located in the northern part of Seoul.
Outside the station, I breathe in the crisp mountain air. Ice from the night before still lingers on the streets, and I’m careful as I make my way past a small neighborhood market putting up its produce stand for the day and a bakery with freshly baked loaves of bread in the window. Backtracking, I purchase one. The friendly shopgirl wraps the loaf in brown paper, slipping a wildflower beneath the twine.
My grandmother’s clinic is tucked right off the main road in a place called Camellia Health Village, which is comprised of several small health-care facilities with different specializations. The village surrounds a beautiful private park full of gardens and walking paths. Before heading to Halmeoni’s clinic, I stop and watch a young boy and his grandfather fly a kite on the lawn.
This place is so peaceful. The path to the clinic is lined with cherry trees that even now have small buds upon their branches. In less than a month’s time they’ll be in full bloom.
