Idol Star School: A Dark Bully Romance (Idol High School Book 1)

by Nara Noelle

  As soon as I stepped into the audition room, which was an auditorium with rows of empty seats and cameras surrounding the stage, I realized I’d been naïve to assume that the judges wouldn’t fuss over my style. Ugh. Who was I kidding? There was a reason that girls had crushes on fresh-faced pop stars and not middle-aged opera singers.

  There were four judges. Doc, a small man with a short mohawk who wore highlighter-green skinny jeans and was Pluto’s in-house record producer. Vik, the main choreographer for the agency whose purple eyeliner matched the shade of his hair. Then there was Eugene, a renowned voice coach with the build and facial hair of Pavarotti. Last but not least was Sammy, the twenty-year-old leader of STAR, aka the hottest boy band in the world.

  Though they had nameplates in front of them, I’d done enough background research to instantly recognize them by their faces. While I was relieved to discover Rye was nowhere to be seen, my shoulders tensed up as the four judges eyed me up and down.

  “Hello,” I said, grinning like a lottery winner. If only I had an alluring million-dollar smile to charm them with.

  “Hi,” Vik, Doc, and Eugene said flatly.

  Meanwhile, Sammy kept his lips pressed together and scowled at me. The dude was an expert in intimidating people. Whenever I saw him on billboards or through a screen, I’d always been enamored by his rugged good looks—sun-kissed skin with dark-brown curls, a chiseled jawline, and impossibly broad shoulders. However, as I peered at him now, my heart dropped lower and lower with each passing second. Could he tell that I had a huge secret? Or was he judging me for thinking I could pull off such ridiculous pants when I looked nothing like the typical teenage heartthrob?

  “Could you introduce yourself to us?” Vik asked.

  “Um, my name is Hamin.” I took a gulp. “I’m a seventeen-year-old from—”

  He released an exasperated sigh, then interjected, “Could you share your main talent with us? As much as I’d love to hear your entire life story, there aren’t enough hours in the day, you know?”

  “Well, I can sing and dance. I’d say the latter is kind of my forte,” I replied. In all honesty, no aspect of being a pop star could’ve been considered my forte.

  Vik and Doc arched their eyebrows at each other.

  “Alright, Hamin. Show us what you’ve got then!” Eugene called out.

  My song of choice was “U Can’t Touch This” by MC Hammer, purely because I had memories of dancing to it with Domin and figured I could make up for my lack of technical skills by giving everyone a good laugh. When the music came on, I bobbed my head.

  “My-my-my-my music makes me so hard, makes me say, ‘Oh my Lord,’” I sang as I moved my legs to the beat.

  Sammy muttered something. Though I couldn’t hear what those words were, I could tell by his expression that he was less than impressed. Although I hadn’t quite mastered the moves, I jumped around with utmost enthusiasm as if everything was going according to plan. To my surprise, nobody stopped me. Since Domin used to complain about only performing for twenty to thirty seconds before being cut off at auditions, the truth was, I’d only prepared a minute’s worth of dance moves. Consequently, I ended up making up my own little turns and shimmies and adding them in between.

  “Stop! Hammer time!” I chanted as I jumped off the stage. Although my baseball cap had fallen off my head, exposing my splotchy red hair, I bounced over to the judges as if I were having the time of my life. God, if I’d known I was going to be this much of a mess, I would’ve taken a couple of shots beforehand.

  “They let anyone audition for this program, didn’t they?” Sammy groaned.

  On the other hand, Doc and Eugene were both cracking up. I swear Doc even wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. So I took this as a green light and hopped onto the table in front of them.

  “Get me out of here, you can’t touch this,” I sang as I spun around, my ass a mere few inches away from Sammy’s face.

  Once the song ended, I stepped back onto the ground and did an outlandishly theatrical bow. Though I’d ordinarily never put myself out there in such a way, when I pictured Domin in his hospital bed, every last ounce of embarrassment inside of me vanished.

  “You know, Hamin, you don’t hold a candle to any of the other applicants we’ve seen today,” Doc said.

  Well, shit. I guess they didn’t appreciate the humor. I bowed my head down and nodded solemnly. After a few seconds of silence, I peered up at him and was surprised to see a somewhat sympathetic smile on his face. Hold up. Did he pity me?

  “Yet I get the feeling you’re going to be the one I actually remember, one week from now,” he added.

  I wasn’t sure if I should thank Doc. Sammy’s sneer suggested I was about to be roasted.

  Doc tilted his head curiously. “You see, most of the boys who auditioned before you sang the same couple of hits from STAR and other artists from Pluto. No joke, I can count the number of songs that were performed today with my two hands. I presume they wanted to pay me a compliment in the hopes of scoring brownie points. But that definitely backfired. It got so predictable that I was starting to wonder if I was brought here to do a quality-control check on factory-manufactured clones. What I’m trying to say is, you’re different.”

  “I totally agree. Who’s going to get hooked on a talent show where the contestants are virtually indistinguishable? Plus, you’re entertaining, even if we’re laughing at you, not with you,” Eugene chimed in.

  Vik pressed his temple. “Come to think of it, I, too, believe that you might have potential. You’d need to switch up your look and make yourself a little prettier though.”

  “You think I should be prettier?” I murmured, dumbfounded.

  “Vik’s got a good point. Let’s be real, a boy your height is never going to be a macho stud. The best thing you can strive for is to be the sweet, relatable boy next door,” Doc said.

  “The sweet, relatable boy next door,” Sammy repeated sarcastically. While the three older judges made a few more remarks, he stared at me disapprovingly as if I were on trial for terrorizing his kingdom.

  “How old did you say you were? Seventeen, was it?” Vik asked.

  “That’s right,” I replied. I mean, what else could I say? In my head, I cursed the ridiculously rigid age requirement to appear on the show. Had they accepted older teenagers, I would’ve been Hamin Han, age nineteen, instead.

  “So you’ll be going into your last year of high school next month,” Vik said, holding up a piece of paper.

  “Yeah,” I lied again. Heck, it wasn’t even an outright lie, seeing as I never got to graduate. Theoretically, I could enroll in a night school.

  “And according to your application, you’ve been attending a regular school, not a performing arts academy.” He let the piece of paper drop from his hand. “I’m bringing this up because I realize you’re in the middle of an important period in your life. To focus on their upcoming debuts, most of the seventeen-year-old boys here today have been attending a specialty school or receiving online schooling. On the other hand, it seems like you’re not fully devoted to this career path.”

  “We’re in a cutthroat sink-or-swim industry,” Eugene commented.

  “Exactly. You either get famous or end up realizing you just wasted the most valuable years of your life chasing after an unattainable goal.” Vik sighed. “Hamin, realistically speaking, do you think you have what it takes to become a star?”

  “Yes,” I said immediately.

  Sammy snorted.

  “But let’s say things don’t work out in your favor and you’re eliminated from Idol High School. What are you going to do then?” Vik questioned.

  “In that case, I would…” I faltered. Was this some kind of test to see if I truly wanted to be on the show? “I would make sure not to give up. My mantra is to keep knocking until the door opens. While I’ve wanted to join Pluto Entertainment for many years, I’ve dreamed of sharing my love for music with others for even longer than that. I’d
be thankful for what I’ve learned from Idol High School and seek a different path to become an idol.”

  “Very well. Thank you for auditioning today. The results will be released next Monday. Applicants going through to the next round will be contacted individually shortly after,” Vik replied.

  The second I walked out of the audition room, I darted off to the nearest bathroom. My nerves got the better of me, and a queasy feeling bubbled up to my throat. God, I couldn’t believe what had just happened. Though I’d pretended to be a man plenty of times before, I had no idea how daunting it would feel to do this in front of cameras. I was conning the most powerful entertainment agency in the nation, and this shit was going out to the world.

  When I swung the door open, a middle-aged woman shrieked, “This is the women’s bathroom!”

  I couldn’t even muster a proper apology; I just flailed my arms in the air to express that I’d made a mistake and hurried to the men’s one. Let me tell you, it was a bloody close call. Had I taken a second longer, I would’ve left a trail of puke on the floor. I hunched over the toilet and threw up the cereal I’d eaten for breakfast.

  I then pushed myself up and realized I hadn’t even locked the bathroom stall. Although there was nobody else in here, the sheer thought of exchanging glances with somebody using the urinal made me shudder. Yikes. If I happened to be selected for Idol High School, I was going to have to adjust to using the men’s bathroom at all times.

  After I went over to the sink, I spotted a mouthwash dispenser. While I gargled, I paced around the small bathroom. When I was only two feet away from the door, it swung open. Though it didn’t hit me, I was so taken off-guard that I spat out the mouthwash.

  “What the fuck?” Sammy barked, his chin and neck dripping wet from the minty fluid that had just left my mouth.

  Crap. I winced, closing my eyes.

  “I’m so sorry,” I called out as I ran over to grab some paper towels. Flustered by the absurdity of my bad luck, I delivered my apology all wrong; I tittered without meaning to.

  “Excuse me?” he growled, marching up to me.

  “I-I said I’m sorry,” I stammered.

  Once we were standing nose to nose—or more like nose to chest—I nearly wet myself. No, not because he was breathtakingly attractive, but because of the fury in his eyes.

  “Is that it?” he hissed.

  “Here.” I handed him the wad of paper towels. “I didn’t get your shirt wet too, did I?”

  To my shock, he flung the paper towels away. As I gasped, he grabbed the neck of my hoodie.

  “I don’t know who the fuck you are, but if you’ve come here to make a joke out of Pluto Entertainment or to take the attention away from the contestants that actually deserve it, you’re in for a hell of a time,” he snapped.

  “Hey, I’m sorry. I think there’s a bit of a misunderstanding though,” I replied, trying to maintain a steady voice.

  He yanked on my hoodie. “Shut up. Is that all you have to say?”

  Although the wise thing to do would’ve been to apologize again, a wave of rage struck me. I couldn’t help but question whether he would’ve been acting this aggressively had he not been an untouchable superstar. Christ, I couldn’t stand the fact that the leader of the most beloved boy band in the world was such a royal asshole. Had Domin been in Sammy’s place, which was what should’ve happened, Domin would’ve stayed humble.

  “Get your filthy hand off me,” I yelled as I shoved Sammy’s hand away with all my might. Before he had the chance to respond, I sprinted out of the bathroom.

  Chapter 5

  Honey

  It was a mystery and a miracle. I passed the audition. Two weeks later, at the beginning of March, I arrived at Starsaw Island, a private island owned by Pluto Entertainment. To my dismay, it was the kind of tropical place that stayed warm all year round. Although I wore a tight sports bra that flattened my chest, to be extra safe, I made sure to layer an oversized hoodie over my T-shirt.

  When I got off the plane, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was as if I’d stepped into a postcard. There were pristine beaches with white sand and idyllic mountains reaching the clouds, not to mention the white marble buildings dripping with opulence. I wasn’t the only one who was thoroughly impressed—everyone was marveling at the scenery. A few boys speculated that Executive Song had plans to turn a part of the island into a luxury resort and was using Idol High School to gain publicity. Killing two birds with one stone, I suppose.

  However, as soon as we got to Song Center, where we would take most of our classes and come together to perform, it became clear that we would not be treated like vacationers. Since we were students competing for the chance to sign with Pluto, our job was to live and breathe music. Digital devices were deemed a distraction, so phones, tablets, and laptops were confiscated after we were given our name badges.

  “This is the confessional room,” Sammy told the group. As he was the main host of the show, he was responsible for taking us students around the island for our orientation. Thankfully, since I was standing at the very back, he didn’t seem to have spotted me.

  “There’s also another confessional room by your dorm rooms,” PD Oakland, the main production director, called out. He stood several feet behind me and wore his hair in a man bun.

  “Yup. That’s right. But first, we’re going to give everyone a chance to introduce themselves to our viewers,” Sammy announced as he opened the door of the confessional room. “You guys can wait over there in the waiting area until I call your name. Once you’re done, head over to the restaurant on the top floor for lunch.”

  For the next few hours, I sat in the corner of a large sofa and eavesdropped on the conversations among the other students. Mind you, I had no interest in getting to know my new classmates—I was desperate for vengeance, not friendship. However, there was nothing else to do besides stare out the window at the palm trees. Unsurprisingly, a lot of the other boys already seemed to know each other. They hung out in cliques based on the performing arts schools they’d previously attended.

  “You’re Hamin, aren’t you?” Sammy asked as he came toward me. At this point, there were only two other students waiting their turns.

  “Yeah,” I mumbled, tapping on my name badge. Once the word left my mouth, I wanted to kick myself for sounding so wimpy.

  Though I expected him to furrow his brow, he added with a grin on his face, “I remember you from the audition. You performed ‘Can’t Touch This,’ right? I’m glad to see you here. Looks like you’re up next.”

  Although I should’ve been grateful for his affability, regardless of whether it was genuine or not, I could hardly keep a straight face. Ugh. I hated the shithead even more knowing he was putting on a wholesome, dreamy act for the cameras.

  When I went into the confessional room, PD Oakland greeted me from a director’s chair. He was accompanied by several members of the television crew.

  “Take a seat,” he said.

  “Thank you.” I sat down on a wooden chair in front of velvet curtains.

  For some reason, Sammy stayed in the room and stood by the door. God, I knew he couldn’t be done trying to intimidate me. What a petty bastard.

  “Since we’re running late, let’s make this quick. I’m going to ask you a few questions, and all you have to do is answer them. Bear in mind that now is your chance to win over the viewers who, presumably, have never heard of you. Remember, these are the people who’ll be voting for who stays on the island. Are you ready?”

  “Yes. Please go ahead.”

  “First off, could you introduce yourself briefly? Why did you audition for Idol High School? What are some things you love? And what are the things you hate?”

  “My name is Hamin Han. I’m seventeen years old, and I’ve dreamed of performing in front of a crowd ever since I can remember. Hmm, what do I love? Well, I’m into wearing black hoodies, like the one I’m wearing right now.” I laughed, although nobody seemed entertained. Seei
ng as I couldn’t start wearing shorter, more fitted clothes, I had to address the elephant in the room. “I also love food.”

  “What’s your favorite food?” PD Oakland asked distractedly.

  I could tell by the look on his face that he was already planning on cutting my entire introduction from the first episode. Hell, I would be lucky if I got thirty seconds of airtime. There was no way I could pass the first round of audience votes this way.

  “I love, love, love desserts. You see, I have a major sweet tooth. Asking me to pick a favorite dessert is like asking a mother of five to choose who her favorite child is,” I babbled, waving my arms in the air. Oh God, I was turning into one of those try-hard TV show hosts who nobody actually liked. “So my favorite food is any type of cake, ice cream, pie, pastry and the list would go on if I was allowed to sit here for the rest of the week. Except there are some desserts I never touch. I hate desserts with peaches and nectarines because I’m allergic to those fruits. Hang on. Am I getting overexcited? Enough about food.”

  Then I heard someone snicker faintly. I didn’t have to turn my head to check who it was. My bet was on Sammy. Dammit. Why couldn’t he leave me alone? He didn’t stay in the confessional room while the other students had their turns.

  “Okay,” PD Oakland said.

  Just in case he was going to ask me to leave, I hurriedly added, “On the other hand, do you know what I hate more than anything? Rats. My, uh, neighborhood had rat infestation issues. I used to hear rats squeaking behind trash bags on my walk to school. Once they were done eating, they’d make a run for the other side of the alley.” I made a vomiting motion, then guffawed.

  PD Oakland didn’t seem impressed, but at least he didn’t look bored out of his mind. He asked, “Could you tell us more about your background?”