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

by Nara Noelle

  At the singalong that ensued, all of the contestants made it clear they were desperate to get as much airtime as possible in the next episode. On the other hand, Hamin kept to himself. He sat in the corner with his arms crossed and could hardly keep his eyes open by the end. The kid had no idea what was coming his way. As tired as he might be, he definitely wasn’t going to be dozing off once he saw the dead rat in his shoe.

  Yet for some reason, I didn’t feel so smug about how seamlessly my band members and I had set up the prank. Once filming ended and we were heading back to the steps where we’d left our shoes, I found myself questioning what the point of this was. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

  Nevertheless, I knew it was too late to turn back now. So I thought of Executive Song. He’d not only poured his heart into building an empire and using it to help me rise to fame, but he’d been a better father to me than any of my blood relatives.

  Hamin wasn’t innocent. By coming on Idol High School, he’d messed with Executive Song’s newest business venture, and I’d be damned if I let the bastard get away with it.

  “Here goes,” RJ growled, leaning over.

  Our eyes were fixed on Hamin, who was standing less than ten feet away from us. After he rubbed his nose with a look of confusion, he bent down and picked up his left shoe. A bloodied white sock and the palm-sized body of a decapitated rat fell inches away from his bare feet.

  “Sweet Jesus!” Hamin shrieked.

  Within seconds, everybody’s eyes were on him.

  “A headless rat? Looks like my pawn outdid himself,” RJ whispered into my ear.

  “Gross! What’s a rat doing in your shoe, Yo-yo?” an alpha student in a royal-blue T-shirt shouted.

  “It’s because rats are attracted to the smell of moldy cheese. Hamin, why don’t you wash your grubby feet and buy yourself a new pair of shoes?” his friend said.

  A group of boys ran up to Hamin to get a closer look, all the while pinching their noses in disgust.

  “So where’s the rat’s head then? Have you already gobbled it up, fat ass?” one of them hollered.

  “Yeah. It sure was tasty. Are you jealous because I devoured the yummiest part on my own?” Hamin croaked. Though I could tell that he was shaken up by the tone of his voice, he was grinning like the Joker.

  “You’re sick in the head,” the boy replied.

  “What? You think I’m the twisted one? Hey, I’m not the one who went out of my way to decapitate a rat for an immature prank. You know, none of you guys are as smart as you think you are. Let me guess, its head is in my other shoe, am I right?” Hamin grabbed his right sneaker and tipped it upside down.

  Yup. He’d guessed right. A small mouse head and a soiled sock fell onto the sand. When Hamin chuckled, I sensed disappointment in RJ’s eyes.

  “Dang! That smells foul,” another student yelled out.

  Hamin wrinkled his nose as he used his socks to pick up the rat’s head and body. While he seemed pissed off, I couldn’t deny the fact that he was a lot less mortified by the sight of a dead rat than most other people. He took brisk steps toward a trash bin.

  Once Hamin tossed away everything in his hands, he declared, “Sorry, folks. If you bullies were expecting me to burst into tears, I’m here to tell you that won’t be happening tonight. I’ve got to admit, I’m kind of disappointed in you guys. Sheesh. What do you take me for? Did you really think I’d lose my mind over a tiny rat that’s just lying there?”

  Hamin turned up to breakfast the next morning in a pair of shower sandals stocked at the convenience store. All eyes were on him while he walked over to the serving area, his shoes click-clacking obnoxiously. Once he loaded his tray, went over to an empty table, and put it down in the corner, a group of students ran over to him.

  “Yo-yo, where are your red sneakers?” one of them called out after Hamin took a seat.

  Terry, who was sitting across the table from me, rolled his eyes. “Here they go again. I swear there’s never a quiet day in Idol House.”

  “If you think about it, they’re doing our job for us,” RJ replied.

  Another student said to Hamin, “You didn’t keep your filthy shoes, did you?”

  “Of course I still have them. Where would I buy a new pair of sneakers on this island? Before you idiots turn your noses up at me, you should know that I’ve already washed them thoroughly. In fact, they’re hanging dry on your pillow as we speak,” Hamin retorted before taking a bite of his croissant.

  “You wish,” the student muttered defensively. He sat down next to Hamin’s tray while his friends tittered.

  Hamin continued eating. He hummed to himself like there was nobody else in the dining hall. I’d never met anyone so annoyingly, well, tough. Whoever the hell he was working for, he was utterly determined to serve. Had I not been a celebrity signed with Pluto Entertainment, I might’ve even found this characteristic admirable.

  Alas, his main weakness was that he didn’t know who he was really up against. My band members and I didn’t shy away from being challenged. Unlike the Idol High contestants who’d been sheltered by their families and prissy performing arts academies, I, for one, had a blackened heart and unmentionable secrets. Ha. If he ever found out what kind of family I came from, he’d be horrified.

  The student sitting on the table added, “You think you’re so cool, but the reality is that you’re just a loser who’s too broke for a nice pair of shoes.”

  “It’s a fashion statement, actually,” Hamin said.

  “Fashion statement, my ass,” the student remarked.

  Hamin smiled smugly. “I don’t expect you guys to understand. You know, the main difference between me and the rest of you isn’t my lack of six-pack abs. It’s the fact that I’m a trendsetter while you guys are followers.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Yo-yo.”

  “Looks like I hit a nerve.” Hamin chuckled. “Ten years from now, when you’ve grown a beer belly, and there are younger, hotter rising stars, you’ll realize how you had your head up your own ass over something totally ephemeral. On the other hand, what do you think will happen to my ability to stand out from the crowd? Here’s a hint. That shit lasts forever.”

  Chapter 15

  Sammy

  With the first round of viewer votes coming up, I realized the STAR boys and I didn’t have long to set up our next move. RJ ended up giving Arang grief over how bonfire night had gone down and claimed that we had to find out what Hamin’s real weakness was. Meanwhile, I kept thinking about Hamin’s supposed hatred for rats—replaying his reaction to the incident in my head. As somebody who’d been in the confessional room while he shot his introduction, I believed he’d been telling the truth during that part.

  Then one morning, after I woke up from yet another dream to do with bonfire night, something in my head clicked. I knew exactly what I was going to do and decided against talking it through with my band members. Instead, I was going to get straight into the execution of the plan. But first, I needed to bullshit my way into getting hold of a master key card and recruit someone to serve as my pawn. After all, there was no way in hell I was going to risk being spotted with a rat cage in my hand; I had too much pride to waste my time doing that.

  Since I was scheduled to give the alpha-tier contestants my first lecture on leadership in the afternoon, I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to pick out my pawn then.

  “Hello, everyone. It’s good to see you all,” I greeted the class once the ten alpha students had taken their seats. As I carefully peered at each of their faces, I added, “Today, I’ll be talking about the importance of facilitating cooperation as a leader. The thing is, even if you’re not the official leader of your group—or you end up pursuing a solo career as a performer—there will eventually come a day when you have to assert leadership.”

  One student caught my eye. His name was Mas. He sat in the front row with a cocky grin on his face, surrounded by his group of friends. However, I knew there was some
thing that set him apart. First of all, he hadn’t done nearly as well as his friends, who were much more deserving of their alpha-tier title. Consequently, he’d only been placed in the alpha class due to a special recommendation note that had been discretely passed onto the judges.

  I knew Mas would make the perfect pawn because I saw right through him—he was feigning confidence. Unless he was totally blinded by denial, he had to be aware of how mediocre he was in comparison to the other alpha students. Of course, there’s nobody more impressionable than a teenager who’s holding his head up high because he’s desperate to prove himself.

  “Hi, Mas. Could I talk to you for a minute?” I asked after I finished my lecture.

  “Sure,” Mas replied. He turned to his friends and waved them away. “I’m all yours.”

  “Why don’t we get out of here and go somewhere with a bit more privacy?” I whispered, my eyes on the television crew who were packing up.

  “Okay,” he answered.

  Once we went into a small office down the hallway, I said, “Alright. I’m not going to beat around the bush. I’d like to ask you for a favor. You’re not to discuss this with anyone. In exchange for helping me out, I’ll let you perform in the order of your choice for the second assessment and steer your feedback in a positive direction. What do you say?”

  “Tell me more.”

  Chapter 16

  Honey

  Forget what I said about how comfortable my bed was. Even the most lavish mattress in the world wasn’t enough to help me fall asleep at the end of a long day now. Not when there was a rat infestation keeping me awake. The chattering just wouldn’t stop. Ugh. I couldn’t believe I was going through this in Idol House of all places; this was the fanciest building I’d ever stepped foot in.

  At first, I assumed that whoever had put a decapitated rat in my sneakers must be behind this as well, but upon second thought, this theory didn’t make much sense. All of my classmates lived in the east wing with me, so surely they didn’t want rats sneaking into their room, right?

  For four nights, Juno and I tossed and turned into the early hours, our ears stuffed with tissues—those were our makeshift earplugs. He literally broke down in tears and mumbled some bizarre crap about karma and the possibility of animals turning into ghosts.

  Since we’d hardly slept, we struggled to get out of bed in the morning and missed breakfast time. However, that wasn’t my main problem. I could barely keep up during my classes. My head throbbed and my shoulders ached. Although I’d previously been staying behind in an empty dance studio to prepare for the upcoming assessment, once the rat infestation began, I was so drained that I plodded over to the nearest sofa and nodded off after each lesson.

  By the fifth night, I was beyond exhausted. I expected to pass out the moment my head hit the pillow. However, when I returned to our room around nine, a vile, pungent smell filled the air.

  “What the fuck?” I muttered before pinching my nose. I opened the window, then checked every corner of the room to see if there was a pile of rat feces or a dead rat somewhere.

  Five minutes later, the door swung open and Juno walked in. He gagged so loudly I thought he was going to puke right there.

  “I opened the window, but I don’t think that’s enough to do the job,” I said.

  “No. It’s not enough. Hamin, I can’t go on this way!” he cried out.

  “I know you’re convinced there’s an animal spirit haunting us or whatever, but we’ve got to think logically, okay? There’s a rat infestation in this building—at least in the east wing—and it’s gotten out of hand,” I said.

  “What should we do?” he asked.

  “We’ve got to go and file a complaint. Let’s head over to the security office on the first floor,” I answered.

  When we arrived at the security office, I knocked on the glass window.

  A few seconds later, a security guard came over and asked, “Is everything alright, boys?”

  “No! No! No! Everything is not alright,” Juno shouted, waving his arms in the air. If the situation hadn’t been so damn frustrating, I would’ve laughed at him for behaving like a soap opera character.

  “The current rat infestation is out of control. It’s gotten to the point where our room smells of dead rats and rat poo,” I explained.

  The security guard snorted. “Did you say rat infestation?”

  “Yes. It must be those wild rats!” Juno said.

  “Are you talking about those wild rats from the mountains? You really think they would’ve come all the way down here to go to your room? There are nets and walls to stop such pests, you know,” the security guard replied.

  Juno pounded on the glass window. “No. You don’t understand.”

  The security guard crinkled his nose. “Boys, have you been drinking?”

  “You’ve got to be joking. Do you think we’re here because we’re sloppy drunks who want to cause a ruckus?” I growled, staring straight into his eyes.

  He sighed. “Calm down. All I’m saying is you guys might’ve—”

  “I am not drunk! Do you want to check? Why don’t you go and grab a breathalyzer? You must have one of those in your office,” I snapped, my body trembling from mixed parts frustration and fatigue.

  “Alright, alright. What do the rats in your room look like? How big are they?” questioned the security guard.

  “I suppose they’re on the smaller side. Maybe not though. We haven’t seen them yet,” Juno mumbled.

  “Aha!” The security guard slapped his hand on the table in front of him. “So you guys expect me to believe there’s a pest infestation in this building when you haven’t actually seen a single rat.”

  “Why does it matter how big they are? Pests are pests. Executive Song may not be here on the island, but I’m sure he’d be less than thrilled to learn what sort of state Idol House is in through online rumors or worse—a confessional that airs on TV,” I protested.

  Although I held my head up high, I knew my argument was ridiculous. I highly doubted the production directors would even consider broadcasting my complaint. Not to mention the fact that I had no power in influencing any of the online rumors. Hello? I had no electronic devices with me other than my two voice recorders—one of which was currently in my left pocket; the other was stored in my chest of drawers.

  “Fine. I’ll notify my superiors of what’s going on tomorrow and request that they investigate the issue. However, there’s nothing else I can do until then. You’ve got to understand, I’m on shift as a security guard, not a pest-control worker,” the security guard replied.

  While I had the feeling this wasn’t anywhere near the top on his list of priorities, I didn’t know what else to say to him. Ask him to make a pinky promise? Not a chance.

  “I give up,” Juno muttered as we walked away.

  “How can you give up? In that case, how are we going to sleep? Juno, something needs to be done about the smell,” I said exasperatedly.

  He stretched his arms out and yawned. “That security guard will be getting help for us tomorrow. Screw curfew. There’s no way I’m going back to our room. I’m going to sleep on one of the sofas on the first floor. Unless you think you can get used to the stench, I suggest you find a sofa to sleep on too.”

  My brief quarrel with the security guard had sent a burst of adrenaline through me. Seeing as nobody was coming to the rescue, I was going to help myself. I dropped by one of the men’s bathrooms, where I yanked out a small pile of paper towels from the dispenser, dampened it with soap and running water, then held it up over my nose. Once I returned to my room, I pulled the sleeve of my sweatshirt over my free hand and resumed my search for the source of the stench.

  After spending half an hour going through every drawer and cupboard with utmost care, it struck me that I hadn’t checked our travel bags, which were stored under our beds. Since I knew Juno kept snacks in his luggage, I went over to his bed and pulled out his suitcase.

  Nothing. Th
ere was nothing. I mean, other than four bags of corn chips and two boxes of cereal bars—all of which were unopened. I even held up the packaging and inspected it carefully to check that there were no holes or tears.

  Although I knew my luggage bag was empty, I decided to go through it just in case. From the instant I squatted down beside my bed, I realized the smell had gotten stronger. Okay. There was most certainly something going on here. I dropped the paper towel I’d covered my nose with, held my breath, and pulled out my bag.

  Squeak, squeak.

  Holy shit. An unfamiliar box was tucked behind my bag. I couldn’t tell what it was because it was covered in a thick bath towel. When I reached out for it, I heard more squeaks and a rattling noise. God, the entire situation made my stomach churn. I just wanted to sprint out of my room. However, I gritted my teeth and reminded myself that was precisely what my enemy—the jackass behind the whole rat infestation fiasco, whoever he was—wanted. I knew I didn’t belong here on Starsaw Island, but that didn’t mean I had to be a meek coward.

  “Oh my God,” I muttered once I yanked off the towel, which was damp with blood and God knows what else.

  A rat screeched at me from a metal cage. I gagged to the point where I could taste bile at the back of my throat. When I pulled out the cage, I realized although there was just one bloody, shit-covered rat with only half a tail, there had been more before. They must’ve gotten into a fight and tried to eat each other. All that remained now were bits of their remains.

  Why was somebody doing this to me? I expected a gotcha moment where a group of students would barge into the room laughing, but there was none of that. After I covered the cage with the towel, I took it outside, leaving both my bedroom door and window open to get the odor out. Although I wasn’t responsible for this stupid mess, I didn’t have it in me to simply toss the cage out the window and assume one of the groundskeepers or gardeners would come across it later.