I'll Be the One

by Lyla Lee

  “So, is the view worth it?” Henry asks. “I figured you could use a distraction from everything.”

  “Yeah, it is,” I say softly.

  The combination of the gorgeous view and Henry’s thoughtfulness makes my breath catch.

  “Thanks,” I continue. “You’re always so nice to me.”

  “I mean . . . you deserve the best. You’re Queen Skye.”

  Seeing “Queen Skye” on people’s signs made me smile, but hearing Henry say it right to my face makes me full-on blush.

  “Oh, stop it,” I say.

  “No, really. I still remember seeing you on that stage when you first auditioned . . . you were so amazing. I bet you changed the lives of countless people that day, and you’re continuing to inspire them by sticking it out in this competition.”

  “Aw, Henry.”

  He looks down at me, and the sudden intensity of his eyes takes my breath away like the observatory had just a few minutes ago. I’ve always thought Henry was hot, but now, with the LA skyline behind him and the white gold lights of the observatory shining on his face, he’s glowing like an angel. It’s ridiculous how someone can be this attractive.

  I’m so busy staring at Henry that I don’t realize he’s staring at me too, until he looks away. That’s when I realize that he’s blushing. Henry Cho, the professional model. Blushing!

  “What is it?”

  “Sorry,” he says. “You’re just . . . so beautiful.”

  Every day, I try my hardest to fight against the stereotype that fat kids have low self-esteem. Sure, I feel bad from time to time because of what Mom or other people say, and I did hate how I looked when I was younger. But nowadays, I never really think I’m ugly. I’m cute, and sometimes even beautiful, depending on what I’m going for on a given day. And I know it.

  But even though I know I’m beautiful and cute, the fact that Henry thinks I’m beautiful still makes me really happy. Because I’ve always thought he looked beautiful too.

  “Skye,” he says, slowly and deliberately.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ve been trying to say this for a while now, but I think I’m finally ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  I’m so full of anticipation for what he might say that I’m almost afraid to breathe.

  “I like you.”

  The moment he says the words, I realize this is something I’ve known all along. Although it is kind of hard to believe that someone like Henry Cho would like a total nobody like me, it’s not like he was being subtle about the looks he’s given me ever since we met. Nor was he subtle about making grand gestures, like driving all the way down to Orange County and back again just to show me this view.

  And just like some part of me has always known he likes me, some part of me has known how I feel about him for a long time.

  “I like you too,” I say.

  Henry closes his eyes with relief. That small gesture is so endearing. I’ve heard horror stories of how hot guys at our school are extremely stuck-up and just automatically assume that everyone likes them. Henry is more attractive and famous than all of them combined. Yet the fact that he was still scared that I didn’t like him back makes him so adorable that I want to kiss him, right here, right now.

  “Can I kiss you?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

  Henry startles, but then slowly smiles. “Yeah, of course. Thanks for asking.”

  He leans in, and our lips touch. Once, twice, until soon, we’re full-on kissing each other. Henry’s lips are soft and warm against mine, and all the while, I think, I can’t believe this is really happening.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  WHEN WE FINALLY STOP, HENRY’S FLUSHED, LIKE he’d been blushing the entire time we’ve been kissing.

  I playfully slap him on the arm. “Why are you so cute?”

  He blushes harder. I think about how he was so cocky when I was eyeing him in his tight shirt. That Henry couldn’t be more different from the bashful one in front of me now.

  “I don’t get it,” I say. “You weren’t this shy before. What changed?”

  Avoiding my gaze, he looks at the ground instead. “I mean, it’s different. I’m used to people thinking I’m hot. If that weren’t the case, I wouldn’t be able to make a living. But this . . . isn’t the same. Emotions and feelings are really overwhelming for me sometimes.”

  “Well, I do think you’re really hot,” I admit. “But honestly, that just made me want to not like you even more. I thought you were a conceited jerk.”

  “Well, I’m glad it wasn’t enough to completely stop you.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  He snickers.

  By then, it’s starting to turn light out, and in the pink and blue of the sunrise, I see the faint outline of the Hollywood sign on the hill next to us.

  “Wow,” I say. “I didn’t know the sign doesn’t light up at night. Why hasn’t anyone thought of putting lights on the Hollywood sign?”

  “Apparently it’s a safety hazard,” Henry explains. “The sign used to light up, but then it caused this life-threatening traffic jam a while back and trapped everyone in the canyon.”

  “Of course traffic would be the reason. Why am I not surprised?”

  “Hashtag LA problems.”

  “Exactly.”

  A strong breeze suddenly blows into us, sending chills down my spine. I shiver. “Okay, I don’t care what everyone says about LA people being wusses. Fifty degrees is still cold. I really should have worn something warmer.”

  “Here.” Henry shrugs off his leather jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. “I don’t get cold easily. It gets a lot colder in Korea.”

  When we’re back in Henry’s car, I say, “So.”

  “So?”

  “Are we a thing now?”

  “Only if you want us to be.”

  “I do.”

  Henry leans in for another kiss, but my phone rings. I check the screen to see that it’s Mom. Of course it is.

  I pick up.

  “Haneul, why aren’t you home?”

  Hearing her voice is kind of jarring, since I can’t even remember the last time she talked to me.

  I hurriedly fish for the best lie I can think of. “Lana had to run errands in LA, so she picked me up really early today. Sorry I forgot to tell you. I was in a rush to get ready.”

  “I see,” she says. “The competition is almost over, isn’t it? You should hurry up and finish so you can focus on your classes.”

  “Hurry up and finish . . .” I repeat slowly. It’s amazing how few words it takes for me to wish Mom wasn’t speaking to me again. “Are you saying I should get eliminated on purpose?”

  “Well, aren’t you tired of being on TV every week? You’re not—”

  I hang up. Not today, Satan. Not today.

  I try to pretend like nothing’s wrong, but Henry still asks, “Are you okay?”

  I sigh. “It’s fine. My mom’s being a jerk as usual.”

  “She still doesn’t support you?”

  “Nope. She just told me I should drop out of the competition because she’s sick of seeing me on TV.”

  Henry narrows his eyes. “She sounds a lot like my parents before I got my modeling contract.”

  “Ugh, sorry you have to deal with it too.”

  “It’s fine. They’re back in Korea, and I’m here.”

  We stop to get breakfast at a diner, and then Henry drives me to the studio.

  “Have fun at rehearsal today,” he says before he leaves.

  “Thanks.”

  I don’t think much about the fact that Henry just dropped me off until I enter the building and find everyone—the other four remaining contestants, the staff members, and the camera crew—staring at me. They must have seen Henry and me through the windows.

  And of course, the cameras are already recording my every move.

  “Did Henry Cho just drop you off?” Isabel asks. “Are you guys a thin
g now?”

  The whispers spread. At first, I’m really daunted by the attention, and then I figure: Why the heck not? I have nothing to hide. Plus, thanks to the rumors, everyone and their mom already thinks we’re going out anyway.

  So, I shrug and say, “Yup. It’s official now.”

  Everyone—well, everyone besides the girls who’re glaring at me like I ran over their dogs—bursts into cheers. I lose count of the number of people who tell me congratulations. Their level of enthusiasm is actually kind of hilarious.

  Thankfully, people lose interest in me as soon as Mr. Park and Gary get us started with this final practice. The challenge for the final round is straightforward: just perform the song that best showcases your abilities. No teams, no versus battles, no partners. Even still, everyone’s too nervous about the final round being filmed live to socialize much.

  When I’m alone in my practice room, I wish we were required to do something ridiculous, because just practicing alone without Lana to pop her head in or hang out with during breaks is really boring. I’m grateful for having made it this far, but I can’t shake off my loneliness. In an attempt to get over it, I focus completely on my music for the next few hours. It’s a cover of a song by a Korean girl group, but slowed down a bit so it sounds less peppy and more expressive. I’m hoping the judges—well, Mr. Park and Gary—and the viewers voting during the live show will give me extra brownie points for being creative.

  As I’m running through the song again and again, I think about all the plus-size girls around the world who said I inspired them. It makes me happy and honored, but it also makes me want to try even harder, especially since I know what’s to come in the episode that’s dropping tonight.

  Hopefully I’ll make everyone proud in the end, I think. Hopefully they’ll keep watching after tonight’s episode.

  Later, I’m back home, trying to work on my homework and making a point to not watch You’re My Shining Star, when my phone rings. I cringe, hoping it’s not Mom—who’s not home from work yet—or my friends. I don’t think I’m ready to deal with any of their reactions yet. But it’s not either of them. Instead, it’s Dad.

  I pick up immediately.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I say.

  “Skye! Skye! Did you hear?”

  “About what?”

  “Try Googling your name,” he says.

  “What?”

  I’m still trying to process the fact that Dad told me to Google myself when I see the results.

  Korean Adele Is Also an Amazing Dancer

  Who Is This New Wonder Girl?

  Skye Shin: Korea’s Next K-Pop Superstar

  My name appears in a lot of major Korean online news sites, and clips of me dancing with Henry are all over social media. But instead of just saying “girl dancing with Henry,” the captions say my name, over and over again.

  I go on Twitter. Someone’s mentioned me in a tweet: What the hell? @newskye16 got eliminated? I call BS.

  I expand the thread to look at the replies.

  She was the best dancer in the competition! someone else says. I bet they just eliminated her because she’s fat.

  Wtf isn’t that discrimination? That’s illegal, isn’t it?

  The thread’s getting more and more likes by the second. And it’s already somehow hit a thousand likes. I check the time. It’s been less than an hour since the episode aired.

  I close the app on my phone and take a deep breath. Although I have no idea if a social media outcry will do anything, I’m so glad and thankful that these people are all in my corner.

  “Are you still there?” Dad says, and I remember that he’s still on the line.

  “Yeah.”

  “People are getting angry that you got eliminated. Do you think that’ll change anything?”

  Since I really have no idea, I just say, “I don’t know, Dad. Maybe.”

  “Whatever happens, I’m so proud of you,” he says. “You’re inspiring so many people! My little Skye, making a real change in this world. At just sixteen, too! I can’t even imagine what you’ll accomplish as an adult.”

  “Jeez, talk about pressure.”

  Dad laughs. I can almost see him wink. “I meant it in a good way. So proud.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  There’s a lot of background noise where Dad is. I hear an announcement, someone paging a passenger for a Southwest Airlines flight.

  “Are you headed back to NorCal?” I ask, feeling kind of sad like I always do whenever I don’t get to spend much time with Dad on the weekends that he’s home. That’s one thing I really hate about this competition. Since I’m always so busy practicing and catching up on homework, I rarely get to see Dad when he’s in town anymore.

  “Yup,” he replies. “I would stay until tomorrow, but we’re working on a big project right now. Probably need to go into the office on Sunday.”

  “Ugh, gross, I’m so sorry,” I say.

  Dad laughs. “It’s okay. I’m used to it. And besides, it’s not like I have anyone waiting for me at home.”

  There’s an awkward silence filled with nothing but airport noises, and I realize Dad never meant to say that last part out loud. I try to change the subject.

  “Do you . . .” I trail off, trying to reel in the terror instantly builds up in my chest. “Do you know if Mom saw me getting eliminated from the dance competition?”

  Dad doesn’t respond for a few more seconds, and in the meantime, an announcement blares from the intercom. It’s very faint, but I can hear the word “boarding.”

  “She told me she’s really busy today,” he says at last. His line becomes staticky, and I hear the rustle of people moving about, like Dad and the other passengers are getting on the plane. “But knowing her, she probably found time to watch it at some point. I already texted her to say she should be nice to you, but she hasn’t responded yet.”

  I sigh. “Thanks for trying.”

  “No problem. I have to go now. Plane’s going to depart soon. Talk to you when I land, and good luck.”

  “Okay, thanks, Appa. Have a safe flight.”

  We hang up, and in a tight ball of anxiety, I wait for Mom to come home.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  MOM HAS A FIELD DAY ABOUT THE FACT THAT I was eliminated from the dance portion of the competition. She starts talking my ears off as soon as I get home, and she’s still going on and on when we sit down for dinner.

  “Well, it’s for the best, Haneul,” she says at last. “Singing really was your one true talent, and I’m so glad that you’re still in the competition for it now.”

  I wish she could understand that I love singing and dancing equally. That even if I do only win this competition for vocals, I want to be the type of K-pop star who can sing and dance really well, so I can show everyone that big bodies aren’t something to be afraid of. I grew up thinking someone my size could never dance. And I don’t want the other kids watching at home to think that too.

  All this is running through my head as I try—and fail—to keep eating my dinner.

  Mom notices that I’ve stopped eating and says, “Why don’t you have an appetite? I made your favorite, beef soondubu. Did you finally start a diet?”

  And that’s when I decide that enough is enough. I may not be able to do anything about Bora disqualifying me from the dance part of the competition, but I can change what goes on in my own home.

  “No, Mom,” I say. Since I know she’ll only dismiss me if I start to get emotional, I keep my voice flat and even. I sound strange and stiff to my own ears. “I lost my appetite because of the incredibly rude comments you made about my weight.”

  “Honey, I only want the best for you. When you’re a parent yourself, you’ll look back and feel grateful that I cared so much about you.”

  “Grateful? Mom, there is no way I’ll ever be grateful for the things you’ve said to me throughout the years.”

  I think back to the Korean spa day, about how I burst into tears in fr
ont of Lana and Tiffany because Mom’s words made me painfully self-conscious. Why can’t my own mom, the person who claims that she loves and cares about me the most, see how much she’s hurting me?

  That’s another type of abuse, Lana said that day. And the more I reflect on it, the more I realize she’s right.

  “All these years, you’ve told me that I’m not skinny or pretty enough. It’s made me hate myself for most of my life. I’ve finally managed to love and accept myself, so why can’t you just support me?’

  “Support you? Haneul. Look at you. It’s great that you accept yourself, but no amount of accepting yourself is going to change how you really look. It’s not going to change what people see when they look at you.”

  “Mom, there’s nothing wrong with being fat. Just because you felt the need to change yourself because you were so afraid of other people doesn’t mean I have to!”

  Mom freezes. When she speaks again, her voice comes out in a whisper.

  “Shin Haneul. What are you talking about?”

  “Sally showed me the photos. I know what you looked like in middle school. You were fat, like me.”

  At the word “fat,” Mom flinches back like I slapped her.

  “I know you were bullied a lot when you were a kid,” I continue when she doesn’t say anything in response. “And I get that that made you afraid of how I look. But I am perfectly healthy and happy in my own skin. So please stop trying to change me.”

  Mom looks pained, but she otherwise doesn’t react to anything I say. She doesn’t insult me further, but she doesn’t say she accepts me, either. Her silence speaks volumes.

  By now, I’m crying like a baby. But instead of feeling like I’m breaking into pieces, I’m strangely calm inside. Crying doesn’t feel like an act of defeat this time. It’s more of a release. Because everything that happened in the last three months has been more than enough for me to stop caring about what other people think about me. And that includes Mom.