by Lyla Lee
“You deserve everything!” Lana says. “Thanks for giving Tiffany and me a final moment to shine. It was so fun.”
“Definitely a good way to spend our last night in LA,” adds Tiffany.
“You guys are leaving tomorrow?” I feel a sudden wave of sadness as I realize the full implications of this competition ending. I’ll see Imani again in Korea, and I’ll hang out with Henry here in LA, but when will I see Lana and Tiffany again?
“Aw, don’t be sad!” Lana says. “Not on your big day, at least. NorCal really isn’t that far from LA. You should visit us in the Bay Area when you have the chance! You can just stay with your dad, right?”
I nod and hug them even more tightly, making promises to see them again.
Clarissa and Rebecca ambush me the moment I exit backstage, crying and cheering.
“OH MY GOD!” exclaims Rebecca, while Clarissa screams, “Queen!”
Clarissa gets so excited that she almost whacks me with the bouquet of pink flowers that she and Rebecca brought me. I laugh, my body shaking from both relief and whatever’s left of my adrenaline from performing onstage.
We’re in a tight group hug when someone clears his throat behind us. I don’t even have to look to know who it is. My friends’ wide-eyed expressions say it all.
“Hey,” Henry says. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Henry Cho.”
I always thought Clarissa would scream and completely lose it when she finally met Henry, but what actually happens is a bit more concerning. She just stands there, her face white as a sheet. Rebecca’s not faring any better, but she manages to snap out of it and say, “Sorry you lost. I thought you were really great, though.”
Henry shrugs good-naturedly. “Imani was way, way better. She totally deserves it. And I had fun, which is more than I could have ever expected from all of this.”
My friends look puzzled, but I know exactly what he means. And I’m really happy for him. Henry came into this competition because he was angry at someone but came out of it truly enjoying himself.
Henry’s eyes focus on me then, and his gaze softens. He approaches me, and I let go of my friends so Henry can wrap me in a big hug.
“Hey, you,” he whispers. “Congratulations. See? I knew you’d win.”
It’s only when I see my friends’ shocked reactions over Henry’s shoulder that I realize I forgot to tell them a very important detail.
“Oops.” I let go of Henry and give my friends a nervous smile. “Um, yeah, so . . . surprise! You guys were right. Henry and I are dating now . . . for real. It’s not just for the show.”
“Skye!” Clarissa yells, at the same time Rebecca asks, “Since when?”
And then, I can’t help it. I laugh until tears come out of my eyes.
The house is quiet when I walk through the front door. The lights are out, so I have no way of knowing if anyone’s even home. Which is weird, since it’s past ten. Mom’s usually home by now.
“Mom?” I call out. It occurs to me that she might not respond, even if she’s home. She went back to giving me the silent treatment after our fight at the dinner table.
Of course, I knew I couldn’t expect the same kind of recognition that Dad gave me earlier from Mom, but still, I expected . . . something.
In the end, I find Mom out in the garden, tending to the bushes. I don’t question why she’s gardening when it’s pitch-dark and cold. It’s pretty obvious from the timing that she’s trying to avoid me.
At first, I think she didn’t hear me approach. But then she says, “So, you did it.”
Her voice is strangely flat, and for a second, I wonder if I should turn back and hope she goes back to ignoring me again. A cold shoulder is better than whatever bitter words she might have for me after my win.
“Y-yeah,” I say, and I hate how my voice breaks. But I can’t help it. I’m all tensed up around her, unsure what to expect next.
“I saw your performance. You did a great job.”
“Thanks.”
I don’t let my guard down. I’m still waiting for a “but.”
But that dress was very unflattering on you.
But you didn’t have to dance.
But your friends were prettier than you.
My mind is swimming with so many “buts” that by the time she actually continues talking, I don’t catch what she says.
“Wait, sorry, what did you say?”
“I said, ‘Congratulations on the win.’ You were far better than anyone else in that competition. Honestly, some of the others had zero talent. I questioned the judging calls on that show sometimes.”
“Wait,” I say again. I know I’m probably just asking for it now, but I can’t help but prolong this moment. “You liked my performance?”
“Yes. I thought it was very . . . innovative. That Bora gave you such a hard time, but Gary was right. You’re the one that took the initiative to bring in your friends and include dance choreography.”
“And you liked my dancing?”
Mom stills. I know I’ve pushed my luck too far. All my walls come back up again.
“You’re a good dancer, Haneul,” she says finally. Her voice is tense, like she’s trying extra hard to keep a neutral tone. “You always have been. Besides, you did what you promised you would do. You showed me and everyone else in the world that you could win this. And here we are now. Congratulations. Your dad and I both voted for you.”
“Thanks.”
Whenever I pictured this moment, I always imagined a big, shameful look on my mom’s face, counterbalanced by my own smug grin. But instead of feeling smug, I still feel pretty sad. And Mom looks anything but ashamed. She actually looks kind of proud of me, in her own restrained kind of way.
Everything still feels surreal, like I’m not really awake. And this conversation seems more fake than me winning the competition.
“I do admit that I was very hard on you,” Mom continues when I don’t say anything else. “I always wanted perfection from you, I admit that. And you’re right, part of that has to do with my own upbringing and the things I experienced as a child. Your dad and I actually had a long conversation on the phone about this before you came home.”
I half expect her to apologize for all the cruel things she’s said to me in the last couple of years. But she resumes gardening like I’m not there.
I’m about to go back inside when she asks, “So, when is your flight to Korea?”
“Not until summer. I think they’re trying to be considerate of students like me.”
“Good. Now you can focus on school. But you know, if the training goes well, you might have to stay in Korea long-term. You know that, right? Then, you’ll probably have to be homeschooled or transfer to one of the high schools near the company as you continue your training.”
My heart beats faster just thinking about it. Living in Korea long-term is something I never even thought of in my wildest dreams. But it’s a new adventure I’m ready for. “I know.”
She looks back at me again. There aren’t tears in her eyes like there are in mine, but her expression softens a tiny bit.
“Like I told you before, I am proud of you,” she says. “I’m sorry if I ever sounded like I was otherwise.”
Part of me knows she’s only saying all of this now because I won, but I just decide to take it as it is. Maybe I didn’t need her approval, after all. I know my worth, now more than ever. If this is all I’m ever going to get from her, then so be it.
“Thanks,” I say again.
I don’t say, “Thanks for believing in me,” or “Thanks for always being there for me,” because we both know those words would just be lies. That’s not the kind of relationship I have with Mom. It’s time that I finally accepted it.
Chapter Thirty-Six
THE NEXT MORNING, HENRY SURPRISES ME BY showing up at my house.
“We’re going to Santa Monica.”
“What, really? But it’s still really cold out.”
I don’t me
ntion it, but even the slightest mention of the beach brings back painful memories of Mom telling me I should have gotten a “summer body” before I went down to the beach.
He rolls his eyes. “It’s sixty degrees. In non-SoCal measures, it’s perfectly good weather. Besides, it’s not like we’re going into the water. It’ll be fun, I promise.”
Traffic to Santa Monica is so bad that by the time we get there, it’s past noon and I’ve caught up on all my friends’ Instagram stories. Rebecca and Clarissa are having brunch in Malibu (#tfti), Imani is at Big Bear celebrating with her family, and Lana and Tiffany are driving back up to NorCal, blasting old-school Korean hip-hop with the car windows down.
Seeing that my friends are having a good day is enough to make me happy, or at least it is until the cars come to a total standstill. We’re just blocks away from the beach. The road is basically one long parking lot.
“Let’s go to the beach, he said,” I grumble. “It’ll be fun, he said.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Henry laughs. “Come on, we can walk from here. Maybe ten minutes max?”
After saying goodbye to Steve and Portia, we walk the remainder of the way. Like Henry said, it only takes ten minutes to reach our destination.
Santa Monica is as LA as a beach can get. Under the cloudless blue sky, the pier itself is crowded with people fishing, taking pictures, or going into the shops and restaurants. Musicians busk with their guitars and drums, while food carts sell hot dogs and other snacks. And towering over everything is the Ferris wheel, painted in bright red and yellow tones to match the rest of the rides.
In the midst of the hustle and bustle, seagulls fly closely overhead. They occasionally land right in front of us with expressions demanding food, even though Henry and I aren’t eating anything.
“So,” I say. “We’re here. What do you want to do?”
“Let’s go up in the Ferris wheel,” he says. “I heard the view is amazing. Come on, my treat.”
“That’s like the most clichéd thing to do here, but okay.”
I, of course, don’t tell Henry about the many times I’ve fantasized about riding the Ferris wheel on a date. It’d just be too embarrassing.
When we reach it, I expect Henry to go ahead and get our tickets. But instead, he motions me over.
“Here, let’s take a picture together. Just to have something to remember this day by.”
I’m about to lean in closer when a girl exclaims, “Look! It’s Skye Shin and Henry Cho!”
She and her two friends approach us. At first, I think they’re all going to ask Henry for his autograph, but then, they hold out their pens and their Santa Monica brochures to me.
“Can you please sign this?” says the first girl. “You’re such a big inspiration to me. I’ve struggled for such a long time to love my body and . . . well, seeing you on You’re My Shining Star totally changed my life.”
“Same,” says one of the girl’s friends. “I was bullied so much in school, and after a while the haters really got to me, you know? I don’t know anything about K-pop but I saw those clips of you standing up to that judge on Twitter. You’re amazing.”
The girls circled around me are of varying sizes and shapes. From skinny to fat, they’re all so beautiful.
“Sure,” I say. “I’d be happy to give you guys my autograph.”
Henry, meanwhile, seems pretty content with being in the back. He snaps a few photos of me signing the girls’ pamphlets.
“Queen Skye in action,” he says with a proud grin.
After the girls leave, Henry switches his phone to selfie mode so he can take a picture of the two of us.
“Actually,” I say. “Here, let me.”
Seeing the girls gave me an idea. I get out my phone and snap a picture of us.
“I’m going to post this,” I say. “And you can repost it to your Instagram. Or Portia can, whatever.”
Henry blinks. “Are you sure?”
“Yup,” I say. “It’s time I stopped hiding from everyone on social media.”
Henry’s mouth widens into his full lopsided grin. He looks like a little kid who woke up to find a Christmas tree full of presents.
“Let’s take all the cute pics!” he yells.
I have to laugh at his enthusiasm. “God,” I say. “No wonder you have so many followers on Instagram.”
By the time we’re done taking pictures around the pier—with occasional breaks to sign stuff for people who recognize us from You’re My Shining Star—the sun is setting on the horizon.
“Okay,” Henry says. “Now let’s go up on the Ferris wheel.”
Even in the reddish-orange glow of the setting sun, the neon pink and blue lights of the ride shine bright against the darkening sky. It looks like something out of a fairy-tale book. While Henry gets our tickets, I take a quick picture of it. Then, I post all the good photos of us, the Ferris wheel, and the pier to my Instagram, tagging Henry in the post.
When we’re sitting across from each other on the ride, Henry sheepishly says, “I know you said this is one of the most clichéd things to do here on a date, but I’ve always wanted to come up here with someone I care about.”
“Okay, but same.”
He laughs. “Good. Then I’m not the only one crossing off a bucket list item today.”
Henry leans over to kiss me, and soon we’re making out as the wheel slowly takes us higher in the air.
When our car reaches the very top, Henry pulls away with a smile. “Look outside. You’re going to love the view.”
Now that the sun’s gone down, the entire pier is lit with all sorts of bright lights. They look tiny, like neon-colored fairy lights. But everything is still really pretty.
It’s too dark to see the ocean around us, but I can hear the gentle whisper of the waves below us. And the cool ocean breeze feels so nice that I close my eyes.
“I honestly can’t believe any of this is real,” I say.
Henry gently grabs my hand. “It’s real. And it’s all thanks to you. You worked really hard, you got yourself through the competition, and you inspired so many people. You’re amazing, Skye.”
“You know that’s probably the billionth time you’ve called me amazing, right?”
“I can’t help it.” He’s closer now, his face inches away from mine. “It’s true.”
And then we’re kissing again, gently and softly at first, but then long and hard, until we have to stop to catch our breath.
I tell him the words I couldn’t say to Mom. “Thanks for believing in me for all this time.”
“Of course. I’m going to keep believing in you. Because you’re—”
I laugh. “Amazing, I know.”
He lightly taps my nose. “No. This time, I was going to say fabulous.”
I let out a laugh. “Really?”
“Just kidding. I was actually going to say you’re an extremely hard worker. You work harder than anyone I know.”
We snuggle against each other until the Ferris wheel car descends back to the ground.
“I’m honestly really worried about what’ll happen in Korea,” I say as we get out. “What if hard work’s not enough? There are probably so many people out there who think like Bora.”
“Well,” Henry says in an incredible impression of Steve that makes me giggle, “I can always call them and give them a good talking—”
I laugh and lightly smack his arm. “Stop it, that was so good it was actually kind of scary. I eventually figured out what to do with this competition, so I guess I can figure it out in Korea, too.”
“There you go. If it makes you feel any better, when I first started modeling, I had no idea if things were going to work out for me, either. Sometimes you just have to take that leap of faith.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Henry holds out his hand, and I take it.
We slowly walk down the brightly lit pier in comfortable silence while little kids rush up and down it, nearly running into us. It fee
ls like I’m living out a scene in a Korean drama.
“Besides,” Henry finally says when we reach the end, “you’ll have me there with you for moral support.”
“Wait, what?”
He holds up his phone. On the screen is a round-trip ticket to Korea.
“You didn’t!”
He shrugs. “I have family there, remember? I can just crash with them over the summer while you’re there.”
“I thought you hated your family. Actually, don’t go. Your parents sound terrible.”
Panic flashes across my mind as I think about what they did to Henry.
His eyes get a faraway look, but then he squeezes my hand tighter. “Yeah . . . but seeing how you stood up against Bora made me realize something. And hearing about you and your mom.”
I spent a good part of last night giving Henry the play-by-play on what happened with Mom after the final round.
“Realize what?” I ask.
“I can’t just keep running away. They’re my family, so I have to deal with them sooner or later. They probably won’t ever accept me for who I am, but I can try my best on my end so that when it’s time to let go, I can make peace with myself and say that I tried.”
I pull him into a hug.
“If you’re sure,” I say.
“I’m sure.”
We only stop walking when we reach the edge of the beach. The sounds of voices and laughter are faint now, nearly swallowed up by the soft roar of waves crashing onto the shore.
“When’s the last time you visited Korea?” Henry asks, looking out at the Pacific Ocean.
“I haven’t been since I was little. Once I hit puberty, my mom became too ashamed of my size to take me to see our family.”
It’s something I haven’t told anyone, and the rawness of my voice makes Henry squeeze my hand tight.
“I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is. But for what it’s worth, my mom seems oddly excited for me to go there now. She’s even insisting on traveling back with me. Probably because she has something to brag about.”
“Probably.”
“But you know what? Yesterday, I realized that I don’t really care about what she thinks anymore. My mom is who she is. But I can still change myself and what sort of impact I have on other people. So I’m going to try to become stronger as a person and keep having a positive impact on people, like I have here.”
