I'll Be the One Page 15

  “Well, you were going at it pretty HAM.”

  “I know,” he groans. “Let’s stop talking about it.”

  His pained expression makes me laugh.

  By then, I’m back at my house, standing on our front porch.

  “Well, thanks for the call,” I say. “I have to go back inside and sleep, though. Talk to you later this week to coordinate extra practices?”

  “Yup, I’ll be in touch.”

  “You better be. You already ghosted me once.”

  “How about I message you so much that you get sick of me?”

  “Forget messages,” I say. “Just spam me with dog pics. That, and plans for practice. Nothing else.”

  Henry draws back in mock hurt. “Wow, I see how it is.”

  “I’m kidding,” I laugh.

  “I know. Good night, Skye.”

  “Night.”

  We hang up, and I’m left with this warm, fuzzy sensation inside my chest.

  Oh no. Now it’s my turn to groan. But there’s no denying it. Even though I’ve been trying hard to avoid it, I guess it was inevitable.

  I’m starting to have feelings for Henry Cho.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  THE NEXT WEEK FLIES BY IN A FLURRY OF TESTS and extra practices with Henry and Lana. They’re both nice enough to give me rides from school to LA, and I make it up to them by paying for gas. Or at least, I try to pay. When I offer to pay for Henry’s gas, though, he just shakes his head.

  “It’s fine,” he says. “Besides, I owe you for ghosting last week.”

  Henry and I text throughout the week to coordinate things, although admittedly, we text a lot more than necessary. I mostly talk about school and how I’m drowning in homework, while Henry tells me about the various fashion shoots he’s in and, as promised, sends me pictures of Snowball to cheer me up.

  On Friday night, the day before the second elimination round, I get a text from Henry. I open it expecting another dog pic. Instead, it’s a selfie of Henry making a heart with his thumb and pointer finger, the way I’ve seen K-pop stars do. He’s got his face snuggled up against Snowball, and the white husky’s looking directly at the camera with her mouth slightly open, so she looks like she’s smiling.

  Snowball and I are wishing you good luck tomorrow morning, says the accompanying text. You’ll do amazing, I know it. And I’ll see you in the afternoon.

  Probably the worst thing about qualifying for both vocals and dance is the fact that I had to prep for both elimination rounds tomorrow—vocals in the morning and dance in the afternoon. I was feeling pretty anxious today, but Henry’s picture is so cute that it makes me feel a bit better.

  Thanks, I reply. Let’s kick butt tomorrow.

  I don’t get much sleep, and way too soon, it’s go time.

  Bright and early in the morning, Lana, Tiffany, and I head to the performance venue. Per Lana’s suggestion, the three of us are already all dressed up and in full makeup. Lana’s driving, while Tiffany rides shotgun and I sit alone in the back with the bag of stuff I’m bringing so I can change in between my two performances.

  “Ah, I’m so nervous,” Lana says, anxiously drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “What if I trip and die?”

  “You won’t die,” Tiffany replies. “You’ll just probably fall offstage in front of hundreds of people. Not to mention the thousands and maybe millions watching back home.”

  Lana playfully nudges Tiffany’s side. “That’s not very reassuring.”

  “I’m kidding. Of course you’ll do fine. You and Skye have been working really hard. You two are totally going to rock it. Right, Skye?”

  I’ve been silently wrestling with my own nerves in the back of the car, but I manage to cheerfully say, “Yup! We’ll be okay.”

  “You do your best.” Tiffany plants a kiss on Lana’s forehead. “Regardless of whether or not you make it past this round, I’m so freakin’ proud of you.”

  “Aw, come here, you.”

  At that moment, we reach a red light, and Lana kisses Tiffany full on the lips. Tiffany practically melts in her seat, her usually confrontational posture relaxing as the scowl disappears from her face. It’s so cute that I don’t even mind that I’m totally third-wheeling.

  Just then, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I quickly put it on silent, because it’d be so bad if it went off during the competition.

  I open up my phone to see a picture of Snowball with a pink-and-yellow flower crown. It’s so adorable that I squeal out loud.

  Lana startles in her seat. “What? What is it?”

  I show Lana and Tiffany the picture of Snowball, and they both instantly “aww.” The white husky is just that cute.

  Coachella Snowball wishes you good luck and sends you good vibes, Henry texts as a caption to the picture.

  ME: You can take pets to Coachella???

  Knowing people in SoCal, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was a thing, but I’ve never heard of anyone mentioning bringing their pets.

  HENRY CHO: Nah. But I still like to dress her up for that time of year. Have you been?

  ME: No. You need to be 18 or older to go alone and there’s no way my parents would go with me. Can you even imagine? Uptight Korean parents at Coachella?

  HENRY CHO: We should go sometime. Either Steve or Portia goes with me every year, depending on who’s free. It’s chill.

  I try to imagine the life he lives on a day-to-day basis. How could someone be only one year older than me but have a life that’s so different?

  ME: Sure.

  I don’t ask him the question floating around in my thoughts. Does this count as you asking me out on a date?

  I shake my head, as if that’ll knock the thought out of my mind. This is going too far. Regardless of how I feel about him, I don’t even know if Henry and Melinda are really broken up yet. Sure, the press and everyone else says they are, but if Melinda herself says they’re not . . . I just don’t know. Melinda may be a jerk, but I’m not one to steal other people’s boyfriends.

  I have to admit, though, texting Henry is a nice distraction. Almost all the tension I was feeling before fades away, and I feel a lot more relaxed than I was only a few moments ago.

  When we get to the venue, Tiffany switches seats with Lana so she can park the car while Lana and I head backstage. As soon as the stage manager sees us, she gives us instructions.

  “You’re team number six,” she says. “The dressing room is on your right, if you still need to get ready. If not, please head over to the green room. It’s on your left. Please be on standby after team number five leaves to perform.”

  I look to my right, where a crowd’s already formed at the dressing room door. Thank God Lana had the brilliant idea to get us ready before we left.

  Once we’re in the green room, Lana leans back against the wall and is immediately engrossed in texting Tiffany. I settle down onto the couch with my bag, in between two Korean girls I recognize from practice. I think I actually know one of them from back when my parents used to make me go to Korean school. But they both give me wary looks before scooting farther away from me, whispering between themselves.

  I try not to let that bother me. Instead, I close my eyes and sit back, trying to relax. My heart is already starting to beat faster than usual, and now I feel even crappier than I did before.

  The room is full of nervous energy, and understandably so. Although we technically performed for a studio audience during the main auditions, this just isn’t the same. We had months to prepare for those performances, and we didn’t have to depend on another person to do well like we have to for this round.

  The people who aren’t warming up their voices and running through scales are on their phones, furiously texting or scrolling through Instagram. Many of them smile, and a quick glance at the other girls on the couch tells me that their friends and families are sending them encouraging messages. Besides Henry’s, I don’t have any other messages. Mom went back to passive-aggressively ignorin
g me again after the premiere last week, and Dad’s in Seattle this weekend on an important business trip.

  I didn’t tell any of my friends about this performance since I knew they’d be just as nervous about it as I am. And I didn’t want them screaming about it when I can barely handle myself. We’d already agreed to FaceTime after every episode, so I figured having their support when this episode airs a few weeks from now would be enough.

  But now, I kind of regret being secretive. Even though it’s mostly my own fault that my phone is silent, I can’t help but feel lonely that no one’s texting me well-wishes.

  Instead of dwelling on how sad I’m feeling, I watch the TV as I run through some vocal exercises. The chairs and couches in the room are set up around it so we can watch what’s happening onstage while we wait for our own turns. Currently, Mindy—the SpongeBob T-shirt girl—and Isabel are singing their rendition of Blackpink’s “Kill This Love.” Mindy can’t be more than ten, but she has more swag than I can ever dream of having, and Isabel raps flawlessly in Korean. They’re both so good that I can practically see fire emojis around them. When they reach the chorus, the audience sings along, shouting, “LET’S KILL THIS LOVE!” Before they even finish, the judges stop them and shower the two with praise.

  Mindy and Isabel are a tough act to follow, and a guy in the duo after them totally freezes while singing a BTS song. Bora doesn’t even give him a moment to recover before she slams her hand down on the big red reject button in the middle of the judges’ table.

  “NEXT!” she yells.

  The guy bursts into tears, while his partner looks like she wants to murder him. Davey Kim, who’s back to emcee this episode, tries to console the two as he escorts them offstage.

  I wince. Man, things are getting brutal.

  So far, no one has thought to incorporate dance into their performances. Even Mindy and Isabel focused more on the rap and vocals, only bouncing up and down occasionally to the beat. I smile. This means that Lana and I will stick out, and not in a bad way.

  When team number four leaves for the stage, Lana comes to stand next to me. She raises her eyebrows at the gap between the girls and me on the couch.

  What the heck? she mouths at me.

  I shake my head, not wanting to start drama.

  Lana just shrugs and plops down right between us. The other girls yell and jump up. They look annoyed but don’t say anything when Lana flat-out ignores them. I laugh. Lana is the best.

  When it’s finally our turn, we head over to where the stage manager stands at the very edge of backstage.

  “On my cue,” she says.

  “Next up, we have Lana Min and Skye Shin!” yells Davey Kim.

  “Okay,” the stage manager hisses. “Go. They’ll start your music shortly.”

  As Lana and I walk onto the stage, I think about all the articles I saw on Mom’s phone. The Korean Adele. I’m still not sure how I feel about that nickname, especially since I first heard it from my mom. But honestly? I don’t want to be compared to anyone, period. I want everyone to know my name.

  I take a quick glance around the audience, ever thankful that, unlike the guy who was just eliminated, I don’t have stage fright. At first, I think I’m seeing things, but then I realize that some people are holding up signs with my face on them, like I’ve seen people do for K-pop stars at concerts. A lot of them have super-nice messages in Korean and English, like GO, GO, SKYE! and WE LOVE OUR QUEEN SKYE. I pretty much avoided social media altogether after the premiere, so I didn’t really know the full scale of people watching the show until now.

  This much love after the first episode alone . . . I try not to let it overwhelm me and instead think back to what Henry said about me being “worth all the hype.” His words make me smile, and I’m still grinning when our music starts.

  On our cue, Lana and I stomp across the stage in perfect unison, like we’re going down the catwalk. Lana did our makeup so we’d look fierce like Beyoncé, and we’re both wearing curve-hugging black dresses and high heels. I look and feel like a goddess, especially when people start screaming our names.

  In the twenty seconds before we start singing, we move along to the beat, following the choreography that I made for the song. The audience goes wild. We’re delivering fierce girl power, and the crowd is all for it.

  My voice is lower, so I come in to harmonize with Lana. But just because I harmonize doesn’t mean I’m outshined by her. To make things fair, Lana and I divided the song into parts so we each get moments where we can show off our voices. As we sing, we rotate between staring out at the crowd, at the cameras, and then at each other.

  Lana’s mouth quirks into a slight grin when our eyes meet.

  It doesn’t take long for me to lose myself in the rhythm and powerful vocals of “Crazy in Love.” When it gets to my solo part, I really let go, letting the music pour out of my mouth like a flood. People scream, and they keep on cheering as Lana takes over and sings her part.

  We then go back to singing together, our voices joining forces as we walk hand in hand down the stage. The cheers just get louder and louder so that by the time we finish, I can barely hear the music.

  After the song comes to an end. Lana and I smile at each other before slowly dropping our hands back to our sides.

  “There you have it, Lana Min and Skye Shin!” Davey announces, running across the stage.

  We walk back to center stage as the judges finish scribbling down their notes.

  Mr. Park goes first, and he claps loudly before saying, “Brava, ladies. You both did a really good job, and especially Ms. Skye Shin. You really are the Korean Adele. Or maybe even the Korean Beyoncé? I’m assuming the dance elements were your idea.”

  I nod, and he gives me a pleased smile. “Thinking like a girl group member already. Well done.”

  Next is Bora. She’s actually smiling, something I’ve never seen her do before. But she’s looking at Lana, not me.

  “You girls really killed it out there,” she says. “Amazing job.”

  When she turns to look at me, though, her smile immediately drops.

  Oh boy, here it comes, I think.

  “Miss Shin,” she says, “you really are the Korean Adele. I agree with Mr. Park about that. But Adele is in her thirties, while you are a teenage girl. There simply isn’t room in the industry for someone like you. You could have a great career if you were just a bit . . . thinner. You’re still young enough that losing weight should be easy for you. Why don’t you try a bit harder?”

  Lana squeezes my hand tight. With my other hand, I lift the mic to my mouth and say, “Bora, like I told you before, I’ve tried my entire life to lose weight. I didn’t always want to, but I was forced to by my mom. I’ve been on really extreme diets when I was a kid, before I realized that I’m perfectly fine the way I am. So, no, I will not ‘try a bit harder’ to lose weight, because that shouldn’t matter in terms of my musical career.”

  I expect to be met with silence like last time, but today, the audience explodes into loud cheers. Some people even boo Bora.

  Bora’s face reddens, so slightly that I almost think it’s a trick of the light. When she doesn’t say anything in response, I know I’ve embarrassed her. Admittedly, I’m not sure if this is a good thing. On one hand, I’m proud of myself for standing up to her again, but I’m also not sure if this is the smartest thing to do to a judge.

  Gary glances at Bora with a nervous smile before turning to face us.

  “Both of you really killed it today,” he says. “Good job.”

  And that’s that. We go backstage, where Tiffany is waiting for us.

  Almost immediately, Tiffany pulls Lana into a tight hug.

  “You were amazing,” she says, nuzzling her on the shoulder. She then meets my eyes and releases Lana to give me a hug as well. “You were awesome too.”

  “Thanks,” I say, unable to keep the tension from my voice. I can’t help it. Like she always does, Bora’s puts me on edge.

>   Lana notices and gives me a quick nudge. “Hey. Don’t worry about Bora, okay? She’s just one out of three judges. Plus, think about all the kids you’ll inspire around the world when this episode airs! For all we know, you might change someone’s life by standing up for yourself like that.”

  I nod, feeling somewhat better. Even though I have no idea what the reality will be, it’s easier to believe that Lana’s right.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  BY THE TIME THE VOCAL ROUND IS OVER, BACKSTAGE is a flurry of singers leaving the venue as dancers come in. I only have fifteen minutes to change and retouch my makeup, so I pull Lana and Tiffany into another quick hug.

  “Good luck!” Lana says.

  “Thanks! Good luck, Tiffany!”

  “You too!”

  I grab my bag from the green room and head over to the dressing room. It’s pretty easy to find, since that’s where people are entering and exiting the most. When I actually get to the doorway, my jaw drops. The room is even busier than backstage, with people yelling and even crying as they get ready. Everyone is scrambling to get into their outfits and do their makeup, pushing and tripping on other people in the process. It’s pure chaos.

  A girl’s hair even catches on fire, causing everyone to scream.

  I close the door. Looks like I’m changing in the restroom.

  Thanks to years of choir and dance performances, I get ready pretty quickly in the restroom. Since the choreography for the dance portion requires a lot more movement and flexibility, I slip into my blue dancing dress and a clean pair of beige Bandelettes thigh bands.

  I can’t do my makeup as well as Lana did it for me, but I retouch it as best as I can.

  After I’m done changing, I find Henry waiting for me at the edge of the stage. He’s only wearing a gray tank and black sweatpants, but he might as well be on the cover of GQ. He looks that ridiculously good. The tank is tight enough to show that his abs are no joke.