I'll Be the One Page 4

  You mean, the same imos and gomos that you’re too ashamed to let me visit in Korea? The response pops up in my head, although I don’t say anything aloud.

  Although here in the States I have lots of imos—maternal aunties—who are actually just Mom’s friends and aren’t really my blood relatives, I have tons of real imos and gomos—paternal aunties—that I haven’t seen in person since I hit puberty. I asked countless times if we could visit Korea, but every year, Mom always made up some random excuse until it became clear what the real reason was. She’s too embarrassed of me and, more specifically, my weight.

  Usually, I just close my eyes and let her go on and on. But today, especially after what I endured from Bora earlier, I’m too fed up to stay quiet. I look Mom straight in the eyes and say, “My outfit is perfectly fine. I’m just wearing a sports bra and leggings.”

  Although I normally wear flashier things onstage, I wanted the audience to focus on me and my skills as a performer today. So I opted for a chic black sports-bra-and-leggings set from Torrid, one of my favorite plus-size-friendly brands. I look sleek and sexy in my outfit—or at least I did before sweat-pocalypse happened—and I know it. It’s not my fault people like my mom think that fat people wearing tight or revealing clothing is “inappropriate.”

  “People watch that show all over the world, not just in the United States and Korea,” Mom continues like I never said anything. “Does it really not bother you that everyone will see you dance with your arm flab shaking all over the place and your belly jiggling like Santa Claus? The least you could—”

  Something clatters loudly onto the floor and Sally gasps, “Omo!”

  When Mom and I turn to look at her, she sheepishly grins. “Sorry.”

  A glass lies shattered by her feet. Water’s splashed all over the floor, and some of it seeps into Mom’s plush rug.

  “Sally, be more careful! Are you hurt at all?” Mom’s attention immediately focuses on Sally, momentarily forgetting about me.

  “I’m fine,” Sally replies. “Sorry, Ms. Kang, I’ll clean everything up right now.”

  When she walks past me to get paper towels from the bathroom, Sally gives me a wink. I shoot her a grateful look.

  Mom, oblivious to our little exchange, bends down and says, “Here, let me help.”

  As they clean up the mess, I slowly exhale, feeling like I can finally breathe again for the first time since Mom started talking. I get up to help too but Mom shakes her head at me.

  “We’re done,” she says. “It wasn’t that big of a mess. I’d rather you worry about the things that actually matter, Haneul. Like that competition. Is it too late for you to call them and ask them to pull the footage?”

  Sally freezes from where she’d just thrown the glass shards into the trash can. I pause too, wondering where this is coming from. Can’t Mom just let this go? But of course, she can’t. She’s my mom. And I know exactly what kind of person she is.

  “I don’t want them to pull the footage,” I say. “I think I did great. And I got in, for both singing and dance. If some people can’t see past what I look like to see how good I am, it’s on them.”

  “Well, honey, just because you got in, it doesn’t mean they have to use your footage.”

  I abruptly turn to face her. “They do, Mom. They always use the footage for the people who get in. They’re only accepting the top one percent of thousands of people auditioning this year. Can’t you just be proud that I made it?”

  I don’t mention the fact that most of those thousands of people were weeded out during the preliminaries, which I couldn’t have auditioned for without Dad. The last thing I need is for Mom to get mad at Dad because of me.

  “I—” Mom starts, falters, and then tries again. “I am proud of you. I just think you should care more about how you look. Do you really not care that people might make a laughingstock out of you?”

  I think about the hours I spent in front of my bathroom mirror this morning. Today was a special occasion, but there was a time when I used to always spend several hours in front of the mirror, wishing I could “fix” myself. Every time I looked, something seemed off about me. But I could never tell what. It wasn’t just that I wanted to be skinnier and prettier, like Mom wanted me to be. Everything seemed wrong. I cared so much about how I looked that nothing was okay.

  When I steel myself to talk again, my voice is low. “Caring more about how I look is the last thing I need right now. And if people want to laugh at me, well, let them. I’m still going to win. I’m going home. You don’t have to write me a note if you don’t want to. We’re allowed one unexcused absence.”

  I’m almost out the door when I hear a scribbling sound from behind me.

  “Here,” Mom says. “Use this as an excuse letter. And don’t be ridiculous. I’m done for the day, so I’ll drive us home in a bit. You can go wait by the car.”

  She holds out a piece of paper with her signature on it like it’s a peace treaty.

  I take it, unsure what to say except, “Thanks.”

  “Have you eaten yet?” Mom asks all of a sudden. It’s such a complete one-eighty from the way she was fat-shaming me just moments before that I need a few seconds to recover. Asking if someone’s eaten is a common way for Korean people to show we care for one another, but it feels so out of place in this current moment.

  “No,” I say. “I will when we get home.”

  “All right. You really shouldn’t skip meals, Haneul. We’re not in North Korea. Think about how lucky you are compared to the poor, starving children.”

  “Okay,” I say through gritted teeth. That’s the frustrating thing about Korean moms. One moment, they’re telling you that you need to lose weight, and the next, they’re shaming you for not eating.

  Mom gives me a small nod before closing the door.

  Chapter Five

  “SO, DID SHE TELL YOU TO DROP OUT OF THE competition?” Dad asks as I walk to school the following Monday.

  I have my earphones plugged into my phone, and I’m FaceTiming Dad like I do every Monday morning before school. Luckily our neighborhood is pretty quiet, so I’ve never gotten hit by a car or come even close to it. Not yet, anyway.

  Dad now works in the Bay Area, so he only visits us every other weekend at most, since he has to fly down from San Jose. I do miss him from time to time, but our weekly calls are usually enough.

  “Yup,” I say. “You should have heard her voice when I told her I auditioned for the dance portion, too. It was like I told her I murdered someone.”

  Dad chuckles. “That’s just your mom being your mom, Skye. I, for one, am so proud that you got in. For both vocals and dance.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  His words make my heart hurt a bit less, even though it doesn’t really help with the fact that he’s almost never home while Mom is the one who I have to deal with every single day.

  “Your mom grew up in a way different culture than you and me,” Dad continues. “You’ve got to understand that, you know?”

  “I know.”

  Dad always says stuff like this to me, like it’s his second job to remind me that unlike the two of us, Mom was born and raised in Korea, where her parents brought her up with extremely high expectations during a huge recession. When he used to live with us, he was better at calling Mom out when she fat-shamed me. But since he moved away, he’s been more about “keeping the peace.” I think he just wants to enjoy what little time he has with us, minus the drama.

  “I’m almost at school,” I say. It’s somewhat true. I’m still a few minutes away, but from where I’m standing, I can see the orange-red Spanish-style roofs of the high school. Besides, it’s not like my dad can tell if I’m lying or not. From the way I’m holding my phone, he can only see my face.

  “All right, well, I’ll talk to you later,” Dad says. “I have to go to work, anyway.”

  “See you.”

  When I walk into school, it’s like nothing’s changed. And I guess
in a way, nothing has. Not yet anyway. Even though I got into You’re My Shining Star this past weekend, no one else will know about it until the show premieres in two months. And even if it airs, it’s not like the majority of the school will care. Although BTS is pretty popular now, most people in our school probably don’t even know what K-pop is.

  I go to the cafeteria, which is bustling with people.

  It doesn’t take long for me to spot my usual group of friends, since one of them—Clarissa Han—has bright auburn hair. Our school’s dress code is strict about the colors we can dye our hair—natural colors only!—but it isn’t really specific about the shade. And Clarissa took full advantage of that by dying her naturally black hair the brightest red she could manage.

  Clarissa and my other best friend, Rebecca, are playing Rebecca’s Nintendo Switch. Technically, game consoles aren’t allowed in school, but we’re usually allowed to play before classes start as long as we don’t take them out in the classrooms. I’ve never really been into games, but I always like watching my friends play, since it gives me something to do before the school day starts. Today, they’re playing Pokémon.

  The three of us have been best friends ever since we were in the same homeroom class in fifth grade. All three of us haven’t been in the same class since, but we’ve stuck together as much as we could, hanging out whenever we can. None of us really have any reason to get to school early, but since we all have different schedules, hanging out at the cafeteria before school is our daily tradition.

  Rebecca pauses the game when I sit down next to her and says, “So. Did you really audition? How did it go?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “It went okay. I got in.”

  “You what?” Clarissa squeals, hitting me in the arm. “Oh my gosh, congratulations! You go, girl.”

  My friends’ faces light up with surprise and pride. Mostly surprise. I realize that my own friends didn’t think I could actually make it into the competition. It stings, just a bit.

  “I heard Henry Cho showed up to the audition!” Clarissa continues. “How was he? Was he really good?”

  “Yeah, I saw him.”

  “You what?” Rebecca exclaims.

  “Did you get a picture of him?” Clarissa jumps in. “Or an autograph?”

  I wave a hand at my friends. “Guys, guys, chill. No, I was too busy auditioning for my own place in the competition to do anything like that.”

  Rebecca and Clarissa exchange looks. Clarissa’s eyes are still kind of wide, like an excited puppy’s, but Rebecca calms down and clears her throat.

  “Right,” she says. “So, when are they airing the episode?”

  “Mid-October,” I say. “That’s when the show premieres. Although honestly, I don’t know how much of the footage they’ll actually use from my audition. I guess I’ll just have to see.”

  “Well, you made it in, didn’t you? I’m sure we’ll see at least one glimpse of you. They’d be complete fools to leave you out.” Rebecca gives me a small, playful nudge, and I grin.

  “Wait,” says Clarissa. “They’ll probably show Henry a lot, right? Is he big in Korea like he is here? Do you—ow!” She winces as Rebecca elbows her in the ribs.

  “Let’s try to be a little more supportive, all right?” Rebecca says. “Skye might become famous one day. This is only just the beginning.”

  “Right,” Clarissa says, rubbing the place where Rebecca elbowed her. “But can you get me Henry’s autograph, on the off chance that you see him?”

  I sigh, taking in the bright, hopeful look in her eyes.

  “Fine,” I reply. “No promises, though. I don’t even know what he auditioned for.”

  I don’t mention that it doesn’t really matter, since I got in for both. I’m salty about the fact that Clarissa seems to care more about Henry than she does about me.

  “Dance!” Clarissa chirps. “Official footage hasn’t come out yet, of course, but I saw people’s Instagram stories. He was amazing.”

  She sighs dreamily, and I can tell from the definitely-more-restrained-but-still-admiring look on Rebecca’s face that Clarissa isn’t the only one who has a crush on Henry. She’s just more transparent.

  “Fine,” I say again. “I’ll get Henry’s autograph. If I happen to bump into him or something. But I won’t go out of my way to look for him. I have better things to do.”

  “Of course,” Rebecca says with a sharp nod. “You prioritize you first, okay? This is just if you have time during your breaks or something.”

  Clarissa squeals. “You’re the best! Thanks, Skye!”

  At that moment, the bell rings. Everyone gets up from their seats. Both Rebecca and I have AP Psych for first period. The room is pretty close to the cafeteria, so we’re in no rush to get to class. Instead, we just stay near our table and watch as Clarissa fights her way through the crowd leading out into the hall.

  “I always tell her she should leave before the five-minute bell, since her first class is on the opposite side of school,” says Rebecca. “But she always forgets.”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “For the record, I don’t care that much about Henry. He’s . . . okay, fine, he’s hot. But you’re my number one, okay?”

  “Thanks, Rebecca.”

  I give her arm a light squeeze.

  But even after we’re settled into our seats in psychology class, and even after Mr. Peterson starts his lecture on operant conditioning, I still can’t forget how Clarissa cared a lot more about seeing Henry Cho than she cared about my audition.

  I’ll just have to show her I’m better, I think. I have no idea how good Henry is, but he probably only auditioned to gain more social media followers. No matter how good he really is, he’s my competition, and I’ve worked way too hard and too long to lose to someone like him.

  We might have both gotten in, but in the end, everyone will be talking about me.

  About halfway into fifth period, I get an email containing detailed instructions on the next steps for You’re My Shining Star, along with our rehearsal schedule and elimination-round dates. Since we’re allowed to have our laptops out during history, I sneak a quick look at it while pretending to take notes.

  It’s a long email, but it’s pretty straightforward and summarizes our schedule at the very end. There are “boot camp” rehearsals every Saturday, alternating between vocal and dance each week—which means rehearsals every weekend for me. Three Saturdays are devoted to elimination rounds, leading up to the live final elimination. The competition schedule itself looks like this:

  8/29 First vocal boot camp session

  9/5 First dance boot camp session

  9/12 Round one eliminations (TBD: Top 20)

  10/10 You’re My Shining Star premiere (episodes air every Sat. at 6 p.m. PST)

  10/17 Round two eliminations (TBD: Top 10)

  11/7 Round three eliminations (TBD: Top 5)

  11/28 No rehearsals or elimination rounds (US Thanksgiving holiday weekend)

  12/5 Final round (live broadcast; TBD: #1 from each category)

  6/6/2021 Winners start training at PTS Entertainment in Seoul

  It’s pretty daunting, but I’m glad they’re only flying us out to Korea if we win. As long as we’re in LA, I can still go to school. And I still haven’t even worked out how I’m going to get to practice every weekend.

  A text message pops up on my screen.

  LANA MIN: Hey, did you get the schedule???

  It’s only then that I remember that I exchanged numbers with Lana back at the audition.

  ME: Yeah!

  LANA MIN: FORGOT TO TELL YOU EARLIER BUT TIFFANY AND I BOTH GOT IN TOO! ISN’T THIS SO EXCITING?

  I grin at the all-caps message, and then immediately regret it when Ms. Blankenship says, “Miss Shin? Is there something funny you’d like to share with the rest of the class? I’m hoping it wasn’t about colonial diseases. Because there’s nothing funny about disease, and especially not smallpox, one of the deadliest diseases in human history.�
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  There are a few snickers from the rest of the class, but they’re cut off by a sharp glare from Ms. Blankenship.

  “I think we’re due for a pop quiz. Everyone, clear your desks. You have Miss Shin to thank for this.”

  Everyone shoots daggers at me. But instead of being mortified, I’m still a little giddy about the prospect of going to Korea. Even though LA Koreatown is like a mini Korea in and of itself, I still want to visit to see how everything’s changed since I last went.

  Ms. Blankenship passes out the pop quiz. It’s printed on bright blue paper that’s still warm from the copy machine, so I know she’s been planning to give us one all along. She only used me as a scapegoat.

  It sucks, but I have bigger problems right now. The most pressing one being that I need to figure out how to get to LA every week when I don’t even have a car. The truth is, I never expected this to be a problem, because I didn’t think I’d get in for both vocals and dance. Dad promised to give me a ride, since he’s home every other weekend, but now I have to figure out how to get to LA on the weekends Dad isn’t here.

  Even though I’m old enough to drive, I never learned because of Mom. Whenever I brought up the idea, she’d asked, “Why are you in a rush to learn how to drive? I learned to drive when I was thirty, after I got married and had you. School is close enough to walk from home!”

  Dad and I tried to explain to Mom about how the culture is different here in America, where everything is so spread apart that you can’t do everything by just walking around and taking public transportation like you can in Korea, but she never budged. Dad promised to teach me, but he never got around to it. I guess it’s hard when he’s almost never here.

  Ms. Blankenship clears her throat as she walks by my desk, and I belatedly realize that she’s already finished passing out the quiz. There’s no way that Mom will let me stay in the competition if I do badly in school. Deciding to worry about everything later, I push all thoughts of You’re My Shining Star out of my head and focus on the paper in front of me.