by Jessica Jung
“Fine,” I say. As cool as Appa is, I know that whatever I tell him about training life will eventually make its way back to Umma. Not that Appa can’t keep a secret. In fact, I know he’s keeping a pretty big one of his own from Umma. “How are those classes going, by the way?”
He glances around as if Umma might be hiding behind a punching bag. But aside from me and my friends, the gym is empty. As usual. “They’re fine.” He clears his throat. “You still haven’t told your mother or Leah, have you?”
I shake my head. The only reason I know that Appa’s been taking secret law-school night classes in the first place is because I spotted a law textbook in his office during one of my gym visits. When I asked him about it, he got flustered and tried to pass it off as light reading. Eventually he broke down and told me the truth, but he made me promise not to tell Umma or Leah. “No. But it’s been, what, two years? Don’t you think it’s time to mention it to them? I mean, you’re about to graduate!”
“I don’t want to get their hopes up,” he says now, the same as he did the day I found out. “We all know the gym isn’t doing well. It’s not like before…” He pauses, and I think about what life was like back in New York. Appa was semi-famous from his pro-boxing days, and the gym he ran in our neighborhood in the West Village was always brimming with people. Umma was close to getting tenure as an English Literature professor at NYU. Everyone was busy, but somehow the four of us were always together. After school, Leah and I would sit in the back row of Umma’s classes, coloring and doing our homework. On the weekends, we used to run around handing out cups of water and towels to all the boxers at Appa’s gym, and Umma would be helping out in the office, arranging class schedules and taking deliveries. Afterward, we would always get ice cream and take Leah to see the guy who made gigantic bubbles in Washington Square Park.
But everything is different now. Umma’s working twice as hard to get back on the tenure track at her job, which could be years away. Leah spends hours alone after school each day while our parents are working and I’m doing homework or trying to keep up with my training. And Appa’s gym… well, he bought this gym about a year after we moved to Seoul, but it’s never really taken off. Some weeks, me and my friends are the only ones who come in at all.
For the third time today, I feel a lump in my throat. I know Appa is happy for me and my life as a K-pop trainee, but I can’t help feeling guilty for the dreams he gave up in order to let me pursue mine. Appa shakes his head and gives me a small smile. “I love this gym, but I love you and Leah and Umma even more. You three are what’s important now, and becoming a lawyer will give us some financial stability. But I just… don’t want to disappoint them. Especially Leah. She’s only twel—thirteen!—and you know how excited she gets about the smallest things. Let’s just wait a little longer to see if I even have a chance at succeeding.”
I nod my head in understanding. The thought of disappointing my family—the ones who gave up so much so I could train at DB, so that I could be a star—haunts me. But that’s why for me it’s not a matter of if, but when. For me there’s no other choice but to succeed.
“Enough old-man talk,” Appa says, trying to keep his tone light. “Go have fun with your friends.”
Now Akari is holding the punching bag for the twins as they take turns jabbing and crossing. Cho Hyeri and Cho Juhyun are my best friends from Seoul International School, since the first day of fourth grade, when the principal assigned them as my official welcoming committee. I was so nervous of what everyone would think of my K-pop training—would they think I was weird? Or spoiled? Or maybe they would want me to bow to them like Mina?—but Hyeri and Juhyun waved it off like it was nothing, grabbing my hand before I could move or say a word and racing me around the school. They were more interested in the glittery patches I had sewn on to my Converses and what growing up within walking distance of the boutiques in SoHo and the tents at Bryant Park during fashion week was like—not that I had much to say on either subject. They’re both willowy and tall, with high cheekbones and silky brown hair that falls in natural (or so they claim) waves over their shoulders. They could be models if they wanted to be and, as heiresses to the Molly Folly makeup corporation, they’d have the connections to get there too. But the only thing Hyeri is interested in doing for the family beauty company is revolutionizing their entire engineering and design department. She’s always going on about chemical reactions needed for glow-in-the-dark liquid liner or obsessing over experiments for 100 percent organic, compost-friendly packaging for a new range of eye shadow palettes. As for Juhyun, she’s practically famous due to her YouTube beauty channel. Even while sweating it out in the gym, her makeup is impeccable, from her matte red lipstick to her perfectly curled eyelashes.
“Water break?” I suggest, tugging off my boxing gloves.
“God, yes please,” Hyeri says, getting in a final jab. “I think I heard talk about ice cream and hotteok after this?”
“You were the one who mentioned ice cream,” Juhyun says.
“So?” Hyeri grins, giving her sister a soft punch on the shoulder. “You were the one who said, ‘Who can eat ice cream without hotteok on the side?’ ”
Juhyun lets out a snort. “Well, I’m not wrong.”
Akari lets go of the punching bag, and it creaks back and forth. We all grab our water bottles and take long swigs, Akari squirting some all over her face.
“You okay, Rachel?” Juhyun asks, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “We saw you going extra hard today.”
“Are you still thinking about what happened with Mina?” Akari asks worriedly.
“Ay, shib-al! What did the bitch do now?” Hyeri groans.
I fill in the twins about Mina’s invitation to the late-night practice in front of Mr. Noh. They nod understandingly. It’s not my first time venting to them about DB and Mina.
“She totally set me up!” My face flushes as I remember what I said to Mina. I let out a heavy sigh. I never should have made that comment about being able to eat whatever I like. “My mom never lets me go to the trainee house, and when I don’t show up tonight, you know she’ll make sure Mr. Noh hears about it. And then I can kiss my future goodbye.” The thought of it makes my skin prickle with panic.
“So go,” Akari says. “Go and show her and all those other trainees that you deserve this just as much as they do.”
“What about you? She invited you, too, you know.”
Akari shrugs her shoulders. “It’s ‘family night’ on the base and attendance is mandatory. I would if I could—not that it really matters, though. I’ve been at DB for five years and I don’t think Mr. Noh even knows who I am. If it wasn’t for Yujin-unni, I’m sure they would have cut me by now.”
I wince. Even though she lives on the base with her family, she’s at DB every single day, training alongside Mina and the girls. And Akari’s dancing skills are unbelievable—Yujin even says she puts Frankie from Red Hot, objectively the best female K-pop dancer in the industry, to shame. But everyone knows that when it comes to being a trainee, talent will take you only so far. That’s why we’re all desperate to do whatever we can to get noticed by Mr. Noh and the rest of the DB executives. Because every thirty days, like clockwork, trainees gather in the auditorium with DB’s executive board, waiting to be evaluated and judged, deemed worthy of staying in the program or getting kicked out. After six years the constant judgment was almost starting to seem routine, but a few months ago Akari was called into Mr. Noh’s office after appraisal day—a sure sign she was being asked to leave. That she hadn’t done enough to stand out. I don’t know what Yujin said, or did, but Akari was back the next day, a little quiet and sad-looking, but still there. She hasn’t brought it up since. I glance at the twins, who shrug their shoulders, at a loss for words.
“It’s fine. I’m not trying to have a pity party!” She smiles, quickly changing the subject. “It’s just one night. This is your career we’re talking about.”
“I
gotta agree with Akari on this,” Hyeri says, capping her water bottle. “You want this more than anything, don’t you? If a late-night practice at the trainee house is going to set you up for success, you have to take it.”
I sneak a glance at Appa. He’s all the way across the gym, practically demolishing a bag, sweat flying everywhere. He’s in the zone. “I don’t know,” I say. “My mom would freak.”
Juhyun tilts her head to the side. “Is it worth it?”
I wipe the sweat from my face. Is it worth it? That’s a question I ask myself every day. All the training, the lost weekends, the family sacrifices. The constant feeling of never quite belonging somewhere you desperately want to be. All to fulfill my dream of becoming a K-pop star. I think of eleven-year-old Rachel. The little girl who used to be chronically late because she couldn’t stop watching K-pop music videos in the bathroom between classes. In some ways, not a lot has changed. In other ways, everything has.
“It’s everything to me.”
“There you go,” Akari says.
Juhyun’s eyes glint underneath the gym’s fluorescent lighting. “Mina underestimates you, Princess Rachel.” She pulls off her boxing gloves and unravels her hand wraps, revealing intricately manicured pale-pink and navy-blue floral nails underneath. “Now go show that bitch who’s boss.”
* * *
I punch the elevator button for the eighteenth floor, antsy to get home and shower after Appa goaded me and Akari into going thirty minutes in the ring with him.
The first thing I hear when I enter our apartment is the sound of K-pop music, followed by Leah laughter and a group of giggling girls. I slide into my slippers and walk toward the living room, where Leah is sprawled on the floor with four other girls from her class, watching the newest Electric Flower music video on their phones. I recognize it immediately—the legendary Kang Jina along with the rest of the group, all dancing in glowing orange jumpsuits against a pure black soundstage. It’s the quickest viral video in DB history, getting over thirty-six million hits in only twenty-four hours. Leah stands, holding a hairbrush to her mouth like a microphone, and belts out the lyrics, matching Jina’s powerful soprano note by note. I can’t help but smile. The girl’s got talent.
Seeing me, one of her friends, a girl with a heart-shaped face and diamond-encrusted Hello Kitty earrings, nudges Leah in the toe. “Your unni’s home,” she says, nodding in my direction.
Leah spins around and holds the hairbrush out to me. “Take it away, Unni!”
I make a half-hearted motion to grab the brush, but the song is already fading to an end, leaving the room in an uncomfortable silence.
“Too bad,” Heart Face says. “We could have had a performance from a real K-pop trainee.”
Another girl in a striped shirt arches an eyebrow at me, taking in my matted, greasy hair and drooping sweatpants. “Um, are you sure she’s the K-pop trainee? Maybe Leah was talking about another sister.”
Leah laughs awkwardly, plopping back onto the floor and setting down her hairbrush. “Nope… that’s her. I only have one unni.”
“The one and only,” I say.
Stripes looks stunned. “Are you serious?”
Damn, Mina and the others are no match for these vicious preteens.
Leah chokes out another laugh, her cheeks turning pink. “Come on, guys. Trust me. Remember those ninth-grade girls from school who followed her on the bus all the way to DB headquarters just to see if she was really a trainee? Don’t be like them.”
“If you’re a real trainee, what can you tell us about DB?” one of the other girls asks. She leans forward, her eyes wide. “Do you ever see Jason Lee?”
“I heard he has a secret girlfriend that he only sees during the full moon,” the fourth girl says. “Is that true?”
“That’s so romantic.” Heart Face sighs. “Is it true that he picks a superfan off social media to surprise and spend the day with? He’s just the best!”
I laugh to myself. Even outside of DB, gossip can’t touch Jason “Angel Boy” Lee’s pristine reputation. “Um. Right… well, the thing is, I don’t really see him around.” It’s the truth, but I can tell that’s not the answer they were hoping for.
“Well, what about Electric Flower? Do they all get along? I bet Mr. Noh favors Kang Jina. She’s obviously the prettiest.”
“I don’t… know?” My body is really feeling that thirty-minute spar, and I can barely keep up with their questions.
Stripes lets out an exasperated sigh, blowing her bangs out of her face. “How… interesting.” She tiptoes around my sweat-soaked sweatshirt that I threw on the floor. “I guess being a trainee isn’t as fun or… glamorous… as we thought it would be. Our bad… come on, girls. Let’s go shopping at Coex.” She nods at the other three but doesn’t make eye contact with Leah. They all get up and quickly walk single file past me, putting on their shoes.
“Um, but… wait! I love shopping!” Leah stumbles to her feet, watching as the girls leave. Her shoulders slump as Heart Face slams the door behind them. Ouch.
“I’m sorry, Le—” Before I can finish, she whirls around to me, her face flushed with anger. “Unni! Would it kill you to at least pretend to be a cool trainee?”
Stung, I draw back. “What? Don’t try to make this about me! Every week you have some new group of girls over here—why don’t you try making some friends that like you for you for once, instead of for the gossip they think you can deliver?”
“Well… maybe they would have liked me eventually! You know, if you hadn’t scared them away with your ahjussi sweatpants and gross hair,” she claps back. “I know there’s a women’s locker room at Appa’s gym. Stop being so lazy.”
I sigh. I know those girls aren’t real friends, but I also know that Leah is upset. Just like Appa, she never asked to leave New York and the life our family had there and move across the world so I could pursue my dream, and yet she’s supported me every step of the way. She was too young before, but I think there’s a part of her that wishes she could audition for the DB training program now. But after everything I’ve gone through, though, Umma would never allow it and Leah knows it. So I probably could have put on a little show for her friends. What would have been the harm in it?
But it’s too late now.
I think of a way to cheer her up instead.
“Well, maybe the real reason I didn’t want to tell your friends about what’s happening at DB is because I wanted you to hear it first.” I plop down on the couch, patting the seat next to me. “Sisters get the inside scoop before anyone else.”
Tentatively, Leah sits down next to me. She makes a big show of not sitting too close. She isn’t ready to not be mad at me yet, but she’s too curious to resist. I ham it up, telling her all about my showdown with Mina in media training, Mina’s loaded invitation to the trainee house, and Mr. Noh’s proclamation about how my future at DB depends on showing up tonight. She leans in closer and closer as I talk, her eyes widening with every word until she’s practically sitting in my lap.
“Unni,” she screams, shaking my shoulders. “A night at the trainee house! That sounds like a dream come true.”
I laugh, letting her jiggle me around like a bobblehead. “Don’t get too excited, little sis. You know there’s no way Umma will let me go.”
“Oh, you’re right,” Leah says, putting her face in her hands.
I think back to my conversation with Juhyun. “Of course,” I say determinedly, “I could always sneak out…?”
Leah squeals. “I’ll help you with an escape plan! I already have one in mind!”
I narrow my eyes. “I hope it doesn’t involve climbing out the window of our eighteenth-floor apartment.” My younger sister is well-known in our family for her obsession with The Rock.
“Okay, so I’ll come up with a plan B.” Her eyes gleam. “As long as you get me Jason Lee’s autograph. You know he’s my ultimate bias!”
“Who should I get him to make it out to? Leah Kim, My Darli
ng Future Wife?”
She screams again, falling back on the couch and kicking her legs up in the air in delight. “I’d die! No, first I’d frame it. Then I’d die.” She sits up, grabbing my hands. “Promise you’ll bury it with me.”
I laugh.
We hear the front door open and Umma’s voice calling out for us. Leah and I exchange glances. We lock pinkies, each of us leaning forward to kiss our fists and bump our cheeks together, our special Kim sister pinkie promise we created years ago.
Umma enters the living room, carrying a bag full of takeout from Two Two Fried Chicken. Dinner. Umma is a linguistics professor at Ewha Women’s University, and with her tenure review coming up, she’s usually too tired to come home and cook. Not that we complain. Umma’s idea of a home-cooked meal is cracking an egg over a pot of Shin Ramyun and topping it off with a slice of American cheese—delicious but not easy on the stomach. Plus, I feel like she feeds me noodles on purpose to make me bloated when I go into training the next day. Like some kind of subconscious, calorie-based sabotage.
“Hungry?” she asks, holding up the bag.
We dig in, pulling out boxes of steaming fried chicken and an array of banchan, including daikon kimchi and crisp salad smothered in what tastes like Big Mac sauce. It’s chilly for April, so the heated floor underneath our kitchen table is on, making it nice and toasty as I sit down and reach for a piece of yangnyeom chicken, the sweet and spicy sauce already sticking to my fingers, while Umma sets aside a few pieces of the green-onion chicken, Appa’s favorite. He’s at the gym late tonight, giving the punching bags their weekly scrub down (which is really code for his class in Intellectual Property Law), so it’s just the three of us for dinner.
“So how was your day, Leah?” Umma asks.
Leah chatters away about Kang Jina in Electric Flower (“She’s so pretty”), Jason Lee (“I heard he’s starting a charity to bring music therapy to young kids in Korea. Isn’t he just the sweetest?!”), and the latest K-drama on Netflix (“If Park Dohee on Oh My Dreams doesn’t get her memory back soon, I swear I’m going to stop watching”). Umma nods along, smiling distractedly as she picks at her salad. I carefully peel the skin off my chicken and wait for her to ask me how my day was. It’s Saturday, so she knows I’ve been at DB.