XOXO

by Axie Oh

  “We switch from academics to the arts,” Gi Taek says. “You’re a cellist, so you’ll go to orchestra. I’m a dance major, so I’ll head over to the performing arts studio, and you . . .” He points at Angela. “You go to the studio at Neptune, right?”

  She nods, though she seems preoccupied, a frown on her face.

  “Trainees who already have contracts with management labels get their arts credits from their companies,” he explains to me.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?” Angela blurts out, and I notice that Gi Taek doesn’t have lunch.

  He shrugs. “I’m on a diet.”

  “But you shouldn’t skip meals . . .” Angela says.

  “Mind if I join you?” Nathaniel pulls out the chair across from me, dropping his tray on the table.

  I’d think the wide-eyed expressions on Gi Taek’s and Angela’s faces comical if I probably didn’t have a similar one on my face.

  It’s not his appearance that surprises me so much as to why he seems to keep seeking me out. A glimpse around at the other tables shows a few students taking notice. Does he just not care about his reputation, like Jaewoo does? Maybe having already had a scandal, he doesn’t have much to lose.

  When I turn my attention back to the table, I notice Gi Taek and Angela seem to be trying to communicate something to me with their minds.

  “Nathaniel,” I say, “do you know Angela and Gi Taek?”

  “Yeah.” He points at Gi Taek with his spoon. “Dancer, right?”

  “Yes.” Gi Taek nods vigorously. Nathaniel then turns to Angela and lifts his hand. “I don’t know you, though. My name’s Nathaniel. Nice to meet you.” She takes the tip of his fingers between both her hands. After she drops them, he laughs, shakes his head, and returns to his food, which he eats with gusto.

  Gi Taek looks between Nathaniel and me. “How do you two know each other?”

  When Nathaniel doesn’t look like he’s going to answer—his mouth full of food—I explain, “We met at the uniform store when I went to go pick up mine.”

  Angela sits forward in her seat. “Did you know who he was?”

  “Not then.”

  “But now you do,” she prompts.

  “I mean, sure. I watched your music video,” I inform him.

  “Oh yeah?” Nathaniel says. “What’d you think?” Now it’s my turn to get the spoon pointed at me. “Couldn’t take your eyes off me, could you?”

  Angela giggles.

  “Yeah . . .” I say, though it’s not Nathaniel’s part in the music video that replays in my head. That’s replayed in my head since the first time I saw it.

  There’s a stir at the entrance of the cafeteria.

  I look up to see Jaewoo walk into the cafeteria . . . with Sori.

  I’ve never seen a more striking pair. They look like they stepped out of a catalogue.

  “Is it weird if I take a picture?” Angela asks. “Like as a souvenir for myself. I’ve never seen such great visuals.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Gi Taek says, answering her seriously. “What if that picture got out somehow? It could create a scandal. I mean, do you remember—” He cuts off abruptly, looking stricken.

  Nathaniel glances up from his tray. I stare at Gi Taek, whose face has gone completely white.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” Gi Taek says. “It’s nothing.”

  Nathaniel puts down his spoon and sits back in his chair, an amused expression on his face.

  I have a distinct impression that I’m missing something here.

  “I guess you wouldn’t know,” Nathaniel sighs. “Min Sori and I dated for six months before her mother found out and forced us to break up.”

  “Oh my God,” I say.

  He shrugs. “Messed up, right?”

  Nathaniel is the writer of the postcard. Relief washes over me, quickly followed by guilt. Several times today, I caught Sori looking over. I thought something was off about her expression and yet I was more jealous than sympathetic.

  Even now, she can’t keep her eyes off our table; the look on her face can only be described as miserable.

  The postcard didn’t even sound like Jaewoo, now that I know who wrote it. Remembering the words in English at the end of the postcard, I fill in his name at the end.

  Chin up, Songbird.

  You will always have my heart.

  XOXO

  Nathaniel

  Fourteen

  The rest of the day is a blur. After lunch, I attend orchestra ensemble and meet with my cello instructor for solo performance class. She has me play a few scales and my competition piece from last fall. I’m a little rusty from not practicing for over a week. Then she gives me a schedule to sign up for hours in the academy’s practice rooms. When I bring up the showcase, she tells me we won’t start preparing our pieces until late April.

  After class, Gi Taek and I decide to grab a quick dinner down the street at Subway, since Angela’s still at rehearsal.

  Back in the dorms, I take a long, hot shower, then wrapped in only a towel, I sprint down to the hall to my room. I can tell Sori’s back because the lights are on when I open the door. As per usual, she doesn’t look up from a dance video she’s watching on YouTube.

  Putting on my pj’s, I pick out a sheet mask from the set of ten Halmeoni bought me, slipping out the dewy mask from the package and placing it carefully onto my face. I then plop down onto the bed, phone in hand, laying a towel over the pillow to protect it from my wet hair. Honestly, there’s nothing better than self-care after a long day.

  Putting in my earbuds, I pick up my phone. The browser opens to the last thing I googled, right after lunch before I had to rush over to orchestra.

  Nathaniel. XOXO. Scandal.

  I glance through the bookshelf divider to where Sori’s still watching videos. Is it weird that I’m googling my roommate? It’s none of my business.

  Except, it is kind of my business, since I live with her. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.

  I click on the first link. Back in November—around the time XOXO was in LA shooting the music video for “Don’t Look Back”—Bulletin had released photos of XOXO’s Nathaniel with a “mysterious trainee” from Joah Entertainment. Photos of them walking down a dark street holding hands. Photos of them leaving Nathaniel’s dorm, where he lives with the other XOXO members. Photos of them in Nathaniel’s car. The face of the girl in the photo is blurred out, but now that I know her identity, it’s clear the mysterious trainee is Sori—same body, same hair. Same clothes. I can see the pink bomber jacket in one photo hanging on the clothing rack in our room.

  I wonder if Joah Entertainment paid Bulletin not to reveal Sori’s identity. She is the daughter of the CEO. Either that or they weren’t legally able to, Sori being a minor and, as a trainee, not yet a public figure.

  “Jenny?”

  I almost tumble out of bed in alarm. Sori stands by her desk, one hand on her now-closed laptop, as she looks over in my direction.

  “Yes?” Thank God my voice sounds like I haven’t just been stalking her on the internet.

  “Never mind.” She moves toward the doorway to turn off the light.

  I almost call out for her to wait. Does she want to ask me about Nathaniel? I could ease her mind, that I’m not interested in him, that the person I am interested in is spending more time with her than me. Oh, and that he thinks I’m a shameful secret.

  Instead, I say nothing as she shuts off the light and climbs into bed. I take off my sheet mask and place it on my nightstand to throw away in the morning.

  She’s not a snorer so it’s silent in the room. I can’t tell if she’s asleep or if—like me—she’s looking at the ceiling, dizzy with thoughts.

  I want to ask Sori about herself. What’s it like to be a trainee at Joah Entertainment? Did she always want to be a K-pop star or was it something she had to do, because of who her mother is?

  Why is she always alone at school? I haven’t seen her speak t
o anyone besides Jaewoo. Why did she even opt for having a roommate when she could have had a single? Was she hoping that I, said roommate, could have been a friend? An ally? A confidante?

  Had I ruined that when I read that postcard? At this moment, I don’t think I’ve regretted anything more in my life.

  Most of all I want to ask her what it’s like, to love someone whom you can never have. Not to say she was in love. . . .

  Or that I am.

  I wonder if she would have ever started, if she knew how it would all end. . . .

  This is the last thought I have as I drift into oblivion.

  Sori’s alarm goes off at five the next morning. I lie in bed, listening to her get ready, changing into workout clothes and slipping out the door, duffel bag in hand.

  Unlike yesterday, the cafeteria is open for breakfast and I join a bleary-eyed Gi Taek and Angela at our same table from yesterday. They’re sharing a package of morning rolls from the convenience store. Gi Taek passes me one and I nibble on it as my eyes scan the room.

  “The members of XOXO won’t be here today,” Gi Taek says, as if reading my mind. “They have rehearsals from nine to eleven, then a taping from two to four.”

  “How do you know that?” I ask. That information seemed very specific.

  “It’s on their fan café.”

  I don’t even want to ask what that is.

  Still, I can’t help feeling disappointed that I won’t see either Jaewoo or Nathaniel at school today. I can feel my shoulders drooping as I walk into class and spot their empty desks. Sori’s already seated, so I head on over, glad that I’m neither late nor incorrectly dressed—Angela let me borrow her elastic tie—on the second day of school.

  The first class is math, which is an “experience,” as it’s taught in Korean. Luckily, the unit is one I’d already covered at LACHSA and I manage to solve the problem when the teacher calls me to the board.

  Afterward, I have study hall/history. As I’m packing up my things, Jina walks over, followed by a boy. They make a point of having a loud conversation in front of my desk.

  They’re speaking in slang again, but I recognize a few words, namely bitch and slut.

  This girl is the literal worst. It’s like she’s never seen a movie or watched reality TV. Doesn’t she know: the meaner you are, the uglier you get?

  Sori abruptly stands up, her chair falling backward behind her. Gathering up her books, she flees from the classroom.

  I realize, belatedly, that I wasn’t the target of their torment this time around.

  Hurrying out of the classroom, I catch sight of Sori already halfway down the hall. She’s pushing open the door to the girls’ bathroom.

  I follow, stepping aside to let two girls exit. They glance over their shoulders, whispering to each other. Inside, the area between the stalls and the sink is empty. The sound of sniffles comes from the last stall, the only one with a closed door.

  I approach and knock on the stall door. “Sori? Are you okay?” The sniffles become muffled, as if she’s holding a hand to her mouth. “I heard what Jina said. That wasn’t nice, nor is it true.”

  The door opens and I step back. She must be wearing waterproof mascara because her makeup looks immaculate, though the corners of her eyes are red. “How do you know if it’s not true?”

  Damn. She doesn’t make this easy. There’s an answer I could give her, that’s easier said in English. That words like “bitch” and “slut” have been used systemically to belittle women and entrench misogyny in all cultures around the world, that I wouldn’t want people to judge me or boil all my decisions down to a single word, without nuance or context or compassion.

  We’re just . . . girls. No more, no less. But before I can figure out how to say any of this she says, “I don’t need your pity.” Sori shoulders past me and exits the bathroom with a slam of the door.

  Fifteen

  I’m already exhausted and the day’s not even half over. I spend most of study hall in the library, alternating mulling over how I could have handled the situation with Sori better and my first class of dance. I’d been meaning to talk to my counselor about switching out of it, since it’s not exactly an elective I’d have chosen for myself, but haven’t yet had the opportunity.

  Still, it’s too late to back out of the first day so I head over to the performing arts building, which I’ve never been in, though I know this is where Angela and Gi Taek have most of their classes. Though I’m early, I’m not the first there.

  Sori stands by the floor-to-ceiling windows that line the back of the room, on the opposite side of which are mirrors. She’s wearing stylish activewear, a cropped tank and biker shorts, which I didn’t know was an option, otherwise I’d have dressed in something besides my PE clothes.

  Sori doesn’t acknowledge me, so I drop my school bag in the corner and sit on the floor to stretch.

  A few minutes of silence pass, then the door opens again. I expect the teacher or another student, but Nathaniel steps into the room.

  “Fancy seeing you here,” he says in English, then his eyes trail over my shoulder and he seems to freeze in place.

  Through the mirror I can see that Sori has turned from the window at his entrance. I have this weird out-of-body experience where I can see him in front of me by the door, and her behind me through the mirror, and the expressions on both of their faces is full of an inexplicable emotion, one that is way too intimate for me to witness. Then it’s like they both close off at the same time.

  Nathaniel grins, like he hasn’t a care in the world.

  “Min Sori. How have you been?”

  She turns abruptly back to the window. “Don’t speak to me. Don’t look at me. Don’t even breathe near me.”

  He shuts his mouth. Throwing his bag against the wall, he plops down next to me.

  Like Sori, he’s dressed in stylish workout clothes.

  “I thought you had rehearsal,” I say.

  He raises a single eyebrow.

  “Gi Taek told me,” I explain.

  “Ah, yes, Gi Taek.” He stretches his legs out in front of him, arching his back as he looks up at the ceiling. “I did have rehearsal, but then we decided to head back to campus instead of waiting around in the van for an hour.”

  “We?” I say.

  The door slides open again.

  “Jaewoo!” Sori rushes from the window to grab onto Jaewoo’s arm. This seems a little dramatic for her, seeing as how I’ve never heard her use a tone of voice that would include an exclamation point at the end.

  Jaewoo looks down at Sori with a quizzical expression, then at Nathaniel, who shrugs. Then his eyes land on me.

  As with every time he looks at me, my heart does a somersault in my chest.

  “Jaewoo,” Nathaniel says, “you remember Jenny, right? From LA? Plays the cello.”

  Jaewoo glances at Nathaniel, then at me. “Why are you taking dance if you’re a cellist?” He starts to take off his large puffer jacket. Like Nathaniel, he’s dressed in stylish sportswear, men’s joggers and a hoodie.

  I realize in this moment that I have a thing for guys and sportswear. Jaewoo’s black sweatshirt clings loosely to his shoulders and chest, his sweatpants riding low at his hips.

  “Why wouldn’t Jenny take dance?” Nathaniel says, answering for me, and also reminding me of what was asked. “Not everything has to be done for a reason. Sometimes you just do things for the fun of it.”

  Jaewoo and Nathaniel exchange a look and I wonder if this is an old argument.

  The door slides open for the third time and the rest of the students enter the room, followed by the teacher. She claps her hands. “Everyone move to the sides of the room,” she says without preamble.

  The students hesitate, and it’s obvious they’re waiting to see which side of the room Jaewoo and Nathaniel head toward. When they move in opposite directions, there’s this moment where the students realize they’ll have to choose, which is sort of like choosing your favorite member
in XOXO.

  The students each start heading toward one or the other side of the room, and it seems like an even split, until only Sori and I are left standing. She looks at me, tosses her hair, and moves toward Jaewoo’s side of the room.

  And now I’m just standing here alone, like the last person picked for a dodgeball team.

  Except I’m the one doing the choosing. I glance over at Jaewoo, who’s watching me with an unreadable expression on his face.

  Then I glance at Nathaniel, who beckons me over.

  I guess the choice is clear. I should go where I’m wanted. I walk over to Nathaniel who shifts to the side to make room for me.

  “For those of you who don’t know me,” the teacher begins, “my name is Ms. Dan. This is an elective class for Year Three. If you are a dance major, you will not receive credit toward your major, understood?”

  “Yes,” all the students reply in unison.

  “Perfect! Does anyone want to read the class expectations from the syllabus?”

  A boy from Jaewoo’s team—I mean, side of the room—volunteers. I listen carefully as he reads aloud from off Ms. Dan’s tablet. For the most part, I’m fine with the lessons, which are broken down into genres of dance, like ballet and jazz. I’m not looking forward to the group project though, where groups of four or five of us will have to a pick a song and choreograph a dance to it.

  Luckily, Ms. Dan informs us that choreography won’t start until next week so we spend the rest of class stretching.

  “Why are you hanging out with me?” I ask Nathaniel, who’s pretty much only talked to me since the class started. On the other side of the room, Jaewoo is practically holding court like the prince he is, doling out his attention like favors.

  Is Nathaniel using me to make Sori jealous? That seems mean-spirited, especially with how much I believe he still cares for her. The way he looked at her when he first entered the room said it all. There must be another reason.

  “We’re countrymen,” he says, and I roll my eyes. “I like to practice my English?”