by Axie Oh
Jaewoo.
Sori’s seated across from him.
“Sit down, Jenny,” Nathaniel says, either oblivious of the awkwardness or pointedly ignoring it, maybe even enjoying it. Most likely the latter. “I think it’s about time we all sit down for a chat.”
Sori makes to leave. “I should go.”
“Don’t run for my sake,” Nathaniel says.
She remains seated.
I feel as if I’ve stepped into a scene from a K-drama. The main characters are Jaewoo, the stalwart class president, and Sori, the chaebol daughter of a huge entertainment company, which I guess would make Nathaniel and I the disreputable American secondary characters, there to disturb the otherwise idyllic life of the leads.
“Jenny?” All three of them are looking at me expectantly.
“Oh, sorry.” I take the seat next to Sori.
“You two are roommates, aren’t you?” Nathaniel asks.
I glance at Sori but she doesn’t look like she’s going to answer, shuffling the food around on her plate with her chopsticks. “Yes,” I say.
“Well, that’s surprising.”
When he doesn’t elaborate, I sigh. “Why is that surprising?”
“Oh, that Sori’s parents allowed her to have a roommate, seeing as how they have complete control over her life.”
Damn, Nathaniel! I give him a wide-eyed look. Stop!
He gives me a shrug. What?
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jaewoo watching us.
“I just mean,” Nathaniel acquiesces, flicking his gaze at Sori, “they’re so protective of you. As they should be. You’re their precious daughter.”
“What about you two?” I say, trying to take the heat off Sori. “You live together, right?”
Nathaniel switches his gaze from Sori to me. “Yeah, we live in a dorm down the street from Joah. But we’re moving soon to a bigger place. When we’re all settled, you should come over.”
I wave him off. “I’m sure you’d have to ask your other roommates.”
“Oh, Youngmin won’t mind. And Sun is hardly there. I don’t know about Jaewoo though.” He turns to his bandmate, all innocence. “How about it, Jaewoo? You want Jenny to come over?”
Something is definitely going on here. Nathaniel must know something about Jaewoo and me. But how? I doubt Jaewoo told him, not when he kept it from Youngmin.
“We’re not allowed to have girls at the dorm,” Jaewoo says coolly, though his eyes narrow a margin.
“Bae Jaewoo . . .” Nathaniel laughs without humor. “Always a rule-follower.”
Jaewoo grits his teeth. “I follow rules so that others don’t get hurt.”
“Even when it’s the rules that hurt the people you care about the most?”
Beside me, Sori’s stopped even pretending to eat; her hand that holds her chopsticks is trembling.
“Sori,” I say, “what you said before was a good idea. We should go.”
She ignores me. “Jaewoo’s right, Nathaniel. Rules are made for a reason, not just to protect our company, but also to protect our dreams, what we’ve been striving for our whole lives! You wouldn’t understand. You’re not like us.”
“Why? Because I entered the game late? Because I wasn’t brainwashed at a young age to believe that I had to give up everything for my family? Or is it because I’m Korean American? I just don’t get it because I’m different, because I have—I don’t know—a mind of my own?”
The cafeteria has gone silent. Everyone is watching, listening.
“Sori . . .” I tug at her sleeve. “Seriously, we should go.”
“And you,” she turns to me, and the venom in her voice actually makes me wince. “You think you’re so great, waltzing in here, making friends, showing them off to me. When you were the one who intruded into my life, nosing into my business, reading my mail. Are you even here for music? You can’t dance. I doubt you can sing. You don’t belong here. You’re nothing.”
My heart feels as if it’s dropped into my stomach. This is what she’s thought of me this whole time. I can hardly hear what’s going on around me, a ringing in my ears.
“You’re wrong, Sori-yah.”
Everything within me goes still. Sori, wide-eyed, lifts her head. I turn slowly.
“You shouldn’t say those things about Jenny,” Jaewoo continues. “She’s an incredible musician. She’s also a devoted daughter and granddaughter. And a loyal friend. You would know all of this about her, if you gave her a chance.”
I feel a wave of emotions sweep through me: shock, adrenaline, gratitude, and confusion. Why is he saying this now, after abandoning me the other day, after ignoring me all week?
How am I even supposed to react to this . . . defense of my character? We’re not even supposed to know each other.
Sori stands up abruptly, the chair clanging to the floor behind her. Tears are streaming down her face. Without another word, she rushes from the cafeteria.
I hurry to follow, leaving behind a stunned crowd.
Twenty
“Sori!”
She hasn’t gone far because of the storm. Standing outside the cafeteria doors beneath the overhang she looks out at the rain pouring down in long sheets that cascade diagonally across the quad. On the opposite side is the dorm, the lights twinkling blurrily through the rain. She seems like she’s thinking of making a run for it.
“Sori!” I call out, pressing open the door. “I didn’t know you felt that way. I’m sorry about the postcard, you don’t know how sorry.”
Wrapping her arms around her body, she turns to face me. The makeup around her eyes is smudged, possibly in an attempt to wipe away her tears.
“Why are you apologizing to me? I just said terrible things about you.”
It’s a valid question. It’s not like I’d apologize to Jina. But I never thought Sori was cruel. Sure, she’s been haughty and cold, but anything she’s ever said about me, she’s said straight to my face, which I can appreciate. Plus, I live with her; I know that when she’s not studying or working out, she’s watching K-dramas or reading smutty romance manhwa. Besides having a closet to die for, I know that her favorite genre of music is R&B and she has a plant by her bedside that she waters every night from her We Bare Bears water cup. It’s endearing, how nerdy she is.
Why did she sign up for a room with a double if she could have had a single? I’d asked myself that question before, and I’m more confident than ever of the answer: she hoped for a friend.
“I’m apologizing to you because I did read your postcard that morning and that was shitty of me.” Even if it was an accident, I should have put it back without looking at it. “But I won’t apologize for the other stuff you accused me of. I respect that you feel that way, but I can’t in good faith apologize for it . . .” I pause. “Except maybe the dancing. Nobody should have to suffer through that.”
She holds my gaze for a few seconds longer, then looks away, shaking her head. “You’re weird.”
I scoff. “Please. I’m not the one who rolls her face with a rock every night to get a V-line jaw.”
She gasps, placing a hand dramatically to her chin. “Way to judge me.” But there’s a small smile on her face, and I know we’ve crossed a bridge.
“Sori!” The door to the lunchroom bangs open and Nathaniel rushes out.
The smile on Sori’s face drops and I shoot Nathaniel a look of resentment.
He doesn’t notice, his entire being focused on Sori. “That went too far. Forgive me.”
She takes a step backward, the rain pouring onto her shoulder.
“Wait,” he says. “You’ll catch a cold.” He takes a step back. “I promise I won’t chase you. Just don’t . . . run.”
“Stop it!” She places her hands to her ears, as if to block him out. “Just stop it!”
“Sori-yah.”
“Stop taking care of me! Stop making me miss you. It hurts. It hurts so much, Nathaniel.”
“It wasn’t my decision to break up
,” he says quietly. “You know that.”
“I—I can’t do this.”
She turns, disappearing into the rain.
Nathaniel kicks the door. “Dammit.”
As promised, he doesn’t chase her.
I wonder what it says about me that between the two of them, I’m more upset with Nathaniel than Sori even though Nathaniel and I have been friends for longer.
“I know you’re having a moment,” I tell him, “but you totally interrupted my moment with Sori.”
He sweeps a hand through his hair. “I feel like I have whiplash. That was rough in there.”
“Um,” I say. “No thanks to you. Why were you acting like that, anyway? Like, besides negging Sori, what was up with you and Jaewoo? Aren’t you two friends?”
Nathaniel grimaces. “Promise not to get angry.”
Which is a sure sign that I will get angry. “No.”
He sighs. “I was in the van in LA.”
I frown, unsure what he’s talking about. “Like . . . back in November?”
He nods slowly.
“So . . . what,” I ask, “you . . . saw me that night?” If he saw me, then he’s known who I was this entire time. Which means . . . “Did you recognize me in the uniform store?”
“I did.”
Some of his odd behavior falls into place: how he was curious about whether I’ve always lived in LA, if I’d seen the entirety of the music video for “Don’t Look Back,” because if I’d seen it from the beginning, then I should have recognized Jaewoo.
“Was Youngmin in the van?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No, I was alone in the back. Our manager was driving. He didn’t see you. I only got a glimpse of your profile, and even then, I wouldn’t have recognized you if it wasn’t for the picture.”
The picture of Jaewoo and me. The one we took in the photo booth.
“He showed it to you?” I ask, incredulous.
“I saw it over his shoulder at the airport.”
I take slow, deep breaths. This is a lot to take in.
“Why?”
I feel like that single word encapsulates all the questions I have. Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you pretend like you didn’t know who I was? Was any of our friendship even real?
Nathaniel sighs. “In order to answer that, I have to start from the beginning. I’ve known Jaewoo since I joined the company almost four years ago. In all that time, he’s never broken a rule. He always shows up on time. He does everything the company asks of him. I don’t know if you know this, but he became an idol because of his family, in order to support them financially. Everything he does is for them. And for us. When XOXO became a group, we became a part of his family.”
Nathaniel’s story mirrors what Jaewoo said the night we met about being overwhelmed by a feeling of responsibility.
“That day in LA,” Nathaniel says, “he broke his arm at the music video shoot. And then he just . . . disappeared. We drove around the city for hours. We were so worried. I thought maybe he reached his limit. . . . But then, around midnight, his phone came back on. We were already in K-town, so it was only a matter of minutes before we tracked him to that street.”
“I remember,” I say. “You showed up so quickly.”
He nods. “I was curious about who you were. At the airport, I asked him about you, but he refused to say anything. And honestly”—Nathaniel shakes his head—“I was hurt. I thought he trusted me. Then all that stuff happened with Sori and I forgot about it. I was in a bad place. He was there for me through it all; they all were.”
I’m glad that even though Nathaniel and Jaewoo face difficulties as idols, they have each other, and the rest of the members of XOXO.
“So, yeah, I did approach you in the uniform store because of Jaewoo but I stuck around because of you. And I am sorry. For not telling you sooner.”
“It’s fine—”
“It just frustrates me to no end that Jaewoo has something that he wants and he won’t do anything about it.”
My heart hitches at the implication that Nathaniel thinks Jaewoo wants me. “Is that why you went off on him just now?” I ask.
“That and because I was pissed off that he told you to stay away from me. Like I get that he has more at stake . . . but don’t take it out on me, you know?”
He has more at stake. Not just with his image and the group’s success, but his family’s well-being as well. It must be overwhelming, that kind of responsibility—enough that he’d tried to run away from it back in LA.
I’d always known our lives were different, but it hadn’t really hit me until now to what extent.
The rain, which had been pouring not a few minutes ago, is now a shimmer in the air.
“I should go back in there,” Nathaniel says with a sigh. “Help Jaewoo clean up the mess I made.”
I follow the direction of his gaze. “What do you think he’s saying?”
“I’m not sure, but he’ll think up something. He’s good at getting people to see things his way.”
I wonder if this statement applies to me. Maybe it does, because I agreed to keep our friendship a secret. But also maybe it doesn’t, because I don’t think I can do it much longer.
We part ways: him to help Jaewoo, me to find Sori. Halfway across the quad, I close my eyes and lift my face to the rain.
Twenty-One
I find Sori laid out on her bed in our dorm room, uniform still on. Her hair is covering her face, which I’m starting to suspect is her anxiety coping mechanism. Except with the rain, her hair’s a little wet and she looks like an Asian water ghost. I’m proud of myself for not pointing this out to her.
“Do you . . . want to talk about what just happened?” I ask, slipping off my shoes.
“Not really,” she mumbles.
I wonder if we’re going to go back to the way we were before. Strangers living together.
Then she abruptly sits up. She whips her hair back, and it’s like she’s instantly transformed from a ghost to a mermaid, her smeared mascara only enhancing the beautiful shape of her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says.
“For . . . ?”
“You apologized, but I never did. I’m sorry for what I said about you, especially for what I said about your musical ability. As a musician myself, that was uncalled for.” Reaching out, she grabs her We Bare Bears cup from her nightstand and takes a sip.
“Is that cup for kids?”
“What do you mean?” She still has the cup to her mouth as she speaks.
“Like, was it made for little kids to use?”
“No. It’s for all ages.”
“Oh, sorry. I got distracted. I mean, it’s fine.”
“No, it’s not fine. We’re roommates and I have no idea, like, what you do even.”
“I could show you,” I say.
The dorms discourage playing instruments in our rooms since the walls aren’t soundproof, so I grab my phone.
Sori pats her bed, indicating for me to sit next to her. I scurry over and plop down.
“Oh my God, is this Egyptian cotton?”
“Focus, Jenny.”
I open up the last video saved on my phone, one my grandmother sent me. Apparently one of the nurses in the clinic recorded my performance of “Le Cygne”
I hold my breath as Sori watches, her expression giving nothing of her thoughts away. I didn’t think I could be so nervous watching her watch a video of me.
When it ends, she hands me back my phone. “Jaewoo was right. You’re incredible.”
I’m blushing.
“I’ve heard that piece before,” she says. “There’s a famous ballet choreographed to the music.”
“You know ballet?”
“I study it along with other dance forms, like contemporary and hip-hop.”
“So you want to be a dancer?”
She slides me a look, like I’ve said something foolish. “I want to be an idol. For that, I need to know how to dance, sing, and have a persona
lity.”
“You definitely have two out of three.” She narrows her eyes, and I say, “Kidding, kidding.”
“Is this what I’ve been missing out on all this time?” But she says it with a curve to her lips, so that I know she’s okay with my teasing. “But let’s talk about your dancing. I don’t think you’re going to pass the class, at the rate you’re going.”
“I know,” I groan. “I’m a cellist. We’re a sedentary breed.”
“You just need a little practice.” She bites her lip, watching me. Then says, “Later tonight, do you want to get out of here?”
I frown. “Won’t the facilities be closed?”
“You’re talking to the daughter of the CEO of Joah Entertainment. My mother owns thirty percent of the shares for this school.”
“What are you saying? I’m just a peon. You need to speak my language.”
“I have a key.”
It’s less that she has a key and more that she knows the code to the electronic lock on the door. Entering the dance studio, we drop our bags to the floor. Before leaving the dorms around ten, we changed into workout clothes and packed two tote bags full of snacks because, as Sori ominously predicts, “we’re going to need fuel.”
She switches on only one of the lights. Luckily this studio faces the back of the school, not the quad, making it less likely a security guard might notice our presence.
“Is this where you go in the mornings?” I ask, taking a seat on the floor and spreading my legs out to stretch.
“Yeah, I practice here for an hour, then go to the gym before washing up before class.”
That all sounds awful to me, but impressive.
After stretching, she brings her phone over to the wall, hooking it up to the sound system. “Let’s go through the whole choreography.”
Sori’s clearly a skilled dancer because I only have to do the whole thing once for her to figure out the steps. She then proceeds to demonstrate how it’s supposed to be done, and it’s a wonder to watch her, especially during the more powerful parts, like when she’s krumping.
“Concentrate!” she yells, catching me gaping at her in the mirror.