XOXO

by Axie Oh

  “Yes. Your mother is with her.”

  I let the nurse help me to my feet.

  “Room 803,” she says and I nod, taking the last few steps on my own. Outside the room, I pause. The door is slightly ajar and I can hear Halmeoni and Mom talking softly inside.

  I press my hand to the door only to hesitate when I hear a sob. It takes me a moment to realize it’s my mother. She’s . . . crying, something she hasn’t done since Dad passed away.

  “You didn’t come,” Mom says. “I needed you, and you didn’t come.”

  “Nae saekki,” Halmeoni is saying, “my baby. Eomma is sorry. I should have been there for you. I did wrong. Forgive me, forgive me.”

  My mom is sobbing, heaving sobs, harder than I’ve ever seen her cry.

  “You—You didn’t have the means to come, and I didn’t help you. But it’s been so hard, Eomma. I had no one.”

  “You have me. You will always have me. And your daughter. Your beautiful daughter.”

  “I’m so scared, Eomma. I drive Jenny to be stronger but sometimes I think I’m pushing her away. I just want to protect her.”

  “Like I protected you? You’ve seen what a terrible job I did. Keeping out the people you love isn’t protecting them, Soojung-ah. Loving them. Trusting them with your heart. That’s all you can do.”

  I step away from the door.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket for the gazillionth time and I finally take it out. Why are my friends texting me so much? I’m grateful they’re concerned, but I’m a bit busy.

  Gi Taek: Jenny, why aren’t you answering your phone?

  Angela: Are you okay?

  Sori: Which hospital?

  Jaewoo: I called the clinic. I’m on my way.

  Gi Taek: Jenny, this is serious. Are you somewhere safe?

  I frown. What is he talking about? Then a series of links appear in quick succession, sent from each of them.

  Angela: “BREAKING NEWS: K-Pop Idol Bae Jaewoo’s Secret Girlfriend.”

  Gi Taek: “XOXO’s Bae Jaewoo Dating Scandal.”

  Sori: “Bulletin Reveals XOXO’s Bae Jaewoo in a Relationship with Classmate”

  With shaking hands, I click on the last link. It jumps to a popular gossip site, where the top trending article is this very one, complete with a huge, blown-up picture of Jaewoo and me.

  I’d expected to see a paparazzi shot of one of the times Jaewoo and I were together in public, on the field trip, our date to the theater, or that afternoon at the noraebang. But instead it’s . . .

  The sticker photo.

  Unlike the article of Nathaniel and Sori’s, my face isn’t blurred, but visible, if not super clear due to the quality of the photo.

  A text pops up.

  Jaewoo: I’m here. Where are you?

  I rush to the elevator, pressing the button for the ground floor. Luckily no one gets on and it goes straight to the lobby. The doors open to chaos. Security guards are yelling as a dozen photographers with huge cameras point them at a single person standing at the center of the lobby.

  Jaewoo.

  He turns as the elevator fully opens, catching sight of me, slowly lowering the phone he holds to his ear.

  The paparazzi follow his line of sight and it’s like the hounds scenting their prey, surging forward, held back only by the hospital guards.

  Jaewoo walks swiftly in my direction. He’s still dressed in the suit from the showcase, though his tie is loosened and his hair is a mess, as if he’s run a hand through it multiple times.

  Reaching me, he pulls me into a fierce hug, which I return with equal force. Behind us, the elevator closes, cutting off the noise from the lobby. Jaewoo releases me only to press the button for the highest floor.

  “Are you all right?” he asks, his eyes searching mine. “How is she, your halmeoni?”

  “She’s good. She was rushed into emergency surgery, but it went well.”

  He sighs with relief, leaning against the elevator wall.

  The numbers of the elevator increase as we ascend. Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say quickly, my words tumbling out. “I had the photograph in my wallet, but I must have dropped it. I was careless. It’s all my fault.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Jaewoo says. “None of this is your fault.”

  The elevator stops. We’ve reached the top floor of the hospital. Jaewoo takes my hand and leads me to the stairwell, up a single flight, pushing open the door to the rooftop.

  The night air is balmy. A dry wind sweeps across the open space, catching the loose strands of hair that have fallen out of my bun.

  Jaewoo takes off his suit jacket, and then loosens his tie entirely, slipping it over his head.

  He moves to the edge of the roof, safeguarded by a wall and railing. I join him, looking down to where news vans are packed in among ambulances and other vehicles.

  “You’d think they’d have more respect,” Jaewoo says, his voice bitter.

  “How did the paparazzi manage to show up at the hospital so quickly?”

  “They were waiting at the school and followed me when I left. I almost lost them—my cab driver had a bit of a daredevil streak—but they caught up to us near the hospital.”

  He drags his gaze from the scene below. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I—” The answer isn’t so easy. My mind is a blur, my emotions all tangled up, and then a realization hits me.

  “I was supposed to play a solo tonight.”

  Jaewoo looks stricken. “There’s still time for you to do it.”

  “No,” I say. “I can’t.” By now, they would have passed over my slot in the programming, and there was an intermission—people will have read the article. My solo was my ticket into MSM; now I have to go back to the States. The Philharmonic is my last chance. “It’s over.”

  “Jenny—”

  “What happens now?” I ask.

  He must follow my train of thought because he answers, “My company will release a statement.”

  “They’ll deny it, won’t they? Like with Sori and Nathaniel.”

  “I—I’m not sure. But I’ll do everything I can to protect you.”

  “Don’t,” I say sharply. Protect. It’s that word again. But I don’t want the people I care about to protect me, not when it hurts them. Jaewoo. Mom.

  Jaewoo had been taking a step toward me, but he stops now, his expression one of hurt and confusion.

  “Don’t protect me over the people you should be protecting, your bandmates, your family, yourself. Think of the people who have been in your life in the past, who will be in your life in the future.”

  “Jenny, you are—”

  “I’m leaving, Jaewoo. In two days. Less than that now.”

  There’s a short pause, then he says, softly, “When were you going to tell me?”

  And I know, suddenly, what I have to do, what I was trying so hard not to accept. I am leaving, and even if I leave in two days or a month from now, the end results will be the same.

  Jaewoo’s too good, he’ll never break up with me, especially not after this scandal. He’ll do everything in his power to protect me.

  If anyone’s going to look out for his best interests, and mine, it’ll have to be me.

  “Does it matter?” I say coolly. “We would have broken up in the end.”

  He winces. “Is that right?”

  “Jaewoo, there was a reason it took so long for us to get together. Our lives are too different. You’re famous, an idol, and I want to go to music school in New York City.”

  I think of my mother’s words, just a few days ago. She was right. I just didn’t want to hear it. “I’m going back to my life. You should go back to yours.”

  “You make it sound so easy,” he says harshly.

  Now it’s my turn to wince. “I’m sorry about the photograph. If your company can just deny it, as long as there’s no other evidence—”

  “And damn, someone shou
ld have told me our breakup was inevitable from the start, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.”

  “Jaewoo . . .”

  “I didn’t ask you to be my girlfriend because I thought our relationship would end in a few months. People don’t begin relationships thinking they’ll end.”

  “No, people end relationships when they know they should have never begun in the first place.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  No, I want to say. I want to tell him that these past two months with him, these past four months in Seoul, with all of our friends, have been wonderful.

  But I’m in too deep, it already feels like I’m tearing out my heart to say these words, but I have to, because I’m leaving, and it’s better to hurt him now than to tell him what I really want to say, that I think I’m in love with him.

  “Yes.”

  The door to the rooftop opens.

  “Jaewoo.” His manager stands silhouetted by the light inside. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Why didn’t you answer your calls? It’s a circus downstairs. Security is giving us an escort out the back. We have to go.”

  Ji Seok notices me then. “It’s best if you leave alone.”

  Jaewoo picks up his jacket, where he’d dropped it on the ground. As he passes by me toward the door, he pauses. I look up into his face, holding back my tears.

  “I meant to tell you earlier,” he says with one last devastating smile, even though I just broke his heart and mine, “you were beautiful tonight.”

  A few seconds later the door shuts with a bang, and he’s gone.

  Thirty-Eight

  In every K-drama, the penultimate scene usually involves a chase, the throwing away of all inhibitions and fears, when the heroine and her greatest love unite, and all is well in the world.

  But no one comes running through the airport to stop me.

  And on Sunday, I board the plane and fly home.

  Thirty-Nine

  It’s a wonder you don’t have an SNS profile, Gi Taek texts at two in the morning, which is six at night Korea Standard Time. Though maybe that’s a good thing. . . .

  I’ve been home a week and would have gotten over the jet lag if it weren’t for the group chat Gi Taek started with Angela and Sori the minute I landed at LAX. He’d titled it “FWOJ,” which stands for “Fun Without Jenny.”

  Sori: I would hurt anyone who came for you on SNS. I’d be in the comments, belittling people.

  Gi Taek: You’d make things worse.

  Sori: How dare you.

  Angela e-laughs: ㅋㅋㅋ

  Maybe it’s because I don’t have any social media profiles that the backlash from the scandal hasn’t been completely awful, at least on my end, but also it could be because no one knows the identity of Bae Jaewoo’s rumored girlfriend. The photograph that was released shows my face, but my features are blurred, and I kind of look like a strange alternate version of myself who, if released from the photo, will come to murder me and take my place.

  Anyone who knows me can tell that it’s, well . . . me, but otherwise none of my personal information was released, including my name.

  I think a part of it is that I am a minor, but it’s more that Joah’s lawyers are working around the clock to protect Jaewoo, and by extension me.

  The Monday after the scandal broke, while I was somewhere over the Pacific, Joah released a statement declaring that the members of XOXO’s private lives were, exactly that, private. It was a hard stance, neither an admission nor a denial. But the message was clear—Jaewoo would have the full support of his company. I was surprised, since I assumed they’d cover it up, like with Nathaniel and Sori, but maybe Sori convinced her mother to set a new precedent.

  On XOXO’s official SNS, Jaewoo released an apology for the inconvenience to the hospital staff and patients the night the article was released, not explaining why he was there, but accepting responsibility for any disturbance he might have caused. The comments below his apology are filled with support from his fans, condemning the paparazzi for following him into the hospital and endangering his life by chasing him.

  Though there are a few hostile comments, calling him ungrateful for his fame, selfish for hurting the band, and a hypocrite for “acting” like a prince but “behaving like a pauper.”

  Seeing these comments, I have a mind to channel Sori and leave scathing replies, but I know, ultimately, that won’t help.

  Sori: It’ll calm down in time. Anyway, your news is boring. Did you see the news that Lee Jae Won and Lee Tae Ra are engaged! Lee-Lee couple! I knew their chemistry in Rebel Heart was real.

  Angela: I’m so happy for them!!!

  Me: You guys, it’s 2 in the morning here. I’m going to bed.

  Angela: We miss you!

  Me: Miss you too.

  I close out of our chat, but instead of sleeping, open up a browser out of habit. It’s only been a week, but I move by rote memory, clicking on XOXO’s profiles on all their SNS platforms and checking to see if there are any updates, and then logging onto their fan sites to see their daily schedules.

  I can’t exactly tell, but it seems they’re just as popular post-scandal as they were before, if not more so. XOXO also released their tour dates for the All the World’s a Stage tour, kicking off in Seoul for two nights of concerts, and then traveling through Asia, Europe, and finally, the US.

  They have a stop in New York City.

  The same day as my audition for the Manhattan School of Music, which I already have plans to fly out for.

  Not for the first time, I check the availability of tickets. But nothing’s changed since they sold out in the first twenty-four hours. The only ones left for purchase are re-sale tickets at exorbitant prices.

  I groan and fling my phone across the bed. Why am I even looking?

  It’s not like I’ll go.

  Or maybe I will. I’ll purchase one of the tickets so far in the back you need binoculars to see the stage and I’ll just watch him from afar. That seems like a very specific and cruel punishment that I rightly deserve.

  My phone blinks with a message and I hurry across the bed, knowing it won’t be from Jaewoo, but still . . . hoping.

  It’s from Mom:

  We visited the hospital today and they said Halmeoni’s made a full recovery, which means I’ll be coming home on time after all! I’m sorry, for a lot of things. I think we should have a long talk when I get home. I love you, Jenny.

  Love you too, Mom

  Why are you awake? Go to sleep!

  Laughing, I drop my hand to the bed and look up at the ceiling. It only took Halmeoni surviving a major surgery for my mom to open up. She was only a little bit angry that I didn’t get the spot on the Philharmonic orchestra, oh, and that I was involved in a K-pop scandal with an idol. Luckily, instead of getting angry at me, she started calling up her colleagues who specialize in privacy law, only calming down when she saw that Joah had a handle on things.

  Our relationship isn’t the same as it was before Dad passed but we’re talking, and it’s a start.

  I close my eyes, but I know I’ll have difficulty sleeping, so I do what I’ve been doing since I got back from Korea. I open my music app and press repeat on XOXO’s album.

  Their music is the only thing that can calm me enough to go to sleep.

  I don’t know why it’s been so hard to adjust.

  Maybe it’s the jet lag, or maybe it’s that I miss him.

  The week before senior year starts, Uncle Jay and I fly across the country so that I can tour East Coast colleges. I also set up a live audition at each school I visit. I could have set up a video call, but I really wanted to audition in person.

  Uncle Jay generously offered to cover the costs as my “early graduation present.” And since Mom has a big case coming up, he’s the one taking me, which is fine for him because, as he put it, he wanted to “check out the karaoke scene in New York’s Koreatown” anyway.

  “I’m sure it’s exactly like LA,” I
say.

  “No, no. These East Coast Koreans do things differently.”

  It’s the third and last day of our trip and we’re sitting having lunch at a restaurant that overlooks Times Square. I’ve already visited and auditioned for the Boston schools, and Julliard just this morning. I have the audition for the Manhattan School of Music in an hour, the audition that will determine whether I’ll attend the school I’ve been dreaming of going to half my life.

  But it’s hard to concentrate.

  XOXO is here.

  In New York City.

  They were in Europe for a week, and they arrived at JFK sometime in the past twenty-four hours. I know because I follow one of XOXO’s dancers and she regularly updates her status, which the fans use to track down the members’ location.

  “Why aren’t you eating?” Uncle Jay asks, tapping my tray of burger and fries. “Are you that nervous? You have nothing to worry about. You crushed your auditions at all the other schools.”

  He’s right. I’ve already received a verbal acceptance from Berklee.

  “I’m not nervous,” I say, letting my gaze wander outside the window where hundreds of people make their way across a busy junction, billboards flashing above them, bright even in the daylight.

  One catches my eye. A Broadway ad for the newest hit musical. Uncle Jay and I didn’t have time to watch one this trip, but when I’m back in New York City, it’s going to the top of my bucket list.

  Then the ad switches to a commercial, with a few people on the street stopping to watch: XOXO Live Tonight at Madison Square Garden for the All the World’s a Stage Tour, Doors Open at 7.

  “Isn’t that the kid you dated?”

  “Uncle Jay!” I hiss, looking quickly around at the other restaurant goers, but none of them are paying us any attention.

  “Is he performing in the US or something?”

  “He has a concert at Madison Square Garden.”

  Uncle Jay whistles. “Damn. Did you really meet him in my karaoke bar? I should have gotten him to sign something. That would have been great for publicity.”

  “I met him the night you told me to get a life.”

  “What?” Uncle Jay has the audacity to look offended. “I would never say that.”