I’m part-way up my drive when I hear Minji’s voice.
“Wait!” he calls from his open window, bouncing in his seat like a kid. “You need to show me a backflip before you go.”
I almost forgot after my fall, but there’s no way I’m going to let him down. I drop my bag and stand at the far end of the lawn.
“Oh, you’re on,” I say, pointing in a cheesy way. I have no idea what possessed me to do that, but Minji is still smiling.
Since I don’t know when or if we’ll meet again, I have to make an impression now.
I start at the edge of my yard and begin to run. I do two back hand-springs followed by a back tuck. My feet don’t wobble as I hit the ground, my knees don’t shake. Nailed it.
Minji claps, whooping and cheering. His eyes sparkle, even from this distance.
I take a bow―exaggerating my hands as I go―and crossing my right leg behind my left. “Thank you, thank you!” I say, sending out kisses to an imaginary crowd.
“Hey Corrine!” Minji shouts.
I stop acting like an idiot and focus on him. It’s still surreal. Memories of his touch, his smell, the way he saved me. I can hardly believe they happened, but they did.
All I can do is smile. I’m too out of breath to yell back.
Minji’s still smiling too, his hands cupped around his mouth. “I hope I can see you again!”
Bring on the Killjoy
No matter how much I scrub, the dye doesn’t come off my skin. I got most of it out of my hair, and I’ve covered the rest with long sleeves and long pants, but the big blue mark around my eye isn’t going away, even with concealer and foundation. If it wasn’t so splotchy I might look like I’ve been punched.
It can’t stay forever. Or at least I hope not. Minji promised to see me again, maybe even tomorrow since it’s a Tuesday. It would be nice if it were gone before then. I have no idea why he wants to see me, but I’d like to look normal in front of him.
“Honey,” Mom says, calling through my door. “Are you in there?”
She’s home tonight, which is rare, no urgent social meetings to keep up appearances I guess. I want to spend time with her, but every time we’re in a room together I’m not sure what to do. At least she’s making an effort to come up here and see me. Although, I can’t have PTS posters covering my walls like I’d like in case she sees them.
“Yeah mom, door’s open,” I call back.
She walks in, her white sheath dress perfectly pressed, her brown hair neatly curled, her makeup un-smudged. She looks a lot like me, a Texas beauty queen. Except, I got my father’s light green eyes. I’ve also never had Botox.
“Are you hungry?” she asks, not looking at me, but shutting the door behind her. “I sent Frida home—” she startles back, her hands going over her mouth. “What happened to your face?”
I didn’t think it was that bad. Minji even liked it.
It’s not that I want to lie to her, but telling the whole truth is too painful. “We had a pep rally at school today. It’ll go away.”
She touches my face, examining. “I hope so.”
I lean away from her, although I’m tempted to knock her hand off. “It will.”
She gives me a tight smile. “If it doesn’t come off by tomorrow, let’s call Dr. White.”
The dermatologist? Do we really have to go that far? I don’t mind it that much. “Okay,” I say, because that’s what I do as a daughter.
“It ruined my cheer uniform, though,” I add. It comes out like a whiny puppy. I didn’t realize how starved I was for sympathy until she walked in and started judging.
“That’s okay, Hon,” she says. “It’s just money.”
Just money? I know how much that uniform costs, and Mom spends like a drunken socialite. She couldn’t bear it if she wasn’t the richest. That’s why Dad works an extra job making money at his foundation.
She rubs her thumb across my face, hard. As if that will take it off. It’s nothing like when Minji touched me. His touch said he cared, not this.
“Mom, stop.”
“Sorry,” she says flinching away. “Just wanted to make sure. How’s your homework coming?”
My homework is fine. I’ve never had a problem with grades, although I know Mom would hate it if I got so much as a B. Suddenly, I’m irritated. I thought she came in here to find out about me, not nitpick my flaws.
“It’s good,” I respond, a little tighter than I probably should.
She offers another smile—fake as mine—then stands. I hope that means my I-want-to-be-left-alone-now-vibe is working.
Instead of leaving, she starts to walk around my room, inspecting. Everything is in perfect order, because I don’t have another choice. Frida, our maid, puts everything away daily. She scrubs the white furniture accented with light blue and silver, too. No fingerprints, no dust. I learned long ago if I didn’t want my stuff touched, I had to hide it on my own.
“I heard something strange today,” Mom finally says as she looks over my bookshelf, then back to me.
No. I’m not taking this bait. If she wants to say something to me, she can say it. I won’t be begging her to know what’s on her mind.
She pivots, and we make eye contact. “Dylan broke up with you?”
That’s it. She’s just laid out the real reason she’s here, bluntly.
“I was planning on dumping him, anyway,” I say. Lately, my mouth has had a mind of its own. If Dad were home, I’d be punished for talking back. He’d probably take my phone anyway or something.
In the past I would be devastated, but since I still have zero texts today, again, I don’t think I’d be hurt. Abby hasn’t even asked how I am.
I shut my eyes, clench my teeth, and breathe in through my nose.
“Sorry, Mom,” I say, throat closing in. “I’m not feeling well. I shouldn’t have said that. I’d like to rest now.”
I don’t see her do it, but I feel her weight on the bed sitting next to me. “Things will get better. I’ll talk to Dylan’s mom and we’ll—”
“No!” I shout, eyes flying open.
Mom startles back, her mouth hanging open. She’s usually doesn’t let herself be caught off-guard, but I’ve struck a nerve.
My fists ball as I try to calm myself down. “I don’t want to date Dylan anymore. I never did. I like someone else.”
Mom perks up, sets her hands on her lap, and puts the brightest smile on her face. “That’s great, who is it?”
She’s hoping it’s some other powerful and influential family. Well, Minji isn’t lacking influence. I think PTS’s last music video got three million hits in twenty-four hours, and yet, it’s still considered other. It’s something people in my neighborhood wouldn’t get at all. Because it’s a different language, culture, something that’s not patriotic.
Screw all of that. I’ve spent the last seventeen years of my life trying to be what everyone else wanted me to be, and in the course of a day I lost it all. None of it was real. It was all contrived to be someone on the outside I’m not.
“Mom,” I say feeling my courage coming back to me. “I like K-pop.”
She gives me a blank stare like I imagined she would. I get off my bed and open my desk drawer, pulling out the binder of photo cards I’ve been secretly stashing as I buy K-pop albums. I pull out a picture of Minji, get myself a piece of tape, and put him in the prime real-estate spot behind my computer.
“My favorite song is Swag,” I continue, still not looking at my mom, but instead waking up my computer. “And it only has a few lines of English in it.”
I lean over my desk chair to type in the music video to YouTube. “Here.” I say, turning the screen to face her and click play. Hyungkook comes out first dressed in a police outfit and looking smoking. It switches between all seven boys dressed up in different dream occupations, but Minji can’t be missed.
He has stunning red hair here. Not a natural red, but a super sexy color all the same. When he dances, my eyes can’t le
ave him. I try to notice the other six boys, I do. Minji simply won’t allow it. Whenever he’s on screen he’s larger than life.
The memory of today clouds my thoughts, coming through distorted. He’s a God and I’m just a girl. Not once today or yesterday did he need to be kind to me. He could’ve ridden the wave of his celebrity and ignored me.
I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I tense as I remember my mom in the room.
“Corrine,” she says, her voice soft.
I look at her, tears filling my eyes. I should have told her earlier if she was going to react so gently.
She turns me around the rest of the way and holds firm to my shoulders. “It’s okay, Honey. I understand how hard a breakup can be.”
I walk out of her grip, brow furrowing. “What?”
“I had a bad breakup when I was your age, too—”
“This is not about Dylan!” I shout. Since I’m coming clean I might as well admit it all. “My relationship with him was fake to keep you happy. I never liked him, and I never will.”
I might as well have punched Mom for the way she looks. “You don’t mean that,” she says like it’s a fact.
“Oh no,” I respond, folding my arms. “I do.”
“Honey,” she starts, reaching out.
I take another step back from her. “I like K-pop. I think Asian men are way sexier than most Americans think they are, and I’m not going to change my mind.”
Mom shakes her head. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do. I love K-pop, and I have a crush on Minji,” I say, pointing at his picture.
“He looks like a girl!” Mom shouts.
I gasp. Freeze. Hold my breath. “You did not say that.”
It’s Mom’s turn to fold her arms, but she juts out her chin like she won. “I said it. You will stop this craziness, now. I will call Dylan’s mom and work things out, and you’ll go back to being my daughter.”
I knew this would happen. I might as well have announced I’m a drug addict.
“I’m still your daughter,” I say, a tear falling in earnest. “But if you want me to pick between that and K-pop, I’ll pick K-pop.”
Pain wells in my chest and numbs my insides. I don’t mean it, not really, but I have to make my mom see how ridiculous she’s being.
“And now,” I continue, “I’d like you to either leave, or let me go, because I’m not changing my mind.”
Mom sits back on my bed, her eyes searching my ceiling. “I don’t get it,” she says. “All these years—”
“Mom,” I bark pointing at the door.
She nods, getting back on her feet. “I’ll give you time to think this through. I’m sure you’ll come to the right decision.”
With that, she leaves. If the right decision is abandoning K-pop, it’s not going to happen.
For the first time in my life, I wish I wasn’t a Miller-Hayden.
It Takes One to Know One
I’m late for school. I missed my alarm, or turned it off, doesn’t matter which. Normally on days like this I’d just skip first period so I could put on my pretend face and make sure I was still wearing the best outfit. Not today.
Since I discovered yesterday that no one at school really cares about me, I decide I’m going to school bare-faced. I’ll still dress nice, put on my heels, and walk like a queen. I’m not a different person without makeup on or a blue stain on my face.
I feel like telling the world to piss-off today. None of what happened is going to bring me down. I think I’ll wear my low-cut sequined tank to show off my dye stained arms, too. I’ll just bring a jacket for the teachers who don’t like too much skin showing.
Minji was right. I look pretty awesome decked out in rainbow.
His phone is still shut-off and stuffed in my drawer. As soon as I got home, I made sure it was shut down so Minji couldn’t find it again. Somehow, I’m going to get it back to him without him knowing I’m a fan. Besides, I’d like to get to know the real him and not just the celebrity.
When I get to school, the hallways are crowded like they always are. People stare at me, like they always do. I ignore them, like always. Even showing up like this doesn’t change what people think of me.
Confidence is about attitude, not appearance. Appearance can help, but attitude can make up for the gap in how one looks.
I shed my jacket the second I’m indoors, flipping it over my shoulder. Chin up, strides long. The whispering that follows me increases as I step into the student lounge. It’s the hangout for all the cool kids between classes and during lunch, and the place I reign.
Nothing is different as I start my usual greetings. No one says anything about my dye-splashed appearance. I wonder if they really bought the story about me wanting to be singled out and dumped.
These are the people that threw the balloons too. They aren’t totally innocent in what happened. In fact, they’re probably faking it just as well as I am.
“Dylan!” I say, like I have every morning for the past year and a half.
His smile drops, all his guy friends look in my direction. I take five giant steps and I’m at his side, putting my arm through his. It feels natural. There’s nothing different. It was a lie before, and it’s a lie now.
“What’s going on, Corrine?” Dylan says. Not even he’s changed.
I adjust so my chest is sticking out a little more. Dylan’s guy friends lean forward like moths to a flame. Pervs. “Did you get my text last night?”
I didn’t send him a text, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is these people knowing my spirit hasn’t been broken.
“Um,” he says, reaching for his back pocket.
I stop his hand. “Don’t bother.”
Now it’s time to show my true advantage. Abby can break up with me all she wants and I’ll still rule this roost. I step on my tip-toes―Dylan is taller than me, even in heels―and whisper in his ear. “Please tell me you’re not really that big of a jerk," I say with a smile on my face.
Dylan’s jaw is tight as he looks my direction, questions on his face. All of his guy friends are drooling, wondering what sexy thing I could’ve possibly said. Such losers.
“Corrine,” Dylan says, trying to dislodge my hand.
Not now. I’m trying to save face. If he separates from me, I’ll be meat for the wolves. The only thing that’s kept the other male pigs in the school from hunting me all this time is him. We had an agreement.
I lean up and whisper again, keeping the fake smile plastered on. “Please don’t do this here, let’s talk in private.”
I want everyone to think things are okay with us, despite Abby’s show, but I also want to know the reasoning behind his actions. If I ask him outright, everyone will think I’m the jealous girlfriend, and that no longer makes me the queen.
Dylan is somber when I look at him again. He dips down so he can reach my ear. “I’ll meet you outside the gym at lunch.”
My teeth catch my lip as I nod. I give his little friends a timid wave and prance off to my first class.
This is something I’ve done a million times. I thought it meant I was powerful, but today I feel sick about it. Am I this person? Didn’t I just do exactly what my mom wanted me to?
For the first time I notice the way people are looking at me. It’s not the same stares I get. Maybe I’m not as amazing as I’ve made myself out to be this whole time.
I shake my head and square my shoulders. There’s nothing wrong with a little pretend flirting. When I meet Dylan later I can tell him how I really feel.
Abby is in my first class. She’s in most of my classes. How shallow has our relationship been? Sitting by each other, talking hair techniques and clothing trends, or gossiping about anyone who isn’t in our inner circle. I don’t want to be that girl anymore, but I don’t know how to quit either.
I stop right in front of her desk and wait until she looks at me. Really takes in my appearance. She doesn’t react.
My jacket is hanging by the tip of
my finger and I toss it on the back of my chair, which is the seat behind Abby. “Hey,” I say, lips in a tight grin. No more than my usual act.
She looks me over, one eyebrow cocked. “Hey.”
I slip into my chair and flip my hair over my shoulder. “You should’ve come over and hung out last night,” I say. I really mean it, but it comes out snarky. I still can’t make it stop.
Everyone is looking at us. The twisted part of me wants them to. It wants them to see me put Abby in her place.
“I couldn’t,” Abby says, playing along. “Homework.”
I lean forward, but speak loudly so everyone can hear. “Next time, bring your homework. I’ll help you with it. Just like you helped me get rid of Dylan.”
Stop. Stop. Stop. I can’t. Power is an addiction, and if I can’t have it at home, I can have it here. If I say the right things now, everyone really will believe I planned the whole balloon attack.
“No thanks,” Abby says, her face hard. She turns around to face the front of the classroom.
I could end it like that. Be the bigger person and move forward, but I also see my chance to win, and the devil on my shoulder is louder and in charge. “Why not?” I say really loud. “Who would want to date a douche like Dylan anyway? I’m so glad I don’t have to be around him anymore. I hope you haven’t fallen for his act.”
Abby flips around and stares me down. I can tell she wants to retort, but the starting bell rings, causing everyone’s attention to turn to the front of the classroom.
I quickly scribble a note and pass it over Abby’s shoulder so it lands on her desk.
Think twice before you cross me. If you want a battle, I’ll give you a war.
I’m Corrine Miller-Hayden. There’s nothing a Miller-Hayden can’t do.
***
Dylan meets me outside the school right as lunch starts. I see it all so clearly now. Abby’s hated me, I don’t know how long, and she’s finally taking action. I just don’t get why Dylan agreed to go along with her scheme.
“Why?” I say, the second I know we’re alone. In my head I want to ask him to stop the madness. I want to beg to be free of this person I’ve created on the outside. I don’t follow through. “If you wanted to break our agreement, you should’ve said something.”
Undercover Fan Page 4