Behind the Song

by K. M. Walton

  West Fourth Street station. Finally I’m off, whipping my jacket off as I hit the humid steam bath that assaults me. I race up the tunnel and out into the hot ninety-plus-degree temperature.

  It takes me a moment to figure out where I am. I’ve only come into the Village once before, when my parents took Hannah on a college visit to NYU. I have to keep asking people for help. I know I’ve reached the right place when I see the long line of contestants spreading all the way down the block. I’m walking past the line slowly and nearing the front when someone yells “Go to the back of the line!”

  I catch the eye of a very hostile looking girl in the skimpiest black dress.

  “I’m looking for my sister,” I reply.

  The girl rolls her eyes at me. “Do you know how many people are here? There were more than two hundred people ahead of me and I’ve been on this line since nine.”

  I glance at my watch. It’s nearly noon. “I think my sister got here around eight.”

  “Then she’s probably in the second round of contestants that just went in like a minute ago,” the girl replies. “But only contestants are allowed in.”

  “How do I get in?”

  The girl shrugged. “You’re gonna have to wait in the back or sneak in somehow.” Suddenly she stood up straight and started fixing her hair. “Hey, get out of the way, the camera crew is coming again.” She whips out a big sign and starts waving it in the air like crazy. The sign has the name of the show and a big heart around it. Everyone on the line is now screaming at the camera crew that’s moving up from the back of the line, filming the crowd.

  I sneak closer to the front. The security guards are busy talking to a bunch of people wearing headsets and the contestants are acting like wild animals on stampede. The crowd is going crazy. They surge forward, breaking the rope and causing several people to fall. The guards are yelling and trying to stop people from getting trampled. It’s a mob scene. Now nobody is standing at the doors. I hear a guard calling for an ambulance. This is my chance. I move quickly to the door, open it, and slide in before anyone sees me.

  Inside, there’s another huge crowd of people. They’re all waiting on a line leading to sign-up tables. A photographer is stationed at the other end. I try to walk around the line to see if I can find Hannah, but I’m stopped.

  “You need to stay in the back, little girl,” says a heavily made-up Asian woman with her head shaved on one side and long purple hair on the other.

  “I’m looking for my sister…”

  “Don’t care who you’re looking for, you need to stay behind me.”

  She’s right in my face, her stale breath choking me. I back away and try to strain my neck to peer around the crowd. There’s no way to see who’s on this crazy line. I’ve no choice but to wait as the line inches forward. I study every person who heads to the photographer for their “Idol” shot. I don’t see Hannah anywhere. I try calling her phone, but there’s no answer. I finally make it to the first table.

  “Fill out this application and take it to the next table to get your number.” The surly-looking boy thrusts papers at me without even looking up.

  “Excuse me, but can you tell me if a Hannah Lee has registered?”

  The boy gives me the dirtiest look. “No.”

  I don’t know how I’m supposed to find her. I try my sister’s phone again. Now there’s no signal. My phone sucks even when I’m not in a dead spot. I look over the application and scribble down everything as fast as I can. For talents, I just rush through and check everything and drop my paper at the next table. A slightly friendlier girl hands me a bunch of papers and a tag with the number 377 on it. I have my picture snapped and they point me toward the double doors in the back.

  It opens into a large auditorium that is more than half full. I walk up and down the aisles looking for my sister, but I can’t find her.

  “Hey, you need to sit down in your section until you’re called,” someone with a clipboard yells at me.

  Dejected, I turn back. There’s no way I’m sitting next to purple bald lady. Instead I slink up a few rows to an open seat and sit down. It’s now 1:30. The accident happens at 4:30. I have to find her.

  I look down at the forms that the numbers girl gave me and hone in on the requirements. Dancing, singing, rapping. Wait, what did I check off? I wonder if I seriously am going to have to perform to find my sister. What was I thinking? I can’t even sing.

  I pull out my crappy phone and call Hannah’s number again, but the reception in the school is tragic. No bars, no signal. I curse my parents for being too cheap to pay for better service and being stuck with a cheap-ass no-signal carrier.

  The people next to me are arguing loudly over who the better K-pop group is, EXO or Big Bang. They’re getting really loud and obnoxious. I have to move away. I spot another open area a few rows up and sit down.

  I’m trying to keep an eye on contest workers with the clipboards. Maybe someone will tell me where the first group went. Maybe I can sneak out.

  “Hey.” Someone nudges me. “You really nervous or something?”

  Just then I realize that the girl sitting next to me is African American, and she’s got a number. Only then does it dawn on me that not everyone in the room is Korean. Hell, most aren’t even Asian. How did I not notice this before?

  “Yeah,” I reply. “I must be crazy to be here.”

  The girl laughs. She’s got this really great smile and a musical laugh that makes me think she probably sings divinely.

  “Don’t worry, you’re not alone in feeling that way,” the girl says. “I’m Micah. This is my posse—Corinne, Sophia, and Pippa. We call ourselves Soul Sisters.”

  Corinne is sitting next to Micah and is the palest blond girl I have ever seen. Her eyebrows are so blond it almost looks like she has none. Sophia and Pippa are leaning on the seats in front of them. They both look Latina, Puerto Rican I think. I keep staring at the four of them like they’re some kind of alien species. I’m having a hard time believing that they’re a K-pop group.

  “So you guys are into K-pop?”

  Corinne reaches over Micah to grab my hands. “I may not look Korean, but I am Korean at heart,” she said. She then repeats her words in near perfect Korean.

  I can’t help it. I bust out laughing. “Dude, your accent is better than mine!”

  “Right? If you closed your eyes I could be a real Korean,” she said.

  “Almost. But how’d you learn?”

  “Nonstop K-drama marathons!”

  Everyone starts laughing but I’m nodding. “No, for real, that’s how my sister’s Korean got so good also.”

  “Are you singing a K-pop song?” I ask.

  The girls all nod.

  “It’s too bad they won’t let us audition as a group,” Micah says. “We do a mean rendition of f(x)’s ‘Four Walls.’”

  The girls all strike a pose and begin to sing. Together, their Korean doesn’t quite sound right, but I recognize when they hit the English chorus.

  I clap because they really do sound great.

  “So what about you?” Micah asks.

  Now I feel awkward and young. These girls are cool and older. Would they still talk to a high school freshman?

  “I’m Brooklyn Lee, and I’m fourteen.”

  I can feel myself scowling as I hear the “so young” comments until Micah tells the others to knock it off.

  “She’s fourteen, and got her ass to this audition by herself,” Micah said. “I say she’s pretty grown to me.”

  “Who’s your favorite K-pop band or singer?”

  I freeze at this question. How do I answer this? Do I admit that I’m not a fan? That I only came here to find my sister and save her from getting killed? God that sounds so crazy.

  “2NE1,” I say. They’re the one band I don’t mind my sister blasting on t
he speakers.

  “Yo, that’s my jam! CL is my girl,” Micah said, naming the lead singer. “And you totally could be Minzy’s little sister.”

  It takes me a moment to figure out who Minzy is. Usually I hate when people tell me how I remind them of some Asian who I look nothing like. I end up feeling resentful and offended. But this time, it doesn’t bother me. Hannah has mentioned the resemblance to me many times before.

  Hannah. My stomach lurches anxiously.

  “Hey, do you know what happened to the previous group of contestants?” I ask Micah. “My sister was here earlier but I don’t see her now.”

  “They’ve been taking groups of ten at a time out the front,” Micah says.

  I’m looking up front to the left of the stage where the doors are, and I’m wondering how I can get them to let me out.

  Micah looks at me and shakes her head. “They don’t let anyone out those doors before a group is called.”

  I’m nervous. It’s now nearly two. I decide to wait for the next group to get called. I’m listening to the girls talk and I realize how cool it is that they like Korean music. They’re really into it. They watch Korean dramas. They love my culture. It makes me proud in a way I have never felt before. Listening to them singing different lyrics from their favorite K-pop songs reminds me of what Hannah said to me when I told her I hated K-pop.

  Don’t deny your Korean heritage in your attempt to become All-American.

  All this time I’ve hated it because I thought it was stupid and not as good as American music. But the truth is, I didn’t respect my own culture. These girls make me realize how foolish I’ve been.

  I can’t wait to tell Hannah that I get it now. I need to tell her. Suddenly, I’m panicking and wondering if I’ll ever see her.

  Micah nudges me. A group of contestants are lining up near the front.

  “Good luck with everything,” Micah says. She reaches over and gives me a hug. She makes me tear up a bit.

  I smile at the four girls and thank them. “You guys will be awesome!” I wave and head for the doors.

  I wait at the end of the line until I reach a petite dark-haired girl speaking Korean into her headset. She then asks me for my number.

  “I’m not scheduled until later but I’m supposed to find my older sister Hannah Lee,” I say. “She was with an earlier group. Is there any way I can find her? Her phone’s not working and I know she must be worried about me.”

  I smile in what I think is a young manner, but only makes me feel sickly and weird, but I guess it works. She jots down my contestant number and opens the door.

  “After you find her, please come back here for your audition,” she says. “We must keep the order.”

  I nod and thank her. The time is now 3:00 and I’m tense and feeling off. I follow the group to a room where a few people are pacing anxiously. My sister’s not there. I ask another contest member and she points at a large picture window in the front of the room that overlooks a small auditorium and that’s when I see her. Hannah. She’s just now crossing the stage toward the microphone.

  My eyes tear up in relief. She looks so beautiful. I know what I want to tell her. I press myself against the window and listen as her voice comes over the loudspeakers in the room. She introduces herself and then launches into her song. The song I’d just been playing the night before.

  Just like that, I remember crying in my room, listening to this song and thinking I’d lost my sister forever. Now I know I have a chance to change all that. This is not the dream. This is a second chance. A do-over.

  The tears are falling so hard, I can’t even see my sister on the stage, but I can hear her. I can hear her beautiful voice.

  “Are you okay?”

  I turn around to see a few people have crowded around me in concern. I wipe at my eyes and try to tell them I’m okay, but I’m still choked up.

  “Quick, someone get her water.” They’ve got me by the arm and are moving me to a chair. I sit down in a daze as tissues are passed to me. I blow my nose and finally am able to clear my throat around the lump that was lodged in it.

  “I’m all right,” I say. “Thanks.”

  Then I realize that no one is singing. I bolt up and run to the window again. She’s gone. There’s some guy at the mic instead.

  “My sister—where’d she go?” I ask the contest member.

  “We just heard she got a callback,” she replies with a smile. “She’ll be in the callback room on the other side of the building.”

  I make for the door to the stage, but she stops me. “Sorry, you can’t go that way, contestants only. You have to go the long way.”

  It takes me a lot longer than it should to find the callback room, and by the time I get there, fifteen minutes have passed. It’s now 3:20. I barge into the room, anxious to see my sister, but she’s not there. I’m panicking.

  I stop a contest member and beg them for help.

  “Hannah Lee? Number 127. Her callback is 5:30. She said she had to go to the store. She’s got to be back by 5:15 or she forfeits.”

  I barely hear the rest of his words. I know where she’s going. To that French bakery on Bleecker. I have to find her now. I have to save her.

  Not having a smartphone means I have no way of looking up where the bakery is. All I know is that it’s on Bleecker past Sixth Avenue. Outside, I don’t know my way around so I have to keep asking for help. After some tourists stupidly send me running all around Washington Square Park, I’m finally pointed the right way by an old lady. It’s now 3:45. I have less than an hour left. I try calling her phone again. Why won’t she pick up?

  I’m running down MacDougal to Bleecker. I feel like I’ve gone the long way again but I have to keep going. I cross Sixth Avenue with a horrible shudder. I keep moving as fast as I can, trying to run around all the crowds on the sidewalk and still keep an eye out for Hannah. I don’t see her anywhere. I don’t see anything that looks like a bakery. It’s 4:00 now. I’m breathing hard and panicking. I’ve reached Christopher Street. There’s no way it’s this far. I must have missed it. I double back and almost miss it again. The store is so tiny, with a small pink awning over its door. I rush in and ask the clerk if they’ve seen an Asian girl that looked like me.

  “Pistachio girl!” he says with a grin. “Yeah, she was here a few minutes ago. You just missed her.”

  I look at my watch. 4:20. “Oh God!”

  This can’t be happening. This is supposed to be a do-over. This is supposed to be a second chance. My chance to save her.

  I run out and am caught behind the crowds of people on the narrow sidewalk. I’m so frantic I run into the road and get cursed at by the drivers. But I don’t care. I have to reach my sister. I swerve in and out of traffic and barely pause for the red light. I don’t care about anything but reaching Sixth Avenue. I’m still a full block away and my watch is reading 4:28. I’m sobbing and out of breath with a painful stitch in my side but I keep running. The light is red and I see the crowd of pedestrians at the corner waiting to cross. I can’t see Hannah but I start screaming for her anyway.

  “Hannah!”

  The light is green and the crowd surges forward. I finally see her. But I’m still not at the corner.

  “Hannah!”

  She has her earbuds in and can’t hear me. I see her crossing the street, and time slows down. I can’t hear the noise around me. All I hear is the hoarseness of my own breath and my screams. I’m at the corner when I see the black Cadillac Escalade running the red light.

  I’m screaming her name at the top of my lungs. I see her pause, her head turning slightly. And just like that time speeds up again, and I see it barreling into the stream of people ahead of me, scattering them, all except Hannah.

  No! Please God, don’t let me lose her again.

  I need to reach her. I need to save her but I am a f
ew seconds too late. Nothing changes. I watch as my sister is tossed in the air like a rag doll and comes crashing down on the windshield. I hear the glass shatter and then I slam my body into the driver’s-side window, pounding my fists like a madman and screaming at her to stop. I see the woman drop the phone she was talking on as she finally jams on her brakes. I race around to my sister’s side and I see that she’s only inches from being rolled over by the front tires. At least I stopped her from being run over. But there’s blood everywhere.

  “Hannah,” I’m crying so hard. “Please don’t die. Please.”

  Her eyes flutter open.

  “BK?” I hear her whisper.

  “Hannah, I’m so sorry for always fighting with you. You’re the best sister in the world and I love you. I’ll always love you.”

  There’s a slight smile on her face and I can feel her squeeze my fingers a little.

  She tries to say something, but the effort is too much for her. Her eyes drift close and her hand goes limp. All I can do is scream her name over and over. When the medics finally come, they pull me off her, but I know it’s too late.

  It’s all my fault. I had a chance to save her and I failed. This is too cruel. How could everything have conspired against me to make it impossible to save my sister? Why did I have to go through this day if nothing was going to change? Why did I have to live through this pain again?

  I love you, little sister.

  I catch my breath. I can still hear her. “I love you, Hannah.”

  I know.

  Author photo

  © Robin Shotola Photography

  Ellen Oh is originally from NYC. She’s cofounder, president, and CEO of WeNeedDiverseBooks, adjunct college instructor, and former entertainment lawyer with an insatiable curiosity for ancient Asian history. She also loves martial arts films, K-pop, K-dramas, cooking shows, and is a rabid fan of The Last Airbender and the Legend of Korra series. She is the author of the YA fantasy trilogy, The Prophecy Series, and the upcoming middle grade novel, The Spirit Hunters, to be published in fall 2017. Ellen lives in Bethesda, Maryland, with her husband and three daughters and has yet to satisfy her quest for a decent bagel. Visit ellenoh.com and follow her on Twitter @elloellenoh.