by Nara Noelle
“I had a rather unusual upbringing.” I took a gulp. Now was the time to share the elaborate story I’d rehearsed incessantly for the past fortnight. “I moved around a lot as a child. There’s no city I can call home, because my grandmother and I never stayed in one place for long.”
“Were you raised by your grandmother?” he asked.
“Yeah. Both of my parents passed away years ago. Growing up, it was just Gran and me,” I murmured, flashing the camera a sad smile. Though I would’ve preferred to skip the details, since I didn’t want to risk being exposed for my lies later, it struck me that now was the chance to earn some sympathy points. “It wasn’t easy, you know, and my grandmother means the world to me. I did my best to be the man of the house and protect her as she got older, but she passed away last year.”
“Aw,” said one of the junior production directors.
“I want to make my grandmother proud,” I professed. My eyes welled with tears, which startled me.
I wasn’t getting emotional about my real grandmother though. That woman treated me like a waste of space. She lost her temper when I told her I was hungry. Though I could scarcely recall her face, I did remember the hunger pangs in my stomach as she slapped me for having an insatiable appetite. It’s a moment I could never forget because I stole my first candy bar that afternoon.
Chapter 6
Honey
After lunch, I expected to have the rest of the day off to unpack and recharge. I’m not sure why I thought that would be the case, considering how drained Domin used to be back when he was a trainee. When Sammy announced that there was a surprise for us, I could tell that it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park—or in this case, a walk on the beach.
“Welcome to the main concert hall. Please sit down in the first few rows toward the stage,” Sammy called out as the other students and I entered.
Although the judges and camera crew were the only other people inside, an uneasy feeling crept up inside me as I pictured myself performing in a place this size. The stage alone was so huge that even with five rows of bleachers on one side, two-thirds of it was empty.
By the time I was seated, Sammy was on stage. He was accompanied by the other three members of STAR—Terry, Arang, and RJ. My God, it was a sight to behold. While I hadn’t come all the way to Starsaw Island to swoon over pop stars, once I laid eyes on Sammy, Terry, Arang, and RJ standing side by side, a tidal wave of awe and lust crashed into my heart. While I’d seen photos of them all over the Internet and out on the streets over the past three years since their debut, nothing could’ve prepared me for this moment.
Sammy rested his arm on Terry’s shoulder as the two whispered among themselves. At eighteen years old, Terry was known to be a dance genius and the baby of the group. He was two or three inches shorter than the other members and had boyishly good looks, complete with the sweetest puppy dog eyes. Mind you, he didn’t look like a total goody-good. He had mint hair and a silver hoop pierced through his bottom lip. Nevertheless, I couldn’t imagine him giving me a death stare the way Sammy did back at the audition.
Meanwhile, RJ, who was the twenty-year-old main rapper of STAR, was standing to Sammy’s right. A smirk crept onto my face. RJ and Terry were such polar opposites it was almost as if there was an angel and a devil perched on each side of Sammy’s shoulders. Built like a linebacker with the biggest biceps I’d ever seen on a pop star, RJ had bleached-blond hair and a perpetually scowling face. While he wasn’t conventionally handsome, there was something enticing about the scar on his right cheekbone. It was weird to think of how once upon a time, someone as menacing as him had also been a newborn in diapers.
Then there was Arang, whose classically handsome appearance was known to be as perfect as his deep, smooth voice. With flawless fair skin that glowed and jet-black hair, he seemed more like a computer graphic of the most beautiful human there could ever be than an actual person. When his eyes landed on me for a brief second, I was utterly mesmerized. God, how was it legal for someone this attractive to roam around freely, stealing hearts, one after another? Even at a school for teenage boys on a private island, he was bound to make people fall in love with him on a daily basis. For God’s sake, I hadn’t exchanged a word with him, yet I was already blushing. Even though he was dressed down in a basic white T-shirt with jeans, he looked as if he’d just stepped out of a fairytale.
“Hello, everyone. I’m Sammy, the leader of STAR and the main show host of Idol High School. First of all, I would like to thank everyone for coming all the way to Starsaw Island to film the first season of the program. Before I get into the details, I’d like to clarify that this is an experimental, brand-new project for everyone involved, and consequently, some of the details will be subject to change.” Sammy glanced at his cue card. “This year, there will be two seasons in total: season one for the spring semester, followed by season two for the fall semester. I’ll be hosting the show with the other members of STAR—Terry, Arang, and RJ.”
The other contestants clapped and cheered.
“We will not only be the show hosts but also your teachers and mentors. While the four of us and most of the judges will be returning for the second season, unfortunately, only ten of you boys will be invited back this autumn. Alright. Could the judges briefly introduce themselves to the students?”
When the judges got up from their elevated seating area, turned around, and waved, I felt a punch in the gut. Shit. Rye was standing next to Eugene, Doc, and Vik. While they took turns speaking, I closed my eyes and tried to focus on inhaling and exhaling steadily. I reminded myself of how he hadn’t seen me in four years and wouldn’t be able to recognize me, since I had short hair, was dressed as a boy, and was fifteen pounds heavier now. Besides, it wasn’t as if I could run off to Duvil without arousing suspicion. Whether I liked it or not, I had to stay on Starsaw Island for now.
After the judges sat back down, a projector screen came down, and we watched a video message from Executive Song.
“Hello, boys. Welcome to Idol High, your new school,” he said, greeting us from a beach chair with a mojito in his plump hand. He wore a velvet robe that exposed a glimpse of his salt-and-pepper chest hair. Gross. Who the fuck did he think he was? Hugh Hefner?
The other students broke out into whispers, and I didn’t blame them. As far as I knew, this was the first time he was in front of the camera in years. Evidently, time had not been kind to him. I guess I assumed a man with his level of wealth would spend good money on keeping frown lines at bay.
“After the international success of STAR, all of us at Pluto Entertainment have been pondering over when and how to debut a successor for our four superstars. Although we were thinking of forming a new boy band by running Idol High School, this is subject to change—if one of you shines above the rest, maybe we’ll debut a solo act.”
When Executive Song roared with laughter, a boy sitting a few seats away from me muttered, “That better be a joke.”
His friend replied, “Even if all else fails, at least we got to be on camera.”
Once Executive Song took a sip of his cocktail, he went on. “There’s only one thing that’s set in stone. At the end of this year, Pluto will be debuting the ultimate idol. Someone who is willing to sacrifice everything for his dreams and can cultivate a fandom for himself through the show, even if he’s currently a nobody. Anyway, I’ve been on the island for the past few days to check up on everything. It looks like I’ll be leaving tomorrow. I hope to come back when I get the chance. Until then, I wish you all the best of luck.”
If only there was a way to track down his whereabouts. Although I wanted to corner Sammy after filming and demand that he tell me where Executive Song was, I knew it would lead to me being taken off the island and put in jail for fraud, trespassing, and God knows what else. Therefore, to exact my revenge, I had no other option than to stay on the show.
I had two tasks to work on. The first was to get as much airtime as possible so that I’d be
one of the students the viewers remembered to vote for. If I stayed on the island for long enough, I was bound to come face to face with Executive Song. However, there was no guarantee that I’d be able to stand out when the other contestants were far more attractive than me. Consequently, my second task was to keep a close eye on the judges, specifically Rye, while I was here. He was bound to know where Executive Song was, right?
After the projector screen went back up, Sammy declared, “You guys are probably wondering what your surprise is. I’ve got some good news and some bad news—or at least it’s bad news for some. Which would you like to hear first?”
“The good news!” a couple of boys chanted.
“Alright. I’m pleased to announce that each of you will be getting a present.” He looked toward the left wing. “Bring out the gifts!”
Two gofers pulled a cart onto the stage. It was filled with five piles of drawstring bags, each a different shade of blue.
“As you can see, I have fifty goodie bags here. Inside the bags, there are T-shirts, baseball caps, and student cards. What’s the student card for, you ask? This bad boy can be used to make purchases from the convenience store, café, and other services in your dorm. It also offers you exclusive access to special facilities—the spa, sauna, and indoor pool in your dorm, as well as a private beach and a golf course on the island. Now, here’s the bad news.” Sammy paused and peered at RJ.
“Do we have to fight to the death first?” someone whispered from behind me.
“Dude, if that was the case, I’d beat the crap out of you in seconds,” another guy replied.
How predictable. You can always count on high school boys to be unreasonably self-assured. Though I was just four years older than my youngest classmates, our mental age difference seemed to be two or three times that.
This time, RJ explained, “There are five different tiers for the goodie bags—alpha, beta, gamma, delta, and epsilon. And yup, it’s exactly what you’re thinking. Alpha’s the top level, beta’s the second best, and the others are varying degrees of terrible. The items inside vary depending on which one you’re assigned. For example, alpha students get a generous weekly allowance whereas epsilon students might as well suck on their thumbs if they slept through a meal.”
While the students broke out into laughter, I could hear the tension in their voices. Nobody was trying to be clever now.
“Also, there will be restricted usage to the special facilities Sammy mentioned earlier. Those of you who are alpha tier will be granted unlimited access, while beta students are allowed to use those facilities on weekends. In addition, to help you guys challenge yourselves, you’ll start off by taking classes with other members of your tier. Bear in mind, alpha students aren’t exempt from getting eliminated—that’s fair game for everyone.” RJ put one hand into his pocket and groped around. “Hold up. I think I have the list of your tiers based on your auditions in here.”
Fuck. Was that why I’d passed the audition? Did the judges decide to accept the worst auditionees so that we could bow our heads down to the top students and make them look better in comparison?
“Lighten up, people. I was just messing with you all!” RJ waved his empty hands in the air.
Sammy and Arang snickered. Though they weren’t saying anything downright cruel—presumably because the cameras were on—they were simpering at us contestants like we were lowly peasants begging for mercy. To be honest, the concert hall did reek of desperation. At the end of the day, no matter how arrogant and snarky my classmates were, I knew every single one of them would do almost anything the members of STAR told them to do if it would help their odds of signing with Pluto.
RJ went on. “Here comes the fun part. To get this far, I assume you shared your main talent—be it singing, dancing, or rapping—during your first audition. So for your first assessment, we’d like you to show us what else you can do. If you danced earlier, you’ve got to sing or rap this time. You get what I’m saying? And we’re going to go ahead right now. You’ll be performing in front of each other for the first time.”
Sammy added, “I know you guys must be jetlagged, but trust me, that’s something you’ve got to get used to if you’re going to be an idol. My band members and I will be helping the judges with the decision-making process for this round. Show us what you’ve got!”
What fake-as-hell Sammy hadn’t warned us was how our performances would be mercilessly scrutinized. Some students were grilled on their backgrounds before they were pulled apart for lacking skill or charm, while others were told to try singing, dancing, or rapping to a different song if the one they’d prepared wasn’t deemed the right fit for them.
To make matters worse, after passing notes among themselves, the judges announced which level each boy had been allocated so that he went to the right seat on the bleachers. The top row was reserved for alpha students, the second row for beta students, and so forth.
By the time my name had been called out, half of the other contestants had already performed, and I’d picked up on two things. Firstly, even the most talented boys—the ones who seemed like obvious contenders for the winning spots and were placed in either alpha or beta tier—received their share of negative feedback. I’m not talking about constructive criticism either. Vik told one of the beta students that while his dancing was technically sound, he was as appealing to look at as a gray bouncy ball.
More importantly, I realized what the judges were doing. They weren’t simply trying to point out what each contestant should be working on. Now that we were officially filming the first episode, which was undoubtedly the most crucial episode for crafting our on-screen personas, they wanted to see how we responded to insults and expose us at our most vulnerable. They wanted to know who could keep a poker face and who was prone to throwing tantrums. This way, they could manipulate how different scenarios unfolded later on.
Funnily enough, there was a silver lining to how harshly the judges were treating the students. The disparaging remarks were an opportunity to evoke pity and protectiveness from viewers. So long as the contestants kept a humble demeanor—which was the opposite of how the pompous alpha students behaved—each bit of criticism they received could be a blessing in disguise. The more soul-crushing the better, dare I say.
Admittedly, these thoughts kept my heart rate under control as I went on stage. When the instrumental track for “All of Me” filled the concert hall, I reminded myself of how although I was destined to become an epsilon student, it ultimately meant nothing. I wasn’t trying to win this stupid show; all I needed to do was have the audience notice me and empathize with me.
Okay. It wasn’t easy once I got into the song. My voice quavered a little, and when I had to break into falsetto, I merely mouthed the words because I was afraid of, well, sounding too much like a girl. Even if nobody on the island seemed to think twice about my gender, I didn’t want the viewers to stir up rumors.
“Have you ever taken singing lessons?” Eugene asked when I was done.
“No. Never,” I admitted. Those were definitely the most honest two words I’d said in front of the camera up to this point.
“Wow. Who would’ve thought?” Arang mocked.
Although I could hear some of the students laugh at me from the bleachers, I flipped them off with an invisible hand, then shut them out of my thoughts.
After scribbling something down, Terry said plainly, “You know, you can’t hit the high notes, which isn’t great, but it’s understandable. However, the problem is, you struggle with the low ones too. You have a very narrow vocal range.”
While that wasn’t the most savage comment a contestant had received from one of the members of STAR, everyone seemed stunned since it had come from Terry, who’d otherwise stayed quiet and given the other students encouraging nods.
My cheeks burned. I could more or less predict what would happen next. The judges were going to tell me how I didn’t have the voice to sign with Pluto—perhaps adding in a snide rem
ark on how I didn’t look the part either. Then I was going to be sent to the bottom row of the bleachers. For some reason, instead of letting them go to town with the insults, I decided to speak up.
“Should I rap instead?” I asked.
“What a fantastic idea,” RJ said, leaning forward across the judges’ table, “because every rapper out there is just an attention-seeker who’s desperate to stand in front of a crowd but can’t sing on key.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I protested as I took three steps toward him.
He leered at me. “My apology if that’s not what you were trying to say. So does that mean you have experience as a rapper?”
“Yeah,” I lied. Once the word slipped past my lips, I knew I was beyond screwed. Truth be told, I’d never rapped a single verse before.
“Awesome. I want to hear you spit a verse,” Sammy said. Each word felt like a kick from under the dinner table.
“Me too. Why don’t you freestyle for us?” Before I could think of an excuse, RJ yelled out, “Could we drop a sick beat for the rapper on the stage?”
When a fast boom-bap beat came on, I was so flustered that for the first thirty seconds, I thought of the best way to fake faint. Honestly, I would’ve gone ahead and done it if it weren’t for the fact that I didn’t want health professionals inspecting my body.
“Yo,” I called out, putting my arm in the air. “Yo, yo, yo. My name is Hamin, and I like to ha-ha at men. H to the A to the M-I-N, H to the A to the M-I-N. I said, H to the A to the—”
“That’s enough!” RJ shouted out.
Vik crossed his arms. “Thank you for giving us such a unique experience. Until today, I never knew this level of secondhand embarrassment was possible.”
Sammy snorted. “That sums it up to a tee.”
“Agreed. Get your ass over to the epsilon row, H to the A to the M-I-N,” RJ said.