Idol Star School: A Dark Bully Romance (Idol High School Book 1)

by Nara Noelle

When everyone—and I reiterate, everyone—burst into guffaws, it felt like the entire room was shaking. I had no choice but to keep my eyes glued to the floor for the rest of the afternoon. And the worst part? Half the contestants who performed after me insisted on doing a freestyle rap. They were so predictable; each of those pricks made a dig at me by making corny yo-yo references.

  Chapter 7

  Honey

  By the end of my third day on Starsaw Island, I had my fellow classmates all figured out. I must admit, it helped that we had to watch the introductions we’d filmed in the confessional room in full for one of our orientation activities. Apparently, the clips had also been uploaded to the official website for Idol High School as part of the pre-launch promotion.

  Newsflash. I was stuck with the most superficial, self-absorbed teenagers on the planet. Seriously. These boys were even worse than the girls I’d been roommates with at the orphanage. And these were girls who stole each other’s used colored contact lenses when they couldn’t afford their own. Let me tell you, eye infections are not a pretty sight. No amount of kohl eyeliner could mask their pink eyes.

  Other than gender, the main difference between the contestants on the show and my old roommates was the number of zeros in their bank accounts. Although at least half the boys had come prepared with a sob story, I found their ploy for sympathy farcical. How did they expect viewers to relate with them when they were label-whoring hype beasts? Every morning, the dining hall was a sea of Vetements tracksuits and Yeezy sneakers. Meanwhile, I hadn’t so much as brought a pair of spare shoes with me—all I had were my faded red sneakers.

  At the end of the day though, the biggest flex among the contestants was to sport an alpha-tier baseball cap and T-shirt. The items we’d been given were a different shade of blue depending on the level we’d been assigned; alpha students received royal-blue caps and T-shirts, epsilons like me were given patronizing baby-blue ones, and the other classes were allocated various shades of blue in between. However, only the royal-blue T-shirts and baseball caps mattered; my non-alpha classmates and I seemed to have unofficially agreed to avoid wearing our items.

  While I hid in a bathroom stall and waited for two boys to finish using the urinal, I overheard them mention how their sugar mamas were probably annoyed by how they couldn’t get in touch with the boys these days.

  “What did she think she was getting into when she became your sponsor? Dude, you’re an aspiring idol. It’s part of the job description to travel to random places,” one of them said before the faucet turned on.

  “Good point. Besides, even if she does break things off with me, at least I scored this last month,” the other boy replied.

  “Damn. Is that a Rolex Daytona?”

  “Yup. She gave it to me for my seventeenth birthday. Nice, right? Are you jealous?”

  “I don’t know. That depends on how fuckable she is. Mind you, my standards aren’t high. If she’s above a six out of ten, can I have her number?”

  The boys snickered like hyenas and left.

  Unsurprisingly, my classmates were downright rude to the people that kept Starsaw Island spotless. They pinched their noses in disgust when the cleaners walked past and treated the chefs like personal servants. These spoiled bastards thought they were better than everybody else just because they believed they were going to be famous.

  Once I came out of the bathroom, I went to my bedroom. The other students and I lived in the east wing of Idol House, which really should’ve been called Idol Mansion, while everybody else’s rooms were in the west wing. The judges, the members of STAR, and the production directors occupied the upper floors, leaving the lower floors for the other members of the television crew and the building employees.

  After I grabbed my basket of dirty clothes, I decided to check out the free laundry service—one of the perks of living on Starsaw Island. Since I’d been wearing hoodies and sweatshirts in tropical weather, it hadn’t taken long for the few clothes I owned to get drenched in sweat.

  “Hello. How can I help you?” someone called out after I opened the door and the gold bell hanging on it jingled.

  After I walked down a narrow staircase, I saw a tiny middle-aged woman standing behind a counter. Through a glass wall behind her, I could see a younger girl, perhaps in her mid-twenties, with pale skin and oxblood lips. She had headphones on. Like the other Idol House employees, they were both wearing work uniforms. Also, they had their hair in white nets. Though they didn’t share any similar features, I wondered if they were related—either mother and daughter or aunt and niece.

  “Hi. I’m here to drop off a load of laundry,” I said, putting my basket down on the counter. When I peered at the short woman, I noticed a big mole on her chin.

  “Is there anything that needs dry-cleaning or is machine-washing okay?” she asked.

  “There’s nothing to dry-clean here. When should I come back to get my clothes?” I said.

  “Oh, there’s no need for that.” She laughed with a look of surprise on her face. “If you tell us your name and room number, we can drop by your room tomorrow night and return them to you.”

  “That would be great. My name is Hamin Han, and I live in Room E207,” I explained.

  Once the woman wrote down what I said, she placed a paper band around the handle of my basket and passed me a numbered ticket. “This is for you to keep.”

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  “Mandy!” The woman knocked on the glass wall. “Could you come and get this?”

  The younger girl had her back turned to us, so she continued walking toward the row of washing machines.

  “Hey, Mandy!” The short woman sighed. “Never mind. I’ll take your basket over there.” When she held up my basket, she could hardly see what was in front of her and crashed into the glass wall.

  “Are you alright? Do you need my help?” I asked, leaning over the counter.

  “No. Please don’t worry about me. I’m fine.” She wobbled as she took a few steps backward.

  “Are you sure?” I said, extending my arm.

  “You’re a contestant on Idol High School. I wouldn’t dream of—”

  The woman stumbled and lost grip of my basket. It flew in the air and left my sweatshirts, boxers, and sports bra scattered across the floor. Wait a minute. My sports bra? Had I really forgotten how I was meant to be Hamin Han and tossed a sports bra into my pile of dirty laundry? Fuck. I couldn’t believe I’d made such a careless mistake. When the woman proceeded to turn the basket upright and take my clothes off the ground, I wanted to disappear into the ocean.

  “Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry,” said the woman.

  “What’s going on, Meryl?” Mandy asked, pushing her earphones down to her shoulders as she came toward the glass wall. When her eyes landed on me, she scratched her chin pensively.

  God, I was beyond screwed. Would they laugh in my face if I tried to silence them with a bribe?

  Meryl, the short woman who I presumed was unrelated to Mandy, waved her hand in the air. “Nothing. Don’t mind me!”

  After Mandy put her headphones back on and turned around, I contemplated taking my sports bra off the floor, even though I knew Meryl must’ve already seen it.

  When Meryl grabbed it herself, I blurted out, “I don’t know how that got in there. How weird. I’ve never seen it before. You can toss it out.”

  “Don’t worry, dear. There’s no need to be embarrassed. It’s no big deal,” she replied.

  Did she think I wore a sports bra for my, um, man boobs? Gynecomastia, was it? Or maybe she thought I was so out of shape I needed a bra to keep my chest from flopping around during dance practice. Frankly, I welcomed either misconception. Anything was better than being cornered by the other students—or worse, the STAR boys—due to rumors surrounding my real gender.

  Meryl added cheerfully, “Earlier today, I spotted a lace thong while sorting through the piles of sweatpants and boxers. Boys will be boys, right? Not to mention the fact
that you guys are teenagers with raging hormones. Remember to stay safe though. You can never be too careful.”

  Chapter 8

  Honey

  When I left the laundry room, I was so shaken up over the close call that I decided against returning to my bedroom. I needed to recharge for a couple of hours without being pestered by Juno, my annoying roommate. He was known among the contestants as the guy Vik likened to a gray bouncy ball. So I hid out in the library. Yup. There was an actual library inside Idol House. As I said, the place should’ve been named Idol Mansion.

  I’d suspected that the library would be deserted, because my classmates seemed like the type of lazy morons who’d never finished reading a single book, and I was right. Other than a librarian who was nodding off, there was nobody else inside. I slumped down in an armchair and reflected on what I’d gone through since I arrived on the island. To be honest, these thoughts only stressed me out further. What if Meryl had seen right through my act and was contemplating whether to notify the production directors about how I was on the island to ruin the show? While I had no idea what was in store for me, I knew I needed to spend my time wisely. Since there was no full-proof way of keeping my secret safe, I had to make the most of every second of my spare time here.

  Alright. I had to infiltrate Rye’s room. Though a myriad of what-ifs popped into my mind and made me second-guess myself, I was somewhat prepared for the task. I’d brought two hidden voice recorders with me, and I knew they were currently tucked at the back of my sock and underwear drawer. While I thought about my next move, I realized I couldn’t leave both of the voice recorders in my room. To be prepared at all times, I had to put one into the zipper pocket of my tracksuit pants and carry it with me everywhere.

  In the meantime, there was one thing I could do empty-handed. I was going to give myself a tour of the west wing—the only part of Idol House my classmates and I hadn’t been taken to.

  I skipped dinner and didn’t leave until the librarian came and told me the library was closing for the night. It was a quarter to ten when I left and embarked on my mission to discover where Rye’s bedroom was located.

  Although the other contestants and I had been given a ten o’clock curfew, after which we were meant to be back in our rooms until five in the morning, nobody seemed to monitor—or care—whether we were following the rule. Filming was supposed to come to a halt during these hours, but otherwise, everyone seemed to do what they wanted. My guess was that nobody wanted to stop the students from staying up late to practice for upcoming assessments. Anyhow, I was grateful for this arrangement. These late hours were the only times I could wander off without arousing suspicion among the television crew in the editing room later.

  After hiding out in one of the men’s bathrooms until it was ten, I headed down to the basement, since I figured this would be the path to the west wing where I’d be least likely to run into people. Then I walked and walked and walked some more. My God, this took forever. When I arrived in front of a massive wooden double door and twisted the handle, I laughed to myself. Finally. Hello, west wing.

  My face fell as soon as I opened the door. I was literally standing in front of a brick wall. Unless I’d come to the wrong place, somebody must’ve determined that there was no need to open up a passageway to the west wing in the basement.

  Irritation bubbled up inside me. I couldn’t believe I’d wasted my energy. Despite what I’d told myself earlier about using my free time wisely, I was done for the day. All I wanted to do was curl up under the covers. Besides, I figured I could set up an alarm super early in the morning and continue my mission.

  When I returned to the second floor of the east wing, I saw a group of boys sitting at the end of the hallway.

  “Look who’s been walking around after curfew,” one of them called out, pointing in my direction.

  When I ignored him and walked toward my room, another guy said, “Hey, Yo-yo! Where have you been, man? Have you been having fun without us?”

  I groaned. After my atrocious freestyle rap during our first assessment, I’d left quite an impression on my stupid classmates, and I suspected that until somebody else made a bigger fool of himself, I was going to be the butt of every joke.

  “Yo, Yo-yo, why are you being such a little bitch? What’s got your panties—I mean yo-yo string—in a twist?” someone else chimed in with a chuckle.

  “Come on. Can’t you guys think of anything more original to say?” I snapped.

  “Like what?”

  “I think Yo-yo fits you perfectly.”

  “Do you imbeciles seriously need my help to make fun of me?” I rolled my eyes exaggeratedly, moving my head in a circular motion. “I thought you had to be at least fifteen to come here, not five. Maybe you guys should spend less time sucking on each other’s asses and more time learning to read chapter books. Even pop stars need at least a two-digit IQ, you know.”

  “You’re just jealous of us because you’re a loner, aren’t you, Chubby Tubby?”

  “Chubby Tubby? That’s hilarious. Yo-yo, is that what you’d prefer to hear instead?”

  While I slid my room card into my door lock, the boys hooted and roared with laughter. Once I swung my bedroom door open, I held up my middle finger at them. Of course, they acted as if this was the funniest thing in the world. Even after I’d stomped inside and slammed the door shut, their grating guffaws echoed in my ear.

  I collapsed onto my bed and punched down at my duvet. I had to admit, those idiots in the hallway hadn’t been off the mark. I couldn’t care less about how they thought I was fat and ugly—if I wanted male attention, I would have been in Duvil flaunting my curves instead of coming here disguised as a boy. However, the truth was, I was terribly lonely. That part of their insult had struck a nerve with me.

  To clarify, I had no desire to be friends with entitled pricks like them. What I missed was the warmth of having a genuine connection with another soul. Ever since Domin had been put in a coma, I’d been a lone wolf. While I considered myself an expert in being independent and looking out for myself, there were still times when I was itching to confide in others and grow closer to them through the experience. However, I didn’t want to talk to any random stranger. I yearned to find somebody that truly cared about me the way Domin used to. Though I could grin in front of the camera and hold my head up high, deep down, the fact that I was forever destined to be a team of one ate away at my soul. If I vanished off the face of the earth, nobody would miss me.

  “Hey! You’re back,” my roommate Juno said as he came out of the bathroom. His shaggy hair was wet, and he was almost naked with a white towel wrapped around his hips.

  “Jesus, put some clothes on,” I grumbled.

  “Sorry, man,” he replied while he hiked his towel up to the middle of his potbelly.

  We were the two pudgiest contestants on the show, and I suspected it wasn’t a happenstance that we’d been assigned as roommates. My take was that the production directors wanted us to sit together at mealtimes or for snack breaks in the hope of getting some juicy, sensationalist footage of us scoffing our faces. The headlines would say “Diversity Among Aspiring Pop Stars Reaches New Heights—and Weights,” and the articles would gloss over how trim the other forty-eight contestants were.

  Anyway, it wasn’t his belly that bothered me; it was the possibility of his towel slipping off him. Bloody hell. I did not want to see my roommate’s dick.

  “Where have you been? I see you’re interpreting our curfew as a loose guideline,” he said as he walked over to his chest of drawers.

  “Why do you ask?” I muttered, turning my head away after he dropped his towel and exposed his bare ass to me.

  “Because you’re my roommate,” he pointed out.

  “Yeah. I’m your roommate, not your son. What I choose to do with my time is none of your business,” I retorted.

  “I guess you’re right,” he mumbled.

  Although I assumed that was the end of our brief con
versation, after he got into a pair of boxers and a T-shirt and I got up to use the bathroom, he grabbed my wrist.

  “What are you doing?” I snarled.

  “Are you getting ready for bed?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  “You’re not hungry?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” I shook his hand off me. “Now, let me go and wash up.”

  “Did I tell you I’m supposed to be on a diet? I had a pulled pork sandwich for lunch and skipped dinner, but I swear restricting calories makes me more ravenous at night. It sucks,” he said.

  When I peered into his eyes, I felt a twinge of guilt. Since I knew he was trying to be nice, I didn’t want to be unnecessarily mean to him, especially since I knew how agonizing it was to have hunger pangs. Hell, had we met under ordinary circumstances and not as classmates at Idol High, I might’ve even opened up to him.

  However, I knew I’d be shooting myself in the foot by discussing the details of my real background with any of the other contestants. They were my rivals, for God’s sake. Furthermore, it was of utmost importance for me to enforce strict boundaries with Juno, seeing as I was at my most vulnerable around him. The thought of him casually rummaging through my sock drawer with the intention of borrowing a pair of socks, then discovering my hidden voice recorder, gave me a headache.

  “Hamin, do you want to split a bag of potato chips with me? I’ve got some curry-flavored ones you can’t get here on the island. If you think about it, half a bag isn’t all that much, is it?” he asked, pulling out his suitcase from under his bed.

  “Alright. I’ll have a little bit, but you have the rest,” I replied as he took out the bag of chips.

  Once he opened it, he put up one arm and sang out, “I can’t believe tomorrow’s the first day of classes.” He skipped over to me. “Do you think the production directors will even include footage of the non-alpha classes in the episodes? Call me skeptical, but I get the feeling they’ll be giving the alpha-tier contestants most, if not all, of the airtime.”