by Nara Noelle
Once I arrived at the Song Center on the day of the assessment, I went to the control booth of the main concert hall. I met the sound designer and handed him a list of tracks each student would be performing to and a USB stick with the appropriate audio files. Normally, I’d have assigned this task to one of the gofers, but today, it was of utmost priority to me that the sound designer knew exactly what to do. Afterward, I joined Arang, RJ, Vik, Eugene, and Doc in the judges’ elevated seating area.
“Nice to see you, Terry,” Eugene said, raising his hand.
“It’s good to see you too,” I replied as I sat down beside Arang.
Although the judges lived down the hallway from me, I hadn’t seen much of them lately. Technically, they were supposed to help me and my band members run our lessons. But so far, each of them had dropped by my dance class exactly once—basically doing the bare minimum to get footage for the show. Additionally, Rye had been the only judge to stay for the entire lesson. I figured joining the cast of Idol High School was nothing more than a relaxing getaway for them; they were getting paid to take a break from the stress and bustle of living in Duvil.
Eugene peered at the empty seat next to him. “I take it Rye won’t be joining us today?”
“No. Apparently, he’s busy taking care of some urgent business,” Doc said.
Before Eugene could respond, a gofer came over and blurted out, “I’m taking orders for drinks. Could everyone tell me what they’d like?”
“What did you say?” Vik snarled.
“Would you like something to drink, sir?” the gofer faltered.
“Hey! You!” Vik got up and grabbed the gofer’s shoulder. “How dare you interrupt the middle of our conversation like you’re some hot shit? What made you think this sort of behavior was acceptable?”
“I-I’m sorry,” the gofer mumbled.
“Who’s in charge of you? I want to talk to them this instant,” Vik hissed.
Gee. I thought Vik would’ve been in a good mood seeing as he’d essentially been on vacation all freaking month. Maybe he’d had a side of assholery with whatever he’d eaten for his last meal. The contestants were in for a rough ride when it became time for judges’ comments. I could already smell tears in the air.
“Vik, we haven’t got much time before filming begins. Why don’t we let this one slide?” Eugene said.
Vik groaned as he released his grip on the gofer. The poor guy looked as if he was standing face to face with the Grim Reaper.
While the television crew ran around doing last-minute checks, everyone in the judges’ seating area silently skimmed through the notes in front of them.
“Welcome to the second assessment for our contestants,” Sammy announced from the center of the stage. He gestured toward the students, who were sitting on the bleachers.
When the spotlight shined on them, they clapped. To my confusion, Hamin was far more animated than most of the other students. He put his hands around his mouth and whooped like he was watching his favorite musician perform from the first row of a jampacked stadium.
Was Hamin putting on a front? Or did he actually believe he was going to ace this assessment? While his dancing skills had significantly improved over the past few weeks, that was because he’d started from rock bottom. In all honesty, even his most fervent fans were bound to notice how he had a long way to go. On top of this, Sammy had made sure to order the performances so that the best alpha students would perform after Hamin.
“Unfortunately, while all fifty contestants have poured their hearts and souls into preparing for their performances, only half of them will get to remain on Starsaw Island.” Sammy gave the camera a bittersweet smile. “Yes. It sucks, doesn’t it? I’d love to keep everybody here until the end of the season, but that’s not how this program operates.”
“And no, the eliminated contestants cannot be hired to work on the island. Stay in school, boys,” Doc joked.
Arang and I exchanged glances while we offered a courtesy laugh—contrived ha, ha, ha sounds made without moving a muscle.
Meanwhile, there was a scowl on RJ’s face. I knew there was just one thought running through his mind.
Sammy went on. “If you’d like to help your favorite contestant achieve his dreams, don’t forget to log onto our website and cast your vote. For this round, each account will be allowed up to three votes. Alright. Let’s get down to business. First up, we have Hamin.”
After Hamin went toward the center of the stage, Sammy walked to the side, giving me a mischievous grin in the process.
Once Hamin stood in position and the track began to play, his eyes widened in panic. Why? Because this wasn’t the song he’d selected and practiced his dance routine to.
“Gentlemen, it’s time to cast our votes. Who thinks he’s going to keep his mouth shut and go with the flow?” Arang whispered to RJ and me.
“Because he’s too damn nervous to point out what the problem is?” RJ hissed.
“Yeah. I mean, just look at him,” Arang replied.
RJ sniggered. “You know what? I bet he’s going to pass out in three… two… one…”
“Excuse me!” Hamin yelled, shooting his arm up in the air.
While the music continued to play, the entire room stared at him.
“Guess I must’ve been wrong,” Arang muttered.
“Please stop the music. There must’ve been a mistake. This is the wrong track,” Hamin called out, first peering over at Sammy, then toward the control booth at the back of the concert hall.
“What do you mean?” Sammy asked, feigning obliviousness.
“I didn’t sign up for this one. The instrumental I’m supposed to be dancing to is called ‘Destructive.’”
“Gotcha. There must’ve been a technical error.” Sammy raised his voice. “Could we please change the song to ‘Destructive?’”
A minute later, a member of the stage management team came hurrying down the aisle.
“Is there a problem? What’s the matter?” Sammy asked with a concerned look on his face. His acting was more convincing than I’d anticipated.
“What was the name of the song again?” said the employee.
“‘Destructive,’” Hamin immediately replied.
“I’m afraid the song isn’t on the USB we received earlier,” the employee said.
“What?” Hamin’s eyes shot toward me. Moments later, he furrowed his brow in realization at what was going on. Yup. He knew he was screwed.
While I contemplated what to say, Kisu, an alpha student I remembered because of his impressive dancing ability, shouted out, “Yo-yo, didn’t you know ‘Destruction’ was taken out of the list of songs for this assessment ages ago?”
As a matter of fact, Kisu had selected ‘Destruction’ as the track for his performance too, but I’d asked him to change his song choice upon planning this surprise.
“It looks like there must’ve been a misunderstanding,” Sammy said.
“Yeah,” Hamin replied, his face twitching in irritation.
When Sammy smiled, I could tell he was pleased with how the situation was unfolding. “Do you think you could dance to another track?”
“You know what?” Hamin looked up at Sammy. “I think I could do that.”
“Great,” Sammy said.
“Which track should we play then?” the stage management staff asked.
Hamin brightened up. “Anything. I don’t mind.”
“How about the one that came on earlier?” the stage management staff said.
“Sure. I’ll try my best.” Hamin nudged Sammy. “Do I get bonus points for dancing to a song I’ve had to select on the spot?”
“I think that’s up to our viewers to decide.” Sammy laughed dryly.
When the music came on again, Arang whispered, “He thinks the worst is over.”
“But this is just the beginning,” RJ sneered.
Our plan seemed to have worked. Of course, Hamin wasn’t a dancing machine who could expertly groov
e to any song he heard. His limbs moved stiffly, and he danced a little off beat. Then he moved to the front of the stage, swaying his arms.
“Here we go,” RJ said.
Hamin froze in confusion. As the track went on, he looked down at his left shoe. Yikes. He was still wearing the sneakers he’d worn to bonfire night. Arang and RJ pursed their lips, struggling to hold back laughter. Earlier, RJ had drizzled a clear mixture containing super glue onto a section of the stage. It was why Sammy had made sure Hamin was the first student to perform.
“He can’t move his foot at all,” Arang murmured.
Hamin wriggled his leg while he continued his dance routine with the upper half of his body. Though the alpha students were tittering, Hamin was beaming as if he was having a blast. For the last part of his routine, he slipped off both of his shoes and danced in his socks. A few members of the television crew cheered.
When his performance ended, I clapped reluctantly—mimicking Arang and RJ. Frankly, I didn’t know how else to react. So far, every incident with Hamin had convinced me he really was something else. Even when my band members and I had technically succeeded, it never felt that simple. Not with him.
“Thank you, Hamin,” Sammy said.
Hamin gave Sammy a thumbs-up while he bent down to unstick his left shoe.
“Do you need help with that?” Sammy asked.
“No. I’m alright.” With one hard yank, Hamin managed to lift it off the ground. He lost balance and tottered backward.
The other students erupted into guffaws. However, I had the feeling the Minis would eat this stuff up. Heck, even if the production directors managed to cut the footage out of the upcoming episode, his fans were bound to get their hands on it and create all sorts of cheesy GIF images. Was this why he’d been so confident from the get-go?
“Hey! Where are you going?” Sammy called out when Hamin walked toward the bleachers. “It’s time to receive your feedback from the judges.”
I stuck my head out and watched Eugene, Vik, and Doc talk among themselves.
Vik grabbed the mic. “I’ve got to be honest, that performance was not what I had in mind when I joined the cast of Idol High School as a judge.” He pointed to the top row of the bleachers. “Meanwhile, we’ve got contestants who used to attend prestigious performing arts schools and have been entering dance competitions ever since they could walk. This isn’t a comedy show. We’re trying to find out who Pluto’s next big superstar is going to be, you know?”
Hamin nodded. Suddenly, he seemed terribly small, like he was a vulnerable woman rushing down a dark alley while a group of drunk men chased behind. It was a jarring thought. Sure, Hamin was short for a guy and far from masculine in the traditional sense. But still, he was a boy. I wasn’t supposed to feel protective of him, especially not when he had a hidden agenda.
“Unfortunate circumstances aside, you’ve got a lot to work on. First of all, you move your arms and legs like a Lego Minifig that’s just been taken out of the box. At some points, it was like watching an amateur military march. Not to mention the fact that you couldn’t move with the beat. Props to you for not forgetting your routine, but that’s the only compliment I’ve got for you.” Vik paused as two cleaners went up on stage and began scrubbing off the super glue. “Does anyone want to add their two cents?”
Doc shook his head.
“Due to the, ahem, unexpected issues that arose,” Eugene said, pointing toward the cleaners, “I don’t think it’d be fair of me to critique this performance.”
Once Hamin returned to his seat, Sammy announced, “Next up, we have Mas.”
The bleachers rattled as Mas—one of the most infamous students at Idol High, both among the people on the island and the viewers—got up. To be frank, his reputation had more to do with his supposedly impressive family background and menacing appearance than his stage presence or performance skills. Personally, I saw him as nothing but a dollar-store knockoff version of RJ.
“What’s up with his outfit?” I said.
Mas wore a white boiler suit with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Obviously he was trying to be cool and different—and I guess he achieved the latter, at least. All of the other alpha students were dressed in their royal-blue T-shirts, as if they were desperate to remind the viewers that they were the best contestants.
Arang snorted. “Maybe he’s escaped from an animal testing lab.”
A second after Mas got up, he sat back down, clutching his stomach. He whispered something to Kisu, who was sitting to his right.
“Is everything alright?” Sammy asked.
“Could I switch order with Mas? He’s not feeling so good,” Kisu explained.
“My man has a runny tummy!” the guy sitting to Mas’s right blurted out, cackling.
“Dude!” Mas snapped, punching his friend in the arm.
“Are you alright, Mas? Do you need to go to the infirmary?” Sammy asked.
“And miss my chance to perform? Are you kidding me?” Mas croaked. After his eyes darted toward the cameras, he added, “I’m sorry. What I’m trying to say is, I can handle this. Let me sit down for five more minutes while someone else goes next. Look. Kisu says he’ll do it.”
Sammy let Kisu perform. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was a calculated move, not a generous one, on Sammy’s behalf. Although I’d heard of how Mas, Kisu and the other guys in their little gang stayed out way past their curfew to pop bottles in the private spa for alpha students, then sweat it out in the sauna, Kisu’s dance performance was proof that underage drinking wasn’t all that he did in his spare time. Even Vik seemed to find it difficult to pick a flaw, merely criticizing the hand gesture Kisu made at the end for being dorky.
“Someone’s finally set the bar high.” Sammy whistled. “That was fantastic. Now, how are you doing, Mas? Are you ready to go?”
“Yup,” Mas replied, his eyes clenched shut.
“Alright. Come on down,” Sammy said.
After Mas opened his eyes and took a deep breath, he got up and waddled down the bleachers with a pained expression on his face. Once he made his way to the center of the stage, he seemed fine. At least until he let out a monstrously loud fart a minute into his performance.
The other students tried to hold back their snickers. Had it been any other contestant, I have no doubt that they would’ve laughed in his face. Alas, that wasn’t enough to help Mas preserve his dignity.
Ten seconds later, an even more repulsive sound followed.
“Fuck!” Mas screeched. He ran off stage, hanging his head low in shame.
Sammy scratched his neck, stumped for words. Who could blame him though? There was no way to sugarcoat what had just happened in front of our eyes. Mas, Idol High’s number-one wannabe badass, had crapped himself on stage.
“Bloody hell,” RJ growled as he came into Sammy’s suite.
After Sammy discovered the results of the votes, he’d invited RJ, Arang, and me here for an emergency meeting. With the official announcement only two hours away, the four of us were dressed in suits. Kind of a weird style choice for a tropical island, huh? Apparently, the students, who’d been told the results would be out the next morning, believed they’d been invited to a banquet as a reward for their hard work.
“Bloody hell, indeed,” Arang muttered, stretching his arms out as he lay on the sofa.
“I need a drink,” RJ proclaimed before storming toward the liquor cabinet.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sammy groaned as RJ took out a bottle of whiskey.
“Sammy, there’s no way I’m going to make it through the dinner sober. Not when Hamin motherfucking Han is going to be jumping up and down in joy,” RJ hissed.
“Come on, man. Not now. Why don’t we come back here and do this after dinner?” Sammy went over to RJ and put his hand out. “Give me the bottle.”
“Let him have a drink. Tonight’s our night of defeat,” Arang chimed in.
“Exactly. Thank you. Yo, catch.” RJ th
rew the bottle at Arang.
After Arang caught the bottle, he opened it without wasting a single moment.
“I didn’t invite you guys here so that we could turn up to dinner wasted. Christ, we’re supposed to be planning our next step,” Sammy said exasperatedly.
“Believe it or not. I didn’t come here with the intention of getting wasted either.” RJ snickered, punching his fist against the wall. “Why don’t we have one glass each? One glass and that’s it.”
“Alright. Fuck this. Go ahead,” Sammy murmured.
“But, Mr. Optimist, you’re going to drink too though, aren’t you?” I joked as I got up.
“Of course,” Sammy replied. “How else am I going to live with the fact that Hamin got third place for this round of votes?”
Chapter 19
Honey
Upon arriving at the banquet in my usual outfit—a baggy sweatshirt with sweatpants—I realized I stood out like a sore thumb. While I looked like I was headed to pick up a cheap burger at a fast-food joint, the other students were dressed to the nines as if they’d been invited to a red-carpet event.
“I didn’t know it was going to be this type of dinner,” I groaned. In my defense, we’d been told to come out to the garden behind the east wing, so I’d expected a low-key barbeque on picnic tables, not a fancy setup in an iridescent pavilion.
“Neither did I. Hamin, I should’ve let you borrow one of my suits,” Juno replied. Meanwhile, he’d changed out of his T-shirt and shorts to put on his blue button-down shirt and navy trousers. Ha. Even a complete moron would be able to tell that he was lying.