by Lyla Lee
I wince at the loudness of her voice, but I can’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm.
“Do you know when they’re going to show your audition?” Rebecca asks.
“No idea,” I say. “Since so many people auditioned, they’re dedicating the first two episodes to auditions. I might not even be in this one.”
My friends and I watch the show together, and I laugh at the dramatic zooms and instant replays they’ve added into the footage. These effects are pretty standard for Korean TV shows, but it’s so hilarious in a bizarre way to see the final footage after having personally experienced everything myself.
All the drama and exaggerated humor gets old pretty quickly, though, and I find myself laughing less and less, especially when the show starts making fun of people who I saw while I was standing in line. Sure, there are a lot of auditions where people absolutely kill it and are amazing, but there are just as many—if not more—auditions of people embarrassing themselves onstage.
I guess that’s the entertainment value of the show, though, because my friends never stop laughing. After a while, I find myself tuning out and wondering why Dad isn’t back yet.
“OH MY GOD,” Clarissa shrieks. “IT’S HENRY!”
I turn my attention back to the screen, where, just like Lana and I predicted, there’s an entire feature on Henry, starting from him entering the audition building to him performing onstage. I’ve never seen him dance solo before, and okay, my friends aren’t wrong about how hot he is. With the same confidence and agility I recognize from dancing with him these last couple weeks, Henry perfectly executes the dance for NCT 127’s “Cherry Bomb,” popping and locking to the beat. NCT 127 is a pretty big group, and Henry somehow channels the energy of all ten members into his performance. Every time he jumps really high or drops down to break-dance, the audience screams.
I try really hard not to, but I smile. I can’t help but be proud of my partner.
Then, finally, I hear someone coming down the stairs.
I hang up on my friends. Sorry, guys, I text in our group chat. My parents are coming. I’ll call you later.
The show finally moves on from Henry, and at that moment, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Henry Cho himself.
Oh God, it says. I thought they’d never stop talking about me.
I laugh so loudly that Dad asks, “What’s so funny?” when he comes back to the living room. He’s alone, and although he’s trying to smile, I can tell something’s bothering him. I guess talking to Mom didn’t go well.
“Nothing,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual. “What’s Mom up to?”
“She’s actually watching the show on our bedroom TV,” Dad says. “I tried getting her to come down here and watch with us. but . . .” He gives me a frustrated shrug. “No such luck. Sorry, Skye, I tried. At least she’s watching, right?”
“Yeah, it’s okay,” I say. No matter the result, I can see from the tired look on Dad’s face that he really did try. And I don’t want Mom’s negativity to ruin our watch party anyway.
Trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in my stomach, I refocus my attention to the TV screen, where Imani is dancing onstage. She does such an amazing job with her dance cover of one of Exo’s songs that by the time she’s done, Dad and I are cheering her on with the audience.
“Wow, she was fantastic!” says Dad.
“Yup!” I reply. “She was in my group for one of the rounds. Imani’s probably one of the best dancers in this competition.”
I send Imani a quick text.
You were so good!!! My dad and I were losing it while watching you on TV.
A reply comes almost instantly.
IMANI STEVENS: HAHA, thanks <3 Can’t wait to see your audition.
Next up is Lana, who is unsurprisingly good, and then the SpongeBob T-shirt girl, whose name, I learn, is Mindy.
“Wait, did they show you yet?” Dad asks during a commercial break.
“No,” I say. “I think they’re showing people out of order. Henry auditioned sometime after me, but they showed him already. We might not even see me today, since they split the auditions into two episodes.”
A few more people perform, and then I see myself walking across the stage.
My phone starts blowing up again, but before I can check it, Dad squeezes me tightly into a bear hug. “THERE YOU ARE!” he exclaims.
“Dad, I can’t breathe!” I yell, laughing as I pull away. We both watch as TV Me introduces myself.
“Hello,” she says. “My name is Skye Shin. I am sixteen years old and live in Orange County.”
I cringe, not because I’m embarrassed of myself but because it just feels weird to see myself on TV. I’m not sure I like it. Suddenly, I understand why so many actors say that they can’t watch their own movies.
“Wow, this is weird,” I say. “It’s like having an out-of-body experience.”
“My daughter is so cool!” says Dad. “This is the best day of my life!”
“Dad, I haven’t even performed yet!”
I spoke too soon, because at that moment, TV Me starts dancing. Dad is yelling, “Go, Skye!” and various other things so loudly that I can barely hear the TV. I have to admit, even though watching myself on TV isn’t an experience I want to repeat anytime soon, I’m really proud of myself. I absolutely kill it, in both my dance piece and my vocal audition. And I hold my ground, my head high and voice mostly calm, even when the judges ask their fatphobic questions.
Dad starts cursing in Korean. “How dare they talk like that to my daughter?”
Seeing him get so mad at the judges makes me happy and sad at the same time. I’m glad that Dad has my back when it comes to strangers, but I wish he was the same way when it comes to Mom. Something clearly happened between him and Mom tonight, but what about the other times? I wonder if it’s selfish for me to wish that he’d get more involved with stuff happening between Mom and me, when he spends so little time at home in the first place.
Dad suddenly wraps his arms around me in another bear hug, and I realize my audition is done. TV Me is walking offstage.
“I’m so proud of you,” he says. “Your audition, what you said, everything was amazing. I’m sure your mom is proud of you too. Even though she can’t bring herself to admit that yet.”
“Is she really?” I ask. “Have you seen the way she looks at me? It’s like she desperately wants to switch me out for another, thinner daughter.”
Dad winces. “Yes, she is proud. Take now for instance. If she really wasn’t proud of you, would she be watching this premiere in her room right now? Her unwillingness to accept what you look like is . . . how do you kids say it . . . ‘nothing personal.’ I am not saying that her behavior is okay. I’ll try to talk some more with her about that.”
“Thanks, Appa,” I say, calling him the Korean word for Dad.
My phone starts vibrating from an incoming call.
I check my phone again and nearly drop it. Not only do I have another incoming FaceTime call from Rebecca and Clarissa, but I have a hundred notifications and counting on Twitter alone.
By the time I recover, the call drops, but my friends make up for it by texting me in our group chat.
SKYE. SKYE. OMG!
CALL US BACK!!!! AND CHECK TWITTER!
SKYE, YOU’RE GOING VIRAL AHHHH!
Chapter Twenty-One
MOM DOESN’T COME OUT OF MY PARENTS’ ROOM until almost midnight, long after Dad went to sleep. I almost wish she’d stayed in the room for the entire night, because she does not look happy. Or proud. Not in the slightest. Either Dad didn’t get the chance to talk to her, or it didn’t work.
“Haneul,” she says flatly as she approaches my bed. I’d just finished getting ready to go to sleep, but now I’m wide awake, my heart pounding in my ears.
“I saw you on TV,” Mom continues. “I really think you should drop out of the competition.”
Heat rises up inside of me, and I clench my fists. “Why, did you think I was
really that bad?”
She takes a deep breath and holds the bridge of her nose with her fingers.
“Not exactly, no. You were good . . . unfortunately.”
She sits on the edge of my bed and taps her phone to show me a list of Google search results. Some of the results are in Korean but a good amount are from English K-pop fan sites. It takes me a moment to realize that they’re all about me. Right after my friends told me I was “going viral,” I turned off my phone, because tonight felt too much like a repeat of what happened when Henry posted my picture on Instagram. I brace myself now before reading the headlines.
Is She the Korean Adele?
LA Teen Shocks Many with Stellar Performance
Skye Shin: New Teen Sensation and Henry Cho’s Girlfriend?
The results go on and on. Most of them are positive, but I don’t miss the ones that aren’t. It’s only been a few hours since the episode aired, but there are already tons of people posting about me on social media and message board websites. And a lot of them are saying stuff about my weight, pig emojis included.
It’s the same hurtful things I saw on Henry’s Instagram comments, but worse, since some people are even saying that the judges only accepted me as some sort of sideshow entertainment, so the audience can get a laugh out of seeing me dance.
She’s just comedic relief, one comment says. To relieve the tension, you know?
It all hurts. So much.
Past feelings of shame burn bright again as I remember the boys and skinny girls who teased me in middle school. One day after eighth grade PE, I returned to my locker to find a folded note with a piggy drawn on it. The drawing itself was actually pretty cute. The pig had anime-style chibi eyes and was drawn in a pink gel pen. But the meaning behind it, and the fact that someone had stuck this drawing into my locker, made me sick.
I never found out who drew it, but I didn’t have to. I’d already seen the stares from the other girls as I changed out of my clothes.
“Clips of your audition are on YouTube already,” Mom says. “And people are commenting nonstop.”
My heart beats even faster than it was before. Of course, I knew people would watch my audition, and yeah, I was hoping I would make enough of an impression that people would know who I was, but I never thought everything would be this big of a deal. At least, not this early. I always thought that if I did “make it,” I would become famous at the end of the competition, not at the very beginning. And I never imagined that everything would be this . . . stressful.
Honestly, I think I’d be okay with everything if Mom weren’t right in front of me looking like she just found out I’m going to jail. I’m half expecting her to ground me when she asks, “Is there no way for you to drop out of this competition now?”
“Of course not,” I say. “We’re already almost two months in, and the second elimination round is next Saturday.”
In reality, I’m sure I could drop out if I said there’s an emergency, but there’s no way I’m telling Mom that. I worked way too hard to even get into this competition in the first place. And the fact that Mom is even suggesting that I quit only makes me want to stick with the competition even more.
“And an episode of this show is going to come out every week?”
“Yup.”
She cringes. She actually cringes. “How am I going to show my face to everyone after this? What am I going to tell my customers? Your relatives in Korea are already messaging me about the audition.”
I can hardly believe my ears. She’s thinking about how my going viral will affect her.
“Why can’t you ever be proud of me?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. Some part of me, though, is glad I said it. I needed to get it off my chest. “You know I’m good. You even admitted it. Why is that not enough?”
“I just wish you were more self-conscious! People all over the world are commenting on how fat you are. And they’re probably thinking I’m a bad mom for letting you become like that. I have to hide my face whenever I go to the Korean supermarket and pray I don’t run into someone we know. I couldn’t even open any of my KakaoTalk messages past the notifications because I’m afraid of what our relatives are saying.”
Her face is full of real terror, like her worst nightmare has come true. I think about the photos Sally showed me on her computer. About how Sally said that Mom’s this way because she’s afraid of other people, not because she hates me. I also think back to what Dad said about how Mom’s lack of support is nothing personal on my part. Now, I almost wish it was, because then I could figure out what to do about it. How am I supposed to fight this when it has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with Mom herself?
“Well, maybe they’re just messaging you to say how proud they are of me,” I say. “How do you know what they’re saying without reading the full messages?”
“I just know,” Mom says. Her eyes are steely, and I can’t tell if she’s mad at me or at what our relatives might have said.
I wish I could shake Mom and get her to see that none of that really matters. That all of her fears are more of a testament to how low her own self-esteem is than anything else. That no one cares about us and our image as much as she does. These are all things that Dr. Franklin, the school counselor, told me whenever I went to see him last year, and that’s probably one of the few reasons why I’m so okay with who I am now.
Mom, though . . . I’m not sure if even Dr. Franklin would have any luck with her. She’s so set in her ways.
But there is one thing that I know will change her mind. Or at the very least will get her to really see me and respect me more than any words will.
“What if I win the competition?” I say. “Will you still be unable to show your face around then?”
Mom looks like she’s not sure whether to gasp or laugh.
“Haneul,” she says softly. “Do you really think you have a chance?”
I ignore her patronizing tone and shrug. “I can try my best. I’ll prove to you and all the haters out there that size doesn’t matter. I’m a good dancer and singer, period. Me being fat doesn’t mean I can’t do things. And I’m going to show everyone that I didn’t let anyone—not even you—stop me.”
At that moment, her phone rings. She pauses for a moment, staring blankly at it without answering.
I get out of bed, in no mood to sleep anytime soon.
“I’m gonna go walk around the block,” I say. “I need some fresh air before I go to bed.”
Mom doesn’t even look up at me as I leave.
Luckily, our neighborhood is really safe, even late at night, so I walk around while scrolling through my phone. Without Mom looking over my shoulder, I can actually process everything in peace.
Despite the pig emojis, most of the tweets I got tonight are pretty nice, with people saying how much I inspired them. I reply to texts from Lana and Tiffany, who missed the show when it was airing but are catching up now after coming back home from a night out. Finally, I FaceTime Rebecca and Clarissa again, and they go on and on about how proud they are of me.
“I, like, cried,” Clarissa says, dabbing her eyes. “Look, I love Henry, and I’m still so jealous that you’re his partner. But, wow, that speech you gave in front of the judges. And your performance! Consider me your number one fan.”
“Ahem,” Rebecca says. “I’m number one. You’re number two.”
“You can both be my number ones. Duh.”
We all laugh. Talking to my friends is such a relief after what happened with Mom.
I’m about to head home when my phone buzzes with another incoming FaceTime call. This time, it’s Henry.
It’s silly, but I suddenly feel shy, so I let my phone ring a couple of times before I pick up. Even though we’ve interacted with each other plenty in person, I’ve never FaceTimed with Henry before. And somehow, accepting his call feels really intimate, like a step forward into uncharted territory.
“Hey,” Henry says when I pick up. His surro
undings are dark, and there’s just enough light for me to make out his face. “Wait, are you outside?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “I had a fight with my mom after the premiere, so I wanted to clear my head before I went to bed.”
“Ah. Want to talk about it?”
“Not really. It’s the same crap I’ve been hearing for all my life, just amplified a lot more.”
“Got it. Well, here’s a pic of my dog, Snowball, to cheer you up.”
My phone dings, and I switch back to our texts so I can see the picture. It’s of Henry’s gorgeous white husky, dressed in what looks like a sky-blue onesie with cloud-shaped white buttons.
“OMG,” I say. “Why haven’t you posted this one on Instagram yet?”
I switch back to our conversation so I can see his face.
“Portia actually gave me a limit on how many pictures of Snowball I can post per week.” He makes his voice higher, in a hilarious imitation of Portia. “‘This is your professional Instagram! Not Snowball’s dog-stagram!’”
I laugh. “Honestly, Snowball deserves her own Instagram. She’s the reason I started following you in the first place!”
For a millisecond, I’m afraid Henry might be offended, but he just exclaims, “Aha! So maybe dog-stagrams are my true calling after all. Maybe I should talk to Portia about reevaluating our social media strategy.”
I snort. “You’re so silly. But also, please send me all the cute dog pics. I can’t get enough. I’ve always wanted a dog but can’t have one because my mom is allergic.”
“All right, I will. My phone is mostly pictures of Snowball, anyway.” He smiles shyly, before clearing his throat. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I watched your audition and you were absolutely amazing. I mean, I knew that from the moment I saw you perform live, but I wanted to tell you that again. You deserve all the hype you’re getting online.”
“Aw, thanks. You were pretty great yourself. Your audition was really cool!”
“Between you and me, I almost broke my back on that stage. Like, literally,” he admits with a wince. “But I’m glad it doesn’t look like it. Really wish I’d started dancing as a kid.”