This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

First published in USA in 2020

by Simon Pulse, an imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020

First published in Great Britain in 2020

by Electric Monkey, part of Egmont Books

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers, 1 London Bridge Street, London SE1 9GF

Text copyright © 2020 by Jessica Jung and Glasstown Entertainment

The moral rights of the author have been asserted

www.egmontbooks.co.uk

ISBN 978 1 4052 9738 7

Ebook ISBN 978 1 4052 9737 0

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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To all my Golden Stars

1  One

2  Two

3  Three

4  Four

5  Five

6  Six

7  Seven

8  Eight

9  Nine

10  Ten

11  Eleven

12  Twelve

13  Thirteen

14  Fourteen

15  Fifteen

16  Sixteen

17  Seventeen

18  Eighteen

19  Nineteen

20  Twenty

21  Twenty-One

22  Twenty-Two

23  Twenty-Three

24  Twenty-four

25  Twenty-Five

26  Twenty-Six

27  Twenty-Seven

28  Acknowledgments

29  Back series promotional page

30  About the Author

Contents

Cover

Title page

Copyright

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Acknowledgments

Back series promotional page

About the Author

Head up, legs crossed. Tummy tucked, shoulders back. Smile like the whole world is your best friend. I repeat the mantra in my head as the camera pans across my face. The corners of my lips turn up in a perfectly sweet “don’t you want to tell me all your secrets” pink-glossed smile.

But you probably shouldn’t. You know how they say three can keep a secret if two are dead? Well, that couldn’t be truer for my world, where everyone is always watching and your secrets can actually kill you. Or, at least, they can kill your chance to shine.

“You girls must be thrilled!” The interviewer is a middle-aged man with oily, slicked back hair and fair skin. He might have been handsome if his garish hot-pink satin tie and red shirt combo weren’t so distracting. He leans forward eagerly, his eyes gleaming at the nine girls seated before him, a sea of perfectly tousled beach waves and unblemished faces glowing from years of skin-brightening face masks, choreographed down to the angle of our sleekly crossed legs and the descending order of our pastel rainbow-hued stilettos. “Hitting number one at all the music shows, and with your debut music video no less! You’re one chart away from an All-Kill! How do you feel?”

“We couldn’t be more excited.” Mina jumps in eagerly, flashing her perfect teeth in a beaming smile. My face muscles ache as I stretch to match her.

“It’s a dream come true,” Eunji agrees before loudly popping her gum and blowing a huge strawberry-scented bubble.

“We’re so grateful for the opportunity to do this together,” Lizzie chimes in, her eyes practically glowing under layers of silvery eye shadow.

The interviewer’s eyes light up, and he leans in conspiratorially. “So you all get along? I mean, nine incredibly beautiful girls in one group. That can’t always be easy.”

Sumin gives a soft, effortless laugh, pursing her perfectly lined bright-red lips. “Nothing is ever ‘always easy’,” she says. “But we’re family. And family comes first.” She links arms with Lizzie sitting next to her. “We belong together.”

The interviewer flutters a hand over his heart. “Just precious. And what do you love about working together?” His eyes travel slowly over the group, finally landing on me. “Rachel?”

My eyes immediately shift to the huge camera sitting behind the interviewer. I can feel the lens zooming in on me. Head up, legs crossed. Tummy tucked, shoulders back. I’ve been preparing for this moment for years. I smile wide, turning the interviewer into my best friend. And my mind goes completely blank.

Say something, Rachel. Say anything. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. My hands have gone clammy, and I can sense the other girls start to shift uncomfortably in their seats as my silence fills the room. The camera feels like a spotlight – hot and prickly on my skin – as my mouth dries up, making it almost impossible to speak.

Finally, the interviewer sighs and takes pity on me. “You’ve all been through so much together – training for six years before making it big! Has the experience been everything you hoped it would be?” He smiles, lobbing me an easy question.

“Yes,” I manage to croak out, a smile still plastered on my face.

He continues. “And tell me a little more about what life was like as a trainee before your big girl-group debut. What was your favourite part of living in the trainee house?”

My mind spins around for an answer as I discreetly wipe the sweat off my hands and on to the leather seat beneath me. An idea pops into my head. “What else?” I say, lifting a hand, awkwardly wiggling my perfectly manicured fingers, all white and lavender stripes, towards the camera. “Eight girls to do your nails for you. It’s like living in a 24/7 nail salon!”

Omg. What is wrong with me? Did I really just say my favourite part of training was having eight girls to give me free manicures?

Luckily, the interviewer’s laughter booms loudly throughout the room, and I feel relief coursing through my body. Okay, I can do this. I giggle along with him, and the other girls quickly join in. He flashes his greasy smile at me. Uh-oh. “Rachel, you’ve received high praise for your talent as the lead vocalist. Do you find your talent inspires the other girls to do better, work harder?”

At this I blush, putting my hands on my face to cover up the colour rising in my cheeks. My head starts buzzing again. I’ve practised answering these questions a million times, but every time I get in front of that camera, I freeze. The lights, the interviewers, the knowledge that millions of people out there are watching me. It’s like my brain disconnects from my body, and no amount of practice or preparation can make the two come together again. My throat fills with a lump the size of a golf ball, and I notice the interviewer’s smile growing more and more frozen on his face. Crap. How long has he been waiting for me to answer? Quickly, I blurt out, “I mean – I am talented.” Out of the side of my eye I notice Lizzie and Sumin glance at each other, eyebrows lifted. Shit. “Wait, but not the most talented. I mean, well, the group – all the girls. We all –”

“I think what Rachel means to say is we all love what we do, and we inspire each other every day,” Mina cuts in smoothly. “Speaking as lead dancer of the group, I know I learned a lot from my father about a strong work ethic –”

She’s cut off by the sharp ringing of the class bell over the speaker system. The cameras click off and the interviewer’s smile wilts off his face. He takes his time, slowly peeling off his suit jacket to reveal huge sweat stains darkening the satin under his arms as the nine of us – some of the top K-pop trainees at DB Entertainment – wait for our mock-interview media assessment. “I’d like to see a little bit more energy for next week – remember, the only difference between a trainee and a DB K-pop star is how much you want it! Eunji . . .” She looks at him, eyes wide and scared. “How many times do I have to tell you, no bubble gum during mock interviews! One more violation and I’m sending you straight back to newbie classes.” Eunji’s face turns pale, and she bows her head low. “Sumin! Lizzie!” Their heads snap up. “More personality from both of you! No one’s paying two hundred thousand won for a K-pop concert full of stars who use makeup to hide the fact that they have nothing interesting to say.” Lizzie looks like she’s about to cry, and Sumin’s bright-red lips match the blush blooming on her cheeks. Finally, he turns to me and in almost a bored voice says, “Rachel, we’ve been over this before. Your singing and dancing is some of the best we’ve ever seen, but that’s only part of the job. If you can’t even sell yourself to me during a training interview, how do you expect to perform in front of huge crowds every night? Or do real interviews with live audiences? We expect more from you.” He gives us a curt nod before walking out of the training room, shaking a cigarette from his front pocket.

I practically melt off the tiny stool I’ve been sitting on for the past hour, my smile fading away as I massage out the stiletto-induced cramp in my right leg. I’ve heard it all before. Do better, Rachel. Get comfortable in front of the camera, Rachel. K-pop stars must be lovable, eloquent and perfect at all times, Rachel. I let out a grunt of pain as I twist around to pull on my Converses. Mina glares at me from her seat.

“What now?” I sigh.

She lifts a hand, showing off her perfect French manicure. “Eight girls to do your nails for you? Seriously? We’re not your servants, Rachel.” She rolls her eyes. You would know, I think to myself. Of everyone at DB, Mina’s the most likely to have servants. She’s the eldest daughter of one of Korea’s oldest and most powerful chaebol families, the Choos, also known as the C-MART family. There are thousands of orange-and-white C-MART stores all over the country, selling everything from kimchi and Yakult and freshly made japchae to neon-yellow sweatshirts with knockoff Sanrio characters spouting ridiculous Konglish phrases like “Your mum is my hamster” – meaning Mina is richer than rich and a huge pain in my ass. “You know you’re the reason we have so many of these media training classes, right?” My insides heat up. It’s true. I know it’s true. But that doesn’t mean I want to hear it from Mina. “Can you at least try answering like a K-pop star and not some starstruck little girl at a slumber party? Or is that too much to ask from our poor little Korean American princess?”

I stiffen. It’s no secret I was born and raised in the States (New York City, to be exact), but between my dance trainer screaming at me for being three minutes late to class this morning and my failed interview performance, I’m in no mood to deal with Mina and her attitude today. “I don’t remember the interviewer asking you any personal questions, Mina. Maybe you’re just not as interesting as you think you are.”

“Or maybe I don’t need the practice,” Mina says.

I sigh. I skipped breakfast this morning, and the effort to keep up this verbal sparring with Mina requires at least one meal, if not two. I turn away, scooping my heels into my old white leather tote bag.

“What, you think you’re too good to talk to me now? Didn’t your umma teach you any manners?” Mina says.

“What do you expect from her?” Lizzie says, checking her mascara in her monogrammed compact mirror. She snaps it shut and narrows her eyes at me. “Sweet little Princess Rachel, whose mum won’t let her step foot in the trainee house. Maybe that’s why she thinks we all have nothing better to do with our time than each other’s nails.”

“It must be nice to be Mr Noh’s favourite,” Eunji says with a loud sigh. “You know, some of us actually have to work hard to get where we are. You don’t see us getting any favours from the head of DB.”

“I hope you don’t think you’re some of us,” Sumin says, whipping around to face Eunji. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you break a sweat over anything.”

“Speaking of sweat, you might want to freshen up a bit, Soo sweetie,” Eunji says, drawing a circle in the air around her own face. “You’re looking a little . . . shiny.”

“Well, your nose is looking a little plastic,” Sumin bites back.

“Aigoo! The two of you are giving me a headache!” Lizzie whines to Mina. “Sunbae, make them be quiet!”

Mina smiles. “Of course, Lizzie, sweetie. Why don’t we just turn the camera back on? That will shut them right up! Oh wait . . . that only works on Rachel!”

The room dissolves into giggles as my face flares in anger and embarrassment. I should bite back, but I don’t. I never do. I like to pretend it’s because I’m taking my mum’s advice to heart –you know, be the bigger person, always take the high road, never let them see you sweat, the mantras of strong, American-minded feminists everywhere – but the huge lump that’s returned to my throat knows that’s a lie. I finish lacing my shoes and stand. “If you’ll excuse me,” I say, winding my way out of the room.

“Oh, you’re excused,” Mina says innocently. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her motion to the other girls, whispering wildly as sly smiles start to spread across all their faces.

DB Entertainment’s training campus is exactly like the K-pop stars it churns out: flawless, sparkling, and pretty much impossible to look away from. It’s prime real estate in the heart of Cheongdam-dong, the capital of K-pop. In the summer, trainees gather for yoga and Pilates on the rooftop garden, fighting over the coveted umbrella-covered spots to avoid even the hint of a sun blemish. Inside, giant fountains with spring water flown in directly from Seoraksan grace the teakwood and marble-clad lobbies. The DB execs claim the fountains are there to help us channel our inner peace in order to achieve our highest potential – but we all know what a joke that is. There’s no inner peace to be had here.

Especially not with the yearbook staring you in the face every day.

The yearbook (so named because most of the trainees here never get the chance to have an actual high school yearbook) is what we call the walls surrounding the fountain in the central wing lobby, decorated with framed photos of every single K-pop star who’s debuted out of DB’s training program. Their picture-perfect smiles and glossy hair remind us mere trainee mortals of what we aspire to be every day as we scurry from class to class. And smack in the middle of the wall – the one place we all hope to see ourselves someday – is a gold plaque with the names of every DB solo star or group who’s had a song debut at #1 on the Seoul music charts.

As I walk past, I stop and stare, my eyes blurring as I go over the names I memorized years ago. Pyo Yeri, Kwon Yoon Woo, Lee Jiyoung . . . and the most recent, NEXT BOYZ. I feel a familiar squeeze around my heart, that patented K-pop trainee combination of stress, panic, and dehydration, as I flash back to my disastrous interview performance. Wincing at the memory, I quicken my steps, hurrying towards the independent practice rooms that line the west side of the building.

The hallway is full of random toys and props used by the best of the best stars in worldwide concerts. Half of the paraphernalia has the insignias of Electric Flower and Kang Jina (a gold-plaque legend and the leader of the biggest and best girl group in K-pop for the last few years). They debuted at the top spot and never left it. When I joined DB, I worshipped those girls – Jina especially. I admire them even more now, knowing what they had to go through to get to where they are. But part of me wonders about the girls they left behind. The ones that didn’t make it in the group.

Will I be the one on top or the one left in the shadows?

Bass reverberates into the hallway as I peek inside one room and see a second-year trainee practising Blue Pearl’s iconic “Don’t Give Up on Love” dance. She flubs the side-to-side arm movements and wilts, dragging herself over to the speaker panel to start the song from the beginning. My whole body aches just watching her. From the sweat dripping off her forehead to her bright-red cheeks, I can tell she’s been in there for hours – a typical day for a young trainee. At the end of the hall, I run my finger over the electronic sign-up screen that dictates practice room availability. It’s still pretty early on a Saturday, so I’m hoping for some afternoon times to work on my dance moves, but . . . Ugh. Unbelievable. Every single slot is filled.

My hands clench. Lizzie wasn’t wrong – I’m not like the other trainees who are here 24/7, singing and dancing in practice rooms until 4:00 a.m., sleeping at the nearby trainee house, and waking up and doing it all over again, every single day. Back when I first got recruited to DB, my mum almost didn’t let me come. It meant uprooting our family from New York City to Seoul, my sister giving up her school and her friends, both of my parents giving up their jobs. But more than that, she couldn’t understand why K-pop meant so much to me, and she definitely didn’t understand the trainee lifestyle – the intense pressure, the years of training, the plastic surgery scandals. Then, about three weeks into begging my mum to change her mind, my halmoni died. I remember how sad I felt, how I cried with my mum and Leah for hours, how when she was alive, Halmoni would sit me down every morning during our visits and braid my hair, whispering old folktales into my ear, telling me in her soothing voice how I would grow up to be beautiful, wise and very wealthy. My mum wouldn’t let us miss school for the funeral, and when she got back from Korea I had practically decided to let go of the whole trainee thing, but to my surprise, Umma made me a deal: we would move to Seoul and I would go to school during the week, get an education, keep my prospects for college open, and every weekend (starting Friday night), I would train. (Once, a few years ago, I asked her why she changed her mind after Halmoni died, but all I got a blank stare followed by a quick smack on the back of my head.)

The DB execs didn’t really go for Umma’s arrangement at first, but for some reason, Mr Noh decided to bend the rules for me. Umma thinks it was because of her “American female empowerment” (as she calls it), but I know I’m just one of the lucky few Mr Noh favours – one of the lucky few he has decided to pluck from trainee obscurity and pay extra attention to. (Although in the trainee program, extra attention really just means extra pressure.) Still, the situation was pretty unheard of, and it wasn’t long before I was known as “Princess Rachel”, the most pampered trainee at DB; the full-blooded Korean whose American passport (and American attitude and American dislike of Spam . . .) put more distance between me and the other trainees than the entire Pacific Ocean had. Now, six years later, even though I’ve been here longer than almost all the other trainees, the nickname still lives on.

You’d think they’d judge me based on how hard I train. How I work my body to the bone at DB headquarters at the weekends. How I sleep four hours a night during the week because of the hours of practice I put in after finishing my homework. How I begged my school to give me an independent study in music so I can have fifty minutes alone every day in the music room, practising scales to keep me sharp. But instead, they judge my clean clothes, my neatly brushed hair, and the fact that I get to sleep in my own bed at night.

And the worst part is? They’re right. Every single one of them puts in twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Most of them live at the trainee house and go home once a month (if that). They eat, sleep, and breathe K-pop. No matter how you look at it, I can’t compete with that. But that’s exactly what I have to do.

Digging the heels of my palms into my forehead, I try to take calm, even breaths. As I got closer and closer to debut age, I begged my mum to let me train full-time, but all I ever got back was a blank stare. How can I tell my mum that it’s almost unheard of to debut in a girl group if you’re out of your teen years? How can I explain that I’m three years away from being past my prime? It’s been almost seven years since DB debuted Electric Flower, right before the last big DB Family Tour. They haven’t debuted another girl group since. Rumours that DB is looking to debut a new girl group – and soon – have been swirling for months, and I can’t afford to wait another seven years. I can’t afford to wait seven months. By then it might be too late for me. Debuting is everything I’ve been working towards, and there’s no way I’m going to let myself be passed over. No matter what Umma says.

“Rachel!”

I jerk my hands away from my face and plaster on a pleasantly neutral expression, bracing myself for another confrontation with Mina. I exhale and smile, however, when I see Akari bounding down the hall, her thick black ponytail streaming behind her.

Akari Masuda moved to Seoul with her parents when she was ten years old, after her father, a Japanese tech genius, was recruited to work at the Osan Air Force Base. She had been on the short list to start training at L-star Records, a huge J-pop label in Tokyo, but her parents didn’t want her living on her own at such a young age. Instead, her dad pulled some strings to get her into the DB program. I had been training under Yujin’s supervision for a year when she arrived, and Yujin made sure I took her under my wing, letting us snack on banana milk and giant boxes of Pepero in her office while we watched Beyoncé music videos. Maybe it’s because we both understand what it’s like to be an outsider in Seoul, but we’ve got along since the day we met. It’s not easy making friends when everything here feels like a competition, but Akari is one of the few people at DB I can really trust.

“Where have you been?” she asks, linking her arm smoothly through mine. She has the natural grace of a dancer, having been in ballet since she was four years old.

“Media training,” I respond lightly. Akari takes in the dark circles under my eyes and my red, splotchy face and gently starts to ease me away from the practice rooms.

“Well, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I was worried you might miss the newbie bowing ceremony!”

I groan, stopping in my tracks. “Um, no. Please don’t make me go to that. You know I hate it.”

“Hate it or not, ‘the bowing ceremony represents family – and at DB, family comes first.’” Akari giggles, her face contorting into a disturbingly accurate replica of Mr Noh, DB Entertainment’s CEO – or, as he would say, the head of the tight-knit DB family. Ha. She wiggles her eyebrows. “Plus, I heard there’s catering.”

My stomach rumbles at the thought of food and I remember I haven’t eaten anything all day. “You should have led with that,” I say, letting her drag me down the hall. “You know I never say no to free food.”

“Who does?” Akari shouts as we step out into the main lobby. It’s teeming with people –trainees rushing to classes and staff rushing to their offices, prepping for the big Electric Flower concert in Busan next weekend. We pass the cafeteria – famous for being the only Michelin-starred corporate cafeteria in all of Asia. Even international superstars like Joe Jonas and Sophie Turner have come here just to eat the food. Too bad it’s wasted on most of the trainees and idols who are actually repped by DB, as we’re meticulously weighed each week. Can’t afford to pop out of our costumes onstage (sarcasm intended).

The auditorium is one of my favourite places on campus, all gleaming blond wood and faux-industrial iron chandeliers dangling from the ceiling. The stage rises dramatically in the centre of the room (to more accurately reflect the experience of a stadium tour, of course) with plush, velvet-covered seating surrounding it.

Mr Noh is already standing onstage with the new trainees lined up behind him as we slide into the first row of seats. I look at the kids onstage; they are fidgeting and smiling with the excited, nervous energy that other kids might feel on their first day of school. Mr Noh, tacky as ever in head-to-toe Prada, looks the way he always does: narrowed, critical eyes hidden behind mirror-tinted glasses, able to spot an underperforming trainee from a mile away, but with hands resting gently on the newbies’ shoulders in a failed attempt to seem fatherly.

As he drones on about the challenges that await this fresh batch of future K-pop stars, my eyes wander over to the food set up on tables at the side of the auditorium. It’s a lavish Western-style spread of prosciutto and fig sandwiches, rosewater doughnuts, and fruit platters bursting with fresh mango and lychee. A small group of DB execs and senior trainers have already set up camp around the banquet tables, stuffing their faces. I see a familiar flash of neon-pink hair among them and wave at Chung Yujin, DB’s head trainer. Yujin was the one who first scouted me while I was singing “Style” inside a noraebang in Myeong-dong. I was eleven years old, and Leah and I were visiting our halmoni in Seoul for the summer. I’m seventeen now and Yujin’s still the person at DB I look up to most – she’s my mentor, my unni. No one but Akari knows about our history, though, and how close we really are. Yujin always says my life as a K-pop trainee is already hard enough (what with Mr Noh’s interest in me and my special schedule), that she doesn’t want to pile on by telling everyone I’m her favourite. She waves back discreetly, pretending to look interested as a wrinkled old exec grabs her by the arm and starts gabbing in her ear. She catches my eye from across the auditorium and mouths, Help.

I giggle to myself, my eye sliding to a big orange-and-white sign displayed on the table: ON BEHALF OF CHOO MINA AND HER FATHER, WE ARE PROUD TO BE PART OF THE DB FAMILY. BON APPÉTIT!A My grin vanishes. Maybe I can say no to free food after all.

“I think I just lost my appetite,” I say flatly.

Akari follows my eyes to the sign. “Oh,” she says. She laughs, trying to lighten my mood. “Come on, Mina’s not that bad.”

“Remember what happened at my bowing ceremony?”

Akari smiles, eyes crinkling. “Ooh, yeah, I love this story.”

On my first day as a DB newbie, I had no idea I was supposed to bow to the senior trainees at this ceremony. I was fresh off the plane from New York City – and even though both my parents are Korean, bowing isn’t really something you do all that much in the States. When I was a kid it was just something we did when we visited my parents’ friends from church during the new year, and that was the full formal Korean bow (and it was worth it, too, for the crisp twenty-dollar bill they always handed to us afterwards). I thought the ceremony was just a welcoming event, a chance to meet the other trainees. Yujin-unni, knowing I wouldn’t know what to do, whispered in my ear that I should bow to the elder trainees. So I did – to the older teens standing in a row. But when I got to Mina, a girl my own age, I just stuck out my hand to shake hers, thinking it was the right (and polite!) thing to do. I might as well have kicked her in the stomach and spit in her hair for the tantrum she had.

By now Akari has taken over the story, mimicking Mina’s world-class meltdown. “‘Who does this bitch think she is?’” She crows with laughter. “‘She thinks she’s some kind of hotshot because she’s from America? Learn some manners, newbie.’” I roll my eyes, recalling how she immediately tattled on me to Mr Noh, demanding I be punished for my lack of respect to a sunbae (literally anyone with more experience than you, even if that person is your same age or younger). Thankfully, Yujin put a stop to that. But since then, Mina has basically made it her goal in life to destroy me.

“God. The temper she has.”

“But you still didn’t bow, did you?” Akari says.

“It’ll take more than some baegchi daddy’s girl with a god complex to make me bow to Mina,” I say.

“That’s my girl.” Akari pats me on the back. “Young Rachel would be so proud of you.” I flash her a quick smile, but inside, my heart starts to sink. If I could go back in time, knowing the proper etiquette, would I really do it the same way? I want to say yes, that obviously I would put Mina in her place, but even I don’t know if I’m being honest with myself. I think back to the way I ran out of the training room this morning, the way I avoid confrontation with all the other trainees – Yujin’s always telling me to rise above, to focus on training, and I play those words over in my head constantly. But . . . would eleven-year-old Rachel be proud of me? Or would she call me a coward?

Akari and I join the ceremony onstage, waiting our turn in line with the other senior trainees to receive bows from the newbies.

“Excuse me,” Lizzie snaps at us. “Jjokbari and bananas to the back of the line.” The girls around us gasp in shock.

Beside me, Akari whirls around to face her. “Excuse you,” she snaps back, her face inches from Lizzie’s, her eyes narrowed in anger. “We’re more senior than you. We’re not going anywhere.”

Lizzie’s eyes nervously dart over to Mina, who’s looking at us with a smug smile on her face. But there’s nothing she can say—they both know Akari is right. “Whatever,” she huffs, clearly defeated. “You’re still foreigners.” All around us, trainees are staring and giggling. I’ve had enough.

“Come on, Akari,” I mutter, my cheeks bright pink. “It’s not worth it.”

I can tell Akari is seething by the way she walks, back tall and stiff, but she follows my lead. It’s not worth it, I tell myself. It’s unprofessional to throw down at the newbie ceremony. I’m no Mina.

Instead, we make our way over to the banquet table. Yujin grabs my hand, squeezing it hard. “Everything okay up there? It looked . . . tense.”

I give her a tight smile. “It’s fine. Nothing to worry about,” I say as I ignore her arched brow and grab a plate. Distractedly, I reach for a sandwich, intent on eating away this shame spiral that’s started to grow in my stomach, when Akari pulls my hand back, shaking her head.

“Cucumber,” she says, pointing to the sign.

“Gross.” I shudder, plopping a white pizza bacon grilled cheese on my plate instead. “Thanks. You saved my life.”

“What are friends for?” She smiles. “Plus, I’m never reliving the horrific cucumber catastrophe of 2017. I still get nightmares thinking about you vomiting all over the cafeteria after one tiny bite of cucumber salad.”

“Don’t blame me! Cucumbers are like the jogging exercises of the vegetable world! People pretend to like them because they’re supposed to be healthy for you, but really, they’re the worst. And they leave a horrible taste in your mouth. And they should be illegal.”

“Sorry, chingu, but I believe cucumbers are technically a fruit?” Akari laughs, and I throw a crumpled napkin at her face.

Walk into any K-pop trainee lesson and you’ll find some of the most talented teens in the world – expert dancers, accomplished singers, and of course, world-class gossipmongers. “I heard he dyed his hair orange,” Eunji says.

“Not just any orange, but the exact same custom shade that Romeo from BigM$ney has,” a first-year trainee in silver pants chimes in, his voice barely past puberty.

Looks like class is in session.

All the gossip, of course, is focused on one thing: Jason Lee, DB’s newest K-pop star and the latest addition to the coveted plaque on the yearbook, after his group, NEXT BOYZ, debuted at #1 with their single “True Love Boy”. You couldn’t take a step on to campus – or anywhere in Seoul, really—without hearing Jason’s brooding tenor singing about finding his one true love. Mr Noh had never looked happier. But now, apparently, sweet, humble, loyal Jason and the execs are in a big fight and no one knows why. I sip a can of Milkis, happy to forget all about my day and listen to the theories swirl around me.

“I heard he stole from Mr Noh’s vinyl record collection,” a third voice whispers, hiding behind a thick reddish-brown fringe.

“Angel Boy? Stealing? He would never!”

“Would Mr Noh even notice? He has, like, a thousand records.”

“Are you serious? He’s obsessed with those records.”

“Who cares if he’s a thief? He’s too cute to be fired!” Half a dozen trainees all start nodding in agreement.

I shake my head slightly in disbelief. Stolen records and dyed hair? That’s the worst the vicious DB rumour mill can come up with? A few months ago, when a female trainee, Suzy Choi, was suddenly let go in the middle of a training cycle, rumours had run rampant that she had a drug problem and she owed thousands of dollars to her dealers, who sold her to one of those North Korean–themed restaurants in Cambodia. (Akari, on the other hand, claimed she had seen Suzy on the street holding hands with some cute boy, but I don’t believe it. There’s no way Suzy would have ever broken DB’s strict “no dating” rule – in this industry, illicit drugs are more believable than an illicit boyfriend.) Another time last year, my mum and dad were both working on a Sunday and asked me to bring Leah to training with me – the rumours that she was my illegitimate child and that I took care of her during the week and that was the reason I didn’t train during the week have only just died down. Of course, the fact that I’m only four years older than her didn’t seem to matter to anyone.

“What we should really be focusing on is training harder, not gossiping,” Mina says primly, stretching as she stands up and glances in Mr Noh’s direction. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Could she get any more obvious?

Zeroing in on me, she saunters over, smiling brightly at the plate in my hands. “Rachel. So sorry you couldn’t participate in the bowing ceremony. It’s probably better left to those of us who know what we’re doing, don’t you think? But I do hope you’re enjoying the food.”

That’s it. I’ve had enough of Mina for today. “Yes,” I say brightly back, plucking a piece of bacon off my plate and crunching down on it. “I’m lucky to be so naturally thin that I don’t have to watch what I eat.” I let my eyes linger on her plateful of peeled celery and dotori-muk while a group of younger trainees swivel towards us, eyes agog and giggling.

Mina’s eyes narrow in shock and anger – she’s not used to me biting back. I’m sure she’ll make me pay. Raising her voice several decibels, she says, “If you and Akari are free tonight, why don’t you join us for vocals practice at the trainee house? We do it every Saturday night, and I wouldn’t want you to fall behind.”

The trainee house. Yeah, right. Umma would never let me go and Mina knows it.

Before I can respond, Mr Noh strides over. Mina’s loud voice has obviously paid off. At least she’s getting something out of all those extra singing lessons; the girl knows how to project.

“What’s this I hear about a late-night practice?” His eyes move across the group, landing on me. “Rachel, was this your idea?” he asks, smiling. “Our most hardworking trainee!” His eyes focus in on me as all around us trainees have gone silent, everyone sitting up as straight as they possibly can, alert and ready to be called on and impress at a moment’s notice.

Beside me, Mina looks furious that Mr Noh has singled me out yet again. I force a smile on to my face and open my mouth to respond, but Mina cuts me off at the last moment. “I’ll be there, sir!” she practically shouts, a few pieces of celery flying off her plate.

Mr Noh’s eyes widen in shock, but he quickly recovers. “Wonderful attitude. And good for you, Miss . . . uh . . .”

“Choo. Choo Mina. My father is Choo Minhee . . .” Mina’s face falls. “You two are old friends . . .”

“Right, right, of course, Minhee’s daughter!” Mr Noh chuckles, a look of relief in his eyes. “Thank you for reminding me.”

A smile bursts across Mina’s face, “Thank you, Mr Noh,” Mina says, simpering. “Will the two of you be getting together any time soon? Father’s always saying how much he enjoys your company at the annual Choo Corporation’s Christmas party . . .”

“Yes, yes, I’ll have to give him a ring.” He chuckles before turning his attention back to me. “And what wonderful taste in friends you have, Rachel! You and Mina are fine examples for the other senior trainees. You should all be making this late-night session a top priority.” Mr Noh’s eyes lock with mine, and I can see myself in the reflection of his glasses. “Especially those of you who wish to debut soon.”

My insides are on fire, but I don’t waver. I can feel Mina’s smug expression burning a hole in the side of my head, but I take another sip of Milkis and smile.

“Count me in,” I say. Mr Noh nods in approval, and I raise my can to him as if making a toast. To family and to being utterly screwed. “I can’t wait.”

Sweat pours down my forehead as I take another swing at the sagging punching bag in front of me. Thud. Mina’s smug smile. Thwack. Umma’s strict rules. Bam. Me, walking away from all those girls in media training instead of standing up for myself. Ugh. I beat them all to a pulp, everything that annoys me, everyone who stands in my way – even me.

Appa, who’s holding the punching bag steady, grunts as I throw blow after blow. “You must look up to me a lot,” he says.

“Why do you say that?” I ask, my breath ragged from exertion.

“You’re obviously trying to follow in my steps.” He chuckles. Appa is a former pro boxer. “Why else would my sixteen-year-old daughter be torturing this punching bag?”

“Seventeen, Appa. In Korea, I’m seventeen.” In Korea they consider you to be age one when you’re born, which means you’re a year older than you are in the US. A year closer to passing my prime. A year closer to being too old to debut. I punch the bag again.

“Sorry, Daughter,” Appa says with a sigh.

I deliver one last punch and take a few steps back, breathing hard. My ponytail is sticking to the sweat on the back of my neck. If this were DB, I would be embarrassed – trainers hate it when the trainees sweat, even after hours of practice, saying it makes us look unprofessional and sloppy. Plus, most of the girls practise in makeup, and runny mascara is never a good look. But at the boxing gym I revel in it. It makes me feel like I’ve just kicked someone’s ass, even if it is imaginary.

Appa gives me a thoughtful look. “Is this father-daughter talk or friend talk?”

He nods to the other side of the gym, where Akari and my friends from school, the Cho twins, are sparring, decked out in helmets and gloves. They come with me now and then when I visit Appa at our family’s boxing gym; Appa tells us stories about his glory days and we get our cardio fix.

“Friend talk,” I say. As cool as Appa is, I know that whatever I tell him about training life will eventually make its way back to Umma. Not that Appa can’t keep a secret. In fact, I know he’s keeping a pretty big one of his own from Umma. “How are those classes going, by the way?”

He glances around as if Umma might be hiding behind a punching bag. But aside from me and my friends, the gym is empty. As usual. “They’re fine.” He clears his throat. “You still haven’t told your mother or Leah, have you?”

I shake my head. The only reason I know that Appa’s been taking secret law school night classes in the first place is because I spotted a law textbook in his office during one of my gym visits. When I asked him about it, he got flustered and tried to pass it off as light reading. Eventually he broke down and told me the truth, but he made me promise not to tell Umma or Leah. “No. But it’s been, what, two years? Don’t you think it’s time to mention it to them? I mean, you’re about to graduate!”

“I don’t want to get their hopes up,” he says now, the same as he did the day I found out. “We all know the gym isn’t doing well. It’s not like before . . .” He pauses, and I think about what life was like back in New York. Appa was semi-famous from his pro-boxing days, and the gym he ran in our neighbourhood in the West Village was always brimming with people. Umma was close to getting tenure as an English Literature professor at NYU. Everyone was busy, but somehow the four of us were always together. After school, Leah and I would sit in the back row of Umma’s classes, colouring and doing our homework. At the weekends, we used to run around handing out cups of water and towels to all the boxers at Appa’s gym, and Umma would be helping out in the office, arranging class schedules and taking deliveries. Afterwards, we would always get ice cream and take Leah to see the guy who made gigantic bubbles in Washington Square Park.

But everything is different now. Umma’s working twice as hard to get back on the tenure track at her job, which could be years away. Leah spends hours alone after school each day while our parents are working and I’m doing homework or trying to keep up with my training. And Appa’s gym . . . well, he bought this gym about a year after we moved to Seoul, but it’s never really taken off. Some weeks, me and my friends are the only ones who come in at all.

For the third time today, I feel a lump in my throat. I know Appa is happy for me and my life as a K-pop trainee, but I can’t help feeling guilty for the dreams he gave up in order to let me pursue mine. Appa shakes his head and gives me a small smile. “I love this gym, but I love you and Leah and Umma even more. You three are what’s important now, and becoming a lawyer will give us some financial stability. But I just . . . don’t want to disappoint them. Especially Leah. She’s only twel— thirteen! – and you know how excited she gets about the smallest things. Let’s just wait a little longer to see if I even have a chance at succeeding.”

I nod my head in understanding. The thought of disappointing my family – the ones who gave up so much so I could train at DB, so that I could be a star – haunts me. But that’s why for me it’s not a matter of if, but when. For me there’s no other choice but to succeed.

“Enough old-man talk,” Appa says, trying to keep his tone light. “Go have fun with your friends.”

Now Akari is holding the punching bag for the twins as they take turns jabbing and crossing. Cho Hyeri and Cho Juhyun are my best friends from Seoul International School, since the first day of fifth grade, when the principal assigned them as my official welcoming committee. I was so nervous of what everyone would think of my K-pop training – would they think I was weird? Or spoiled? Or maybe they would want me to bow to them like Mina? – but Hyeri and Juhyun waved it off like it was nothing, grabbing my hand before I could move or say a word and racing me around the school. They were more interested in the glittery patches I had sewn on to my Converses and what growing up within walking distance of the boutiques in SoHo and the tents at Bryant Park during fashion week was like – not that I had much to say on either subject. They’re both willowy and tall, with high cheekbones and silky brown hair that falls in natural (or so they claim) waves over their shoulders. They could be models if they wanted to be and, as heiresses to the Molly Folly makeup corporation, they’d have the connections to get there too. But the only thing Hyeri is interested in doing for the family beauty company is revolutionizing their entire engineering and design department. She’s always going on about chemical reactions needed for glow-in-the-dark liquid liner or obsessing over experiments for one hundred percent organic, compost-friendly packaging for a new range of eye shadow palettes. As for Juhyun, she’s practically famous due to her YouTube beauty channel. Even while sweating it out in the gym, her makeup is impeccable, from her matte red lipstick to her perfectly curled eyelashes.

“Water break?” I suggest, tugging off my boxing gloves.

“God, yes please,” Hyeri says, getting in a final jab. “I think I heard talk about ice cream and hotteok after this?”

“You were the one who mentioned ice cream,” Juhyun says.

“So?” Hyeri grins, giving her sister a soft punch on the shoulder. “You were the one who said, ‘Who can eat ice cream without hotteok on the side?’”

Juhyun let out a snort. “Well, I’m not wrong.”

Akari lets go of the punching bag, and it creaks back and forth. We all grab our water bottles and take long swigs, Akari squirting some all over her face.

“You okay, Rachel?” Juhyun asks, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “We saw you going extra hard today.”

“Are you still thinking about what happened with Mina?” Akari asks worriedly.

“Ay, shib-al! What did the bitch do now?” Hyeri groans.

I fill in the twins about Mina’s invitation to the late-night practice in front of Mr Noh. They nod understandingly. It’s not my first time venting to them about DB and Mina.

“She totally set me up!” My face flushes as I remember what I said to Mina. I let out a heavy sigh. “I never should have made that comment about being able to eat whatever I like. My mum never lets me go to the trainee house, and when I don’t show up tonight, you know she’ll make sure Mr Noh hears about it. And then I can kiss my future goodbye.” The thought of it makes my skin prickle with panic.

“So go,” Akari says. “Go and show her and all those other trainees that you deserve this just as much as they do.”

“What about you? She invited you too, you know.”

Akari shrugs her shoulders. “It’s ‘family night’ on the base and attendance is mandatory. I would if I could – not that it really matters, though. I’ve been at DB for five years and I don’t think Mr Noh even knows who I am. If it wasn’t for Yujinunni I’m sure they would have cut me by now.”

I wince. Even though she lives on the base with her family, she’s at DB every single day, training alongside Mina and the girls. And Akari’s dancing skills are unbelievable – Yujin even says she puts Frankie from Red Hot, objectively the best female K-pop dancer in the industry, to shame. But everyone knows that when it comes to being a trainee, talent will take you only so far. That’s why we’re all desperate to do whatever we can to get noticed by Mr Noh and the rest of the DB executives. Because every thirty days, like clockwork, trainees gather in the auditorium with DB’s executive board, waiting to be evaluated and judged, deemed worthy of staying in the program or getting kicked out. After six years the constant judgment was almost starting to seem routine, but a few months ago Akari was called into Mr Noh’s office after appraisal day – a sure sign she was being asked to leave. That she hadn’t done enough to stand out. I don’t know what Yujin said, or did, but Akari was back the next day, a little quiet and sad-looking, but still there. She hasn’t brought it up since. I glance at the twins, who shrug their shoulders, at a loss for words.

“It’s fine. I’m not trying to have a pity party!” She smiles, quickly changing the subject. “It’s just one night. This is your career we’re talking about.”

“I gotta agree with Akari on this,” Hyeri says, capping her water bottle. “You want this more than anything, don’t you? If a late-night practice at the trainee house is going to set you up for success, you have to take it.”

I sneak a glance at Appa. He’s all the way across the gym, practically demolishing a bag, sweat flying everywhere. He’s in the zone. “I don’t know,” I say. “My mum would freak.”

Juhyun tilts her head to the side. “Is it worth it?”

I wipe the sweat from my face. Is it worth it? That’s a question I ask myself every day. All the training, the lost weekends, the family sacrifices. The constant feeling of never quite belonging somewhere you desperately want to be. All to fulfil my dream of becoming a K-pop star. I think of eleven-year-old Rachel. The little girl who used to be chronically late because she couldn’t stop watching K-pop music videos in the bathroom between classes. In some ways, not a lot has changed. In other ways, everything has.

“It’s everything to me.”

“There you go,” Akari says.

Juhyun’s eyes glint underneath the gym’s fluorescent lighting. “Mina underestimates you, Princess Rachel.” She pulls off her boxing gloves and unravels her hand wraps, revealing intricately manicured pale-pink and navy-blue floral nails underneath. “Now go show that bitch who’s boss.”

I punch the elevator button for the eighteenth floor, antsy to get home and shower after Appa goaded me and Akari into going thirty minutes in the ring with him.

The first thing I hear when I enter our apartment is the sound of K-pop music, followed by Leah’s laughter and a group of giggling girls. I slide into my slippers and walk towards the living room, where Leah is sprawled on the floor with four other girls from her class, watching the newest Electric Flower music video on their phones. I recognize it immediately – the legendary Kang Jina along with the rest of the group, all dancing in glowing orange jumpsuits against a pure black soundstage. It’s the quickest viral video in DB history, getting over thirty-six million hits in only twenty-four hours. Leah stands, holding a hairbrush to her mouth like a microphone, and belts out the lyrics, matching Jina’s powerful soprano note by note. I can’t help but smile. The girl’s got talent.

Seeing me, one of her friends, a girl with a heart-shaped face and diamond-encrusted Hello Kitty earrings, nudges Leah in the toe. “Your unni’s home,” she says, nodding in my direction.

Leah spins around and holds the hairbrush out to me. “Take it away, Unni!”

I make a half-hearted motion to grab the brush, but the song is already fading to an end, leaving the room in an awkward silence.

“Too bad,” Heart Face says. “We could have had a performance from a real K-pop trainee.”

Another girl in a striped shirt arches an eyebrow at me, taking in my matted, greasy hair and drooping sweatpants. “Um, are you sure she’s the K-pop trainee? Maybe Leah was talking about another sister.”

Leah laughs awkwardly, plopping back on to the floor and setting down her hairbrush. “Nope . . . that’s her. I only have one unni.”

“The one and only,” I say.

Stripes looks stunned. “Are you serious?”

Damn, Mina and the others are no match for these vicious preteens.

Leah chokes out another laugh, her cheeks turning pink. “Come on, guys. Trust me. Remember those ninth-grade girls from school who followed her on the bus all the way to DB headquarters just to see if she was really a trainee? Don’t be dumb like them.”

“If you’re a real trainee, what can you tell us about DB?” one of the other girls asks. She leans forward, her eyes wide. “Do you ever see Jason Lee?”

“I heard he has a secret girlfriend that he only sees during the full moon,” the fourth girl says. “Is that true?”

“That’s so romantic.” Heart Face sighs. “Is it true that he picks a superfan off social media to surprise and spend the day with? He’s just the best!”

I laugh to myself. Even outside of DB, gossip can’t touch Jason “Angel Boy” Lee’s pristine reputation. “Um. Right . . . well, the thing is, I don’t really see him around.” It’s the truth, but I can tell that’s not the answer they were hoping for.

“Well, what about Electric Flower? Do they all get along? I bet Mr Noh favours Kang Jina. She’s obviously the prettiest.”

“I don’t . . . know?” My body is really feeling that thirty-minute spar, and I can barely keep up with their questions.

Stripes lets out an exasperated sigh, blowing her fringe out of her face. “How . . . interesting.” She tiptoes around my sweat-soaked sweatshirt that I threw on the floor. “I guess being a trainee isn’t as fun or . . . glamorous . . . as we thought it would be. Our bad . . . Come on, girls. Let’s go shopping at CoEx.” She nods at the other three but doesn’t make eye contact with Leah. They all get up and quickly walk single file past me, putting on their shoes.

“Um, but . . . wait! I love shopping!” Leah stumbles to her feet, watching as the girls leave. Her shoulders slump as Heart Face slams the door behind them. Ouch.

“I’m sorry, Le—” Before I can finish, she whirls around to me, her face flushed with anger. “Unni! Would it kill you to at least pretend to be a cool trainee?”

Stung, I draw back. “What? Don’t try to make this about me! Every week you have some new group of girls over here – why don’t you try making some friends that like you for you for once, instead of for the gossip they think you can deliver?”

“Well . . . maybe they would have liked me eventually! You know, if you hadn’t scared them away with your ahjussi sweatpants and gross hair,” she claps back. “I know there’s a women’s locker room at Appa’s gym. Stop being so lazy.”

I sigh. I know those girls aren’t real friends, but I also know that Leah is upset. Just like Appa, she never asked to leave New York and the life our family had there and move across the world so I could pursue my dream, and yet she’s supported me every step of the way. She was too young before, but I think there’s a part of her that wishes she could audition for the DB training program now. But everything I’ve gone through, though, Umma would never allow it and Leah knows it. So I probably could have put on a little show for her friends. What would have been the harm in it?

But it’s too late now.

I think of a way to cheer her up instead.

“Well, maybe the real reason I didn’t want to tell your friends about what’s happening at DB is because I wanted you to hear it first.” I plop down on the couch, patting the seat next to me. “Sisters get the inside scoop before anyone else.”

Tentatively, Leah sits down next to me. She makes a big show of not sitting too close. She isn’t ready to not be mad at me yet, but she’s too curious to resist. I ham it up, telling her all about my showdown with Mina in media training, Mina’s loaded invitation to the trainee house, and Mr Noh’s proclamation about how my future at DB depends on showing up tonight. She leans in closer and closer as I talk, her eyes widening with every word until she’s practically sitting in my lap.

“Unni,” she screams, shaking my shoulders. “A night at the trainee house! That sounds like a dream come true.”

I laugh, letting her jiggle me around like a bobblehead. “Don’t get too excited, little sis. You know there’s no way Umma will let me go.”

“Oh, you’re right,” Leah says, putting her face in her hands.

I think back to my conversation with Juhyun. “Of course,” I say determinedly, “I could always sneak out . . . ?”

Leah squeals. “I’ll help you with an escape plan! I already have one in mind!”

I narrow my eyes. “I hope it doesn’t involve climbing out the window of our eighteenth-floor apartment.” My younger sister is well-known in our family for her obsession with The Rock.

“Okay, so I’ll come up with a plan B.” Her eyes gleam. “As long as you get me Jason Lee’s autograph. You know he’s my ultimate bias!”

“Who should I get him to make it out to? Leah Kim, My Darling Future Wife?”

She screams again, falling back on the couch and kicking her legs up in the air in delight. “I’d die! No, first I’d frame it. Then I’d die.” She sits up, grabbing my hands. “Promise you’ll bury it with me.”

I laugh.

We hear the front door open and Umma’s voice calling out for us. Leah and I exchange glances. We lock pinkies, each of us leaning forward to kiss our fists and bump our cheeks together, our special Kim sister pinkie promise we created years ago.

Umma enters the living room, carrying a bag full of takeout from Two Two Fried Chicken. Dinner. Umma is a linguistics professor at Ewha Women’s University, and with her tenure review coming up, she’s usually too tired to come home and cook. Not that we complain. Umma’s idea of a home-cooked meal is cracking an egg over a pot of Shin Ramyun and topping it off with a slice of American cheese—delicious but not easy on the stomach. Plus, I feel like she feeds me noodles on purpose to make me bloated when I go into training the next day. Like some kind of subconscious, calorie-based sabotage.

“Hungry?” she asks, holding up the bag.

We dig in, pulling out boxes of steaming fried chicken and an array of banchan, including daikon kimchi and crisp salad smothered in what tastes like Big Mac sauce. It’s chilly for April, so the heated floor underneath our kitchen table is on, making it nice and toasty as I sit down and reach for a piece of yangnyeom chicken, the sweet and spicy sauce already sticking to my fingers, while Umma sets aside a few pieces of the green-onion chicken, Appa’s favourite. He’s at the gym late tonight, giving the punching bags their weekly scrub down (which is really code for his class in Intellectual Property Law), so it’s just the three of us for dinner.

“So how was your day, Leah?” Umma asks.

Leah chatters away about Kang Jina in Electric Flower (“She’s so pretty”), Jason Lee (“I heard he’s starting a charity to bring music therapy to young kids in Korea. Isn’t he just the sweetest?!”), and the latest K-drama on Netflix (“If Park Dohee on Oh My Dreams doesn’t get her memory back soon, I swear I’m going to stop watching”). Umma nods along, smiling distractedly as she picks at her salad. I carefully peel the skin off my chicken and wait for her to ask me how my day was. It’s Saturday, so she knows I’ve been at DB.

Finally, Leah’s chatter slows down and I mentally prepare, dreaming that, this time, Umma will ask me how my day at DB was and be sympathetic and understanding as I tell her about Mina and Mr Noh and give me her blessing to go to the trainee house tonight. But when she finally turns me, she says, “Did you finish your homework, Rachel? And the chores I asked you to do?” She shoots a pointed look at the sink full of unwashed dishes.

Poof. Dream gone.

My jaw tightens as I clench my teeth. “My day was great. Thanks so much for asking. I was training all day, and then I went to see Appa at the gym.” I pause. “Sorry about the chores,” I add, choking the words out like a chicken bone stuck in my throat. Not that I’m sorry for focusing on training, but her eyes are narrowing at me in that “I will make you regret the day you were born” way that she used to get whenever Leah or I were misbehaving on the subway during rush hour in New York.

She sighs, reaching into her tote bag on the table. “Always training. Why don’t you try something different? It’s not healthy being so obsessed with one thing.” She pulls out a huge stack of papers and hands them to me. I glance down and see universal college application stamped across the top. I feel dizzy with panic as my mum claps her hands, a huge smile on her face. “Rachel! I brought these home for you – tomorrow at Ewha there’s an educational seminar! It’s meant to prepare high school students for the college-application process. Why don’t you go? They can help you start to fill these out, and maybe I can even show you around the campus after.”

My chest fills with heat as I raise my hand to push away the stack of applications. But then I see Umma’s face – lips smiling, eyes hopeful – and a wave of guilt washes over me. We’ve been here for six years and I’ve still never seen the campus where she works – a far cry from the hours I used to spend reading books under her desk while she held office sessions. I pull the applications towards me with a sigh. “Umma,” I say carefully, “you know I would love to see Ewha, but I just . . . can’t. Tomorrow is Sunday.”

“We’re talking about the rest of your life, Rach, not just one day,” Umma says lightly.

“Sure. But . . . training is the rest of my life. Isn’t it? I mean, isn’t that why we came here?”

Leah puts down her chicken, her eyes moving between us worriedly. She’s used to me and Umma tiptoeing into these arguments.

Umma looks down at her plate and sighs. “There are . . . a lot of reasons why we came to Korea.” She opens her mouth like she’s about to say something more, but then she shakes her head slightly. She turns to me, and when she does, I can almost see tears in her eyes, but her voice is even and clear. “You know I used to be a volleyball player.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes – is Umma really going to compare her high school volleyball days to my K-pop training? “But where would I be now – where would our family be – if I had given up everything for that dream?”

“But that’s exactly what you’re asking me to do – to give up everything I’ve been working for just for some college seminar.” I shove a piece of chicken in my mouth, skin and all. To hell with the extra calories.

Umma shrugs, looking sad but determined. “I’m just suggesting that maybe you should keep your options open.” She picks at a piece of seasoned watercress on her plate. “You never know what the future might hold, Rachel. And if things don’t work out with your training . . . I just don’t want you to feel surprised.”

My eyes fill with tears, and I blink hard, unwilling to let them spill on to my face. Even after six years, my mum’s attitude towards my training still gets to me. Sometimes I wonder if she regrets moving to Seoul – if she wishes she had just sold Halmoni’s apartment and washed her hands of the whole thing. Or if she even believes in my talent. I bite my lip, about to excuse myself from dinner, when Leah jumps in, pushing herself on to her knees as she turns to face Umma.

“Actually, funny you should mention that seminar, Umma,” she says. “The Cho twins are having a weekend-long study session to prep for college. They’re even hiring a private tutor and studying late into the night. A study slumber party, I think they called it. Right, Unni?” She smiles innocently up at our mum.

I straighten up. It’s now or never, Rachel. “Right,” I say slowly.

“How did you know about that?” Umma asks Leah, raising her eyebrows.

“I overheard Rachel talking to Hyeri on KakaoTalk.” Leah lies easily.

I focus on chewing my chicken, trying to keep my face neutral. My sister, ladies and gentlemen, the future Oscar winner.

Umma’s gaze turns to me. “Why didn’t you mention this, Rachel? This is just what you need to get you on the right track.”

I nod, swallowing down a fresh surge of frustration along with my chicken. “I just . . . didn’t want to spend the night away when I haven’t even got to my chores yet.” I glance towards the full sink. “Sorry,” I add again for good measure.

“Oh,” Umma says. “Well, those dishes won’t take too long. Why don’t you finish up and head over to the Cho house? Knowing their parents, they’ll have hired the best tutor in Seoul. I’ll pack some leftover chicken for you to take.”

“Really?” I feel guilty for lying, but it’s quickly replaced by a buzzing energy that spreads across my body. My first night at the trainee house! One step closer to my dream. “Thanks, Umma.”

She smiles and begins to clear her plate away, packing a few pieces of chicken into a small bright-green Tupperware container. When her back is turned, Leah gives me a big thumbs-up. I wink at her and mouth, Thank you.

As soon as I’m done with the dishes, I hurl myself into the shower and quickly twist my wet hair into tight Dutch braids. I slip into a pair of black leggings and a creamy, cosy oversize off-the-shoulder sweater top that is the perfect amount of slouch. I throw on my comfiest pair of pyjamas—the cartoon Snoopy ones I bought at Namdaemun last spring—over the whole ensemble so Umma won’t get suspicious seeing me all dressed up. With one last glance in the mirror, I grab my bag, quickly scooping up Umma’s Tupperware, and head out for my first night at the trainee house.

Umma’s words are ringing in my ears as I walk to the bus stop. If things don’t work out . . . I just don’t want you to feel surprised. Of course I’ve always known that being a K-pop star is not a guarantee, but I’ve wanted this dream for so long, I’m not sure I even know what the alternative looks like.

It all started when I was six years old. There was one other Asian girl in my class, Eugenia Li. Even though she was Chinese, everyone was always asking us if we were cousins or twin sisters. I didn’t think much of it until one day when I got stung by a bee during recess. I was sitting in the nurse’s office, waiting for Umma to come and take me home, when Mrs Li walked through the door. The nurse didn’t realize she had done anything wrong and instead was all smiles as she told me that my mum was there to get me. For the first time, I realized the world didn’t see me the way I saw me, or the way my family saw me. All they saw was my face; the shape of my eyes and my nose; my thick, straight black hair – and it made me interchangeable with girls like Eugenia, even though we looked nothing alike. When my mum finally picked me up at school, I couldn’t stop crying. The bee sting was still burning on my skin, but when Umma asked me what was wrong, all I could think about was Mrs Li. “I wish I wasn’t Korean,” I remember sobbing into her shirt. So she scooped me up and carried me home, and when we got there, she tucked me into bed and grabbed her laptop. That was the first time I saw a K-pop music video. We watched them for hours, and I marvelled at the singers – all so unique and beautiful and talented.

I was hooked. I watched K-pop music videos constantly, memorizing the lyrics to my favourite ones and putting on little shows for Leah at the weekends. The music made me feel proud to be Korean.

I wish I could say that time with Mrs Li and the school nurse was the only time I ever felt rejected by the world, but it wasn’t. There were the kids who made fun of the kimchi Umma packed me for lunch; the woman who once came up to me in our corner bodega, screaming at me that I should “go home” (even though I lived around the block, I got the feeling that wasn’t what she meant); there was the time I dressed like Hermione Granger for Halloween and everyone insisted that I was Cho Chang. Through it all, there was K-pop. It made me feel understood, like there was a place in the world where I belonged, where people would see me for me.

I’m thinking about all this as I walk to the bus stop. The spring Seoul air is breezy and crisp, sidewalks littered with so many fallen cherry blossoms that they stick to the bottom of your shoes, turning the whole city into a haze of pearly pink petals. I walk to the corner, popping into the Buy the Way for a Pocari Sweat, and then hop on the bus to the trainee house, a few blocks down from DB headquarters. The seats are filled with young couples in matching sweatshirts sharing earbuds, businessmen and -women watching old episodes of Running Man on their phones as they head home from work, and halmonis clutching canvas granny carts stuffed to the brim with groceries and empty bottles. I plop down on a seat and tip the last of my drink into my mouth as the breeze from the open window whips back my braids. The old lady next to me pokes me in the side, gesturing to my empty can. “Dah mashussuh?”

“Neh, Halmoni,” I say, handing it over.

“Komawoh,” she replies, pinching my cheek. “Ayy ipuda, ipuda!”

I bow my head. “Kamsahamnida.”

The bus careens down the street, barely skidding to a stop when people want to get on or off. In New York, I was never allowed on public transportation by myself, so getting used to it when we moved was a big learning curve. Luckily, just like the rest of Seoul, the buses and subway system are fast, super clean, and easy to use. But the best part of life in this city? There is free wi-fi literally everywhere you go.

I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Hyeri: If my mum asks, I was at your house tonight.

She immediately texts back: Sure, Juhyun says “Don’t have too much fun without us tonight”

I laugh but shove my phone back in my pocket without replying. The less they know, the less likely it is that they’ll slip up if interrogated. I’m so buzzed from the adrenaline of lying to Umma and going to the trainee house that I get off one stop early and walk the rest of the way. I need to get some of this energy out before I face Mina and the others.

I’m about half a block away when I realize I still need to change out of my pyjamas.

I duck behind a particularly large bush lining the sidewalk and unbutton my pyjama top, stuffing it into my tote before pulling my sweater on over my head. I’m watching the street, making sure that no one is approaching as I wiggle out of my pyjama pants. They catch on my ankles and my fingers fumble, but I can’t stop myself in time. I trip over the pyjama’s pretzel twist around my legs, spinning and falling face first in the dirt.

I groan, sitting up slowly and brushing the dirt off my sweater. Thank god no one saw that.

“Wow . . . that looked like it hurt.”

Everything in my body freezes. I turn my head and see two brand-new white-and-black Puma sneakers standing on the sidewalk. My gaze drifts upwards, taking in a pair of perfectly tailored Ader Error track pants and a Burberry sweater that I’m sure cost more than my entire wardrobe, all worn by a boy with silvery highlights in his hair, sparkling brown eyes, and cheekbones that could probably cut glass.

Not just a boy. The boy. Jason Lee.

Holy shit.

“You okay?” he asks, a concerned smile on his face. “Here, let me help you.” He holds out his hand.

“You’re . . . Jason . . . Lee,” I stammer, my face on fire. Even before shooting to stardom with DB, Jason was famous for his YouTube K-pop covers. After one of his videos went viral, Mr Noh himself flew to Toronto and convinced Jason to move to Seoul, where he quickly became Korea’s most beloved pop star. Being half White, half Korean actually works for him here, with everyone from preteens to stalker fans to ahjummas praising him for his big, double-lidded eyes and olive complexion, as if he handpicked his genes himself. Somehow his foreigner status gets him voted “Korea’s Sexiest K-pop Star”, while mine gets me mandatory Korean culture lessons.

“Oh, so you’ve heard of me?” He arches an eyebrow, his smile widening. He’s definitely got the smile-like-the-world-is-your-friend thing down – for him, the world probably is. “What kind of things?”

“Well, my sister Leah told me about your musical therapy chari—”

“Voice of an angel? Smile of the devil? Body of a god?”

“Uh . . . what?”

“You know, most girls faint when they see me. But I guess you did fall, so that’s something,” he says, almost to himself. “So, tell me, what are they saying these days?” He beams down at me, his mouth open in a ridiculously cute smile.

“Mainly that you steal vinyl records from Mr Noh’s office,” I say, slightly rattled by his obvious arrogance. So much for the sweet, humble star boy who starts charities and loves his fans. “And that you have a secret werewolf lover that you only see during the full moon.”

“Whaaaat? That’s wild! Who said that? How dare they!” He looks wounded, flashing me his signature puppy-dog eyes before a sly grin spreads across his face. “I’d never steal from Mr Noh.”

I roll my eyes. This is the K-pop star the world is so in love with? “Of course not. God forbid you do anything to mess up your perfect reputation. But rumours about your magical, shape-shifting girlfriend you’re fine with?”

“A gentleman never kisses and tells,” he replies smoothly. “Besides, you know what they say: the more people are talking about you, the more you’re worth talking about.”

“Maybe that’s how it works in your world,” I retort. Of course the infallible Jason Lee wouldn’t need to take the no-dating rule at DB seriously.

Jason pauses, looking down at me. “I feel like you’re mad at me.”

“Nope. Not mad – just trying to get to the trainee house before practice is over,” I say, pulling at the ends of my sweater and hoping I didn’t just give Jason a glimpse of my underwear.

Jason’s eyes light up. “The trainee house! Why didn’t you say so? I’m on my way there too. I’ll walk you.”

“No, thanks,” I reply, but he ignores me.

“So why don’t I know your name?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. “Any DB trainee brave enough to wear Snoopy pants in public is worth talking about.”

My cheeks redden with embarrassment again, but I force my voice to stay composed. “I’ll have you know these are my favourite pyjamas. Sorry we can’t all be beautiful werewolves,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“I disagree,” Jason says.

“What are you talki—”

“You’re obviously beautiful,” he continues.

My body freezes. Uh . . . what?

“And I’m pretty sure you could bite my head off if you wanted to. Plus, it is a full moon tonight if you hadn’t noticed.”

Ohmygod. I need to get out of here. Anger and embarrassment fight for space in my chest as I finally struggle to my feet. I reach down and start unwinding my tangled pyjama pants, shooting a death glare at Jason.

“I don’t need an audience,” I snap.

He has the decency to blush but makes a big show of turning slowly around so his back is to me. “Better?”

Seething, I go to yank off my pyjama pants in one final move, but I’m so flustered that the waistband gets caught around my ankle again. I trip forward, falling face first into Jason’s back. Instinctively, I wrap my hands around his waist to steady myself, my cheek buried between his shoulder blades. Without realizing what I’m doing, I inhale deeply. He smells like maple and mint.

“Rather forward of you,” Jason says. I can’t see his face, but I can hear the smirk in his voice. He turns his head, looking at me over his shoulder. “Or should I say backward? Enjoying the view?”

Kill. Me. Now. I step back, my face burning as I finally free myself from these traitorous pyjama pants and shove them deep in my bag. I’m torching these things as soon as I get home.

“Thanks,” I say, tossing a stiff nod in his direction and running towards the house, leaving him laughing on the sidewalk.

“You’re welcome, Werewolf Girl!” he calls after me. Great. Another nickname. Just what I need.

I’m cursing myself, Jason, and the entire Charlie Brown gang as I fling open the front door of the trainee house.

Holy crap.

The place is packed with DB trainees and stars, every square inch covered in empty soju bottles and soda cans, with music practically pounding off the walls and a brand-new Samsung Frame playing all the latest K-pop music videos.

And then it hits me. Jason was headed here too – to the trainee house. This isn’t a training session.

It’s a party.

A group of guys turn towards me and wave, yelling out their greetings. I recognize them, but I’m in too much shock to think clearly. I wave back slowly.

“Yo, Jason!” one of them calls over my shoulder.

I immediately drop my hand as Jason enters behind me. His friend walks over, and they do that bro hug thing where they clasp opposite hands and clap each other on the back. I really need to get out of here.

“Who’s your pretty date?” Jason’s friend asks, looking me up and down. Then it hits me. This isn’t just Jason’s friend. This is Minjun – lead dancer of NEXT BOYZ and global K-pop superstar.

“This is . . .” Jason pauses, glancing at me.

“Rachel,” I say. At least my voice is still working normally. I haven’t completely shut down from shock. “I’m a senior trainee at DB.”

“American,” he observes, his eyes twinkling. I almost step back, bracing myself for an oncoming insult. “Welcome, Rachel. I’m Minjun,” he says, like my sister doesn’t keep a poster of his face taped up above her bed and kiss it every night. “Grab a drink.”

I blink in confusion, looking over my shoulder at the front door. Every instinct in my body is telling me to leave. This isn’t what I was prepared for tonight.

Jason puts his hand on the back of my elbow, his eyes twinkling. “Yeah, Rachel, come join us.” He raises a mischievous eyebrow. “Unless, of course, you have a pyjama party to get to.”

I scowl. Then I straighten up, tossing my braids behind my shoulder. I made it all the way here. I have to at least show my face. If anything, I can’t leave without getting Leah her autograph. “I’d love a drink.”

The party is already well underway, and I trip over more than a few empty beer cans as I march towards what looks like the bar area, which borders a spacious sunken living room where people are dropping shots of grapefruit soju into beer glasses and downing the whole drink. Someone offers me one and I take it, sipping lightly around the edges of the glass. I’m not exactly a fan of anything that causes people to lose control and embarrass themselves. I’m good enough at that already, apparently.

“Rachel!” a voice calls from across the room. I tense up. I’d recognize that sickly sweet voice anywhere. Mina appears, looking flawless and party-ready with blown-out hair and sky-high glittery stack heels. She adjusts her miniskirt and crop top while Eunji and Lizzie stand behind her, both decked out in perfectly fitting skinny jeans and tiaras. “So happy you could make it to our training session.” She glances at the other two girls, who quickly cover their mouths with their hands to hide their laughter.

“Me too,” I chirp back, refusing to back down. “Thanks so much for inviting me.”

“Cute outfit, Rachel,” Eunji says, folding a piece of gum into her mouth as her eyes flick over my clothes. “Did you borrow it from your little sister?”

“I love the hair,” Lizzie adds. She reaches over and flicks one of my braids off my shoulder. “What a throwback to elementary school.”

“You look uncomfortable, Rachel,” Mina says, her face pinching in mock concern. “You don’t feel out of place without Mr Noh here to take care of you, do you? Surely even Princess Rachel must know how to have fun at a party?”

Mina takes a sip from her cup and eyes me coolly. I want to snap back, calling her out for being a dirty liar and telling her exactly where she can put her “late-night training session”, but my momentary bravery has run out. Instead, I take another sip from my soju beer mix, wincing at the sour taste, my fist tight around the glass.

All of a sudden Jason pops up behind me, glancing from me to Mina to the other girls with a small smirk on his lips.

“Jason!” Mina coos. “I didn’t know you were here! Have you come to find me?” she asks, sipping casually on her drink.

“Actually, I was looking for Rachel,” Jason answers.

“Wh-wh-aat?” Mina sputters. “But . . . how do you know Rachel?” I swear to god, if he brings up the pyjamas right now, I will kill him with my bare hands.

Jason smiles at me. “Oh, we go way back. Me and Rachel and Woodstock.” Mina opens her mouth to respond, but right then Jason puts his hands on my shoulders, turning me abruptly and guiding us deeper into the party.

“I’ll have you know, it was Snoopy on my pants, not Woodstock. Woodstock is the dopey little bird. Snoopy is the loyal dog-slash-airplane pilot,” I say, laughing as we plop down on a couch in the corner of the room.

Jason nods in mock seriousness, draping his arm over my shoulder and pulling me close. “You’re right. Clearly Snoopy is the superior choice in sleepwear. Forgive me? I was just trying to make a quick exit.”

I shoot him a look. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we were surrounded by three girls who were all staring at you like they wanted to rip your face off,” he says, his breath warm against my skin. “Relocation seemed like a good idea.”

The soju is warming its way through my body, and I smile. “Well, you know what they say.”

“What do they say, Werewolf Girl?”

“The more people stare at you, the more you must be worth staring at.” I giggle, and a tiny burp escapes my mouth. My eyes go wide, and I clap a hand over my mouth as Jason looks on, utterly delighted. He pulls me closer to him on the couch, so that my legs are practically on top of his. My mind is whirring – Is this really happening? I definitely should not be flirting with Jason right now. That’s basically asking to end up like Suzy Choi. Not that she had a boyfriend. Not that Jason is my boyfriend. Oh my god, what am I thinking? There’s no way I’m asking him for an autograph for Leah now . . . I close my eyes, trying to press pause on the soju-induced monologue running through my head.

Minjun flops down dramatically on the couch next to me, his copper-coloured hair sweeping over his eyes. “I’m bored.” He pouts. “And hungry.”

Jason rolls his eyes at his friend, shifting so that his arms are no longer around me. A shiver courses through my body involuntarily, and I hike the sleeves of my sweater top up over my shoulders to stay warm. “Why don’t you go see what the chefs left in the kitchen for dinner?” he says diplomatically.

“The only thing to eat in that kitchen is kale and spinach smoothies. You remember how they starved us in our trainee days!” Minjun sniffed the air. “Do you guys smell chicken?”

I gulp, remembering the Tupperware Umma packed before I left the house. I reach gingerly into my bag. “Um, do you mean this chicken?” I say, embarrassed.

“Ah-ssa!” Minjun shouts, ripping the box out of my hands and opening it. “Two Two Fried Chicken! My favourite! Jason, this girl is really okay.”

Jason laughs and Minjun starts inhaling my leftovers, two pieces at a time.

Across the room, I can feel as Mina watches the three of us, her narrowed eyes flashing. Her phone beeps, and she pulls it out of her bag, scowling at something on the screen. She shows it to Lizzie and Eunji, and they both grimace, frowning down at her. Then she stuffs the phone back into her bag and jumps up, rearranging her face into a perfect smile. She claps her hands lightly, bouncing up and down. “Attention, party people! The time has come for girl bonding, trainees only!” she exclaims. “You know what that means . . . All you non-trainees, out! That goes double for the boys! Even you, Jason – if you can manage to tear yourself away from Princess Rachel.” She smirks at us.

Minjun wipes his greasy chicken fingers on his jeans before grabbing Jason’s hands, pulling him up. “Come on, Jay-Star, let’s go hit that new club in Itaewon.”

Jason bends down and murmurs, “Good luck,” into my ear, sending shivers along my spine again. He jumps over the back of the couch and joins his friends, singing the chorus from “Fake Crush” as they disappear into the street.

Oh shit. Leah’s autograph. I jump up, intent on running after him, but between unexpectedly spending my night flirting with Jason and the soju, my head is spinning and I flop back down on the couch at the same moment that Mina sits next to me, holding two glasses filled with champagne. Around us, all the other girls are pouring themselves glasses too, squealing as the champagne fizzes over the rim and drips on to their hands.

“A toast,” Mina says, handing me a glass. When I don’t take it right away, she sighs, rolling her eyes. “Come on, Rachel. Loosen up, will you? We’re all just trying to have a little fun together.”

Fun. I have to admit, even though this night is nothing like what I thought it would be, I am having fun. I purse my lips and set down my beer to take the champagne glass.

Mina grins and raises her drink, turning to the other girls. “To our family! And to becoming the next biggest, brightest stars in Korea!”

The girls cheer, linking arms and clinking glasses before downing their champagne in one gulp. I drink a little slower, the liquid burning my throat way more than I expected. I nearly cough it up, but I don’t want to give Mina the satisfaction of seeing me choke. I tip the glass up, forcing myself to drink the whole thing.

I sink into the couch as the girls around me chatter away, pouring themselves more and more champagne. I look around the house, wishing Akari were here with me so I would have someone to talk to. I grab my phone to text her, but my fingers feel thick and uncoordinated and I fumble with the straps on my bag until I give up. I’ll talk to her tomorrow. My hand is cold from the champagne glass, and I press it into my face, relishing the chill. I drank too much. No, I drank too fast. Everything is spinning. Eunji’s loud voice is ringing in my ears, and the music is starting to sound like it’s playing in slow motion. I look at Mina, who’s still sitting next to me . . . and there are two of her. I’m seeing double. I try to blink away the nightmare.

I fall deeper into the couch, my head growing fuzzier with each second. I see Mina’s blurry faces leaning in close to mine. “It worked! She’ll never be chosen now.” Chosen? What is she talking about? “Earth to Rachel! You look like you could use some fresh air, Princess.” Her voice swirls slowly around me, but I can’t find the energy to respond.

Eunji and Lizzie circle around me, laughing and sipping from their glasses. “Pretty little Princess Rachel – even Mr Noh can’t save you now,” Lizzie gloats.

I hear it all like I’m at the bottom of a swimming pool. Somebody says something, and I start laughing, too – uncontrollably – though I have no idea why.

“Come on, Princess. Let’s dance!” Eunji is pulling me to standing, and I’m still laughing – or she is – or both. I’m not sure. Through my lashes, which suddenly seem heavy, I see Mina hovering not too far away, but not dancing. Her phone is pointed in my direction, and she’s wearing an evil smirk. Eunji spins me around, and the room spins with us, into a sea of sparkling lights and laughing faces.

The first thing I notice when I wake up is how badly my head is throbbing. The second is the all-consuming smell of dried cucumbers.

I gag, my hands flying up to my face. It’s covered in a cucumber face mask. Horrified, I rip the thin cucumber slices off my face and throw them on the floor, trying not to breathe through my nose. Nausea rises in me, and it takes all my effort not to throw up all over myself.

What the hell happened last night?

I sit up and my head spins. Squeezing my eyes shut, I take three deep breaths, then open my eyes again and look around. I’m on a couch in a living room littered with empty cups and overturned bottles. It slowly comes back to me. I’m in the trainee house. The late-night training session turned out to be a party. Jason saw me in my pyjamas. I grimace at the memory. We walked into the house together. And then . . . what happened? And where is everyone now?

Head still pounding, I fumble in my bag for my cell phone to check the time. My eyes widen. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. It’s already 11:00 a.m. It’s 11:00 a.m. on a Sunday. I leap to my feet and stumble down the hallway, flinging open doors and trying to find the bathroom. I can’t believe I overslept on a training day. This can’t be happening.

I’m woefully lost in the unfamiliar house. A part of me wants to blame this on Umma. If she had ever let me come to the trainee house, I’d know my way around better. But I know that this isn’t her fault; it’s all mine. In one night I’ve proven Umma right and everyone who’s ever believed in me wrong. Stupid Rachel, why do you have to be so freaking gullible?

I push open doors and find only bedrooms and one dishevelled linen closet with what looks (and smells) like dried vomit in it. I push back my own gag reflex as I slam the door shut.

Why is it that when you most need a bathroom, you can never find one? Frustrated after the fifth door leads me to a broom closet, I run back to the kitchen and wash my face in the sink. I dry myself with fistfuls of paper towels and, using my phone camera as a mirror, try to make myself as presentable as possible. I do a hasty job with my eyeliner, but it’ll have to do for now.

My clothes are a mess. There are champagne stains on my leggings and remnants of the cucumber face mask smeared all over my sweater. I try not to gag again. Instead, I grit my teeth and grab the only other clothes I have. Looks like Jason isn’t going to be the only person who has to see my Snoopy pyjamas.

I yank my hair out of its flyaway braids as I run out of the house. I may smell like a cucumber compost bin, but maybe my hair can be salvaged. I take a quick glance at my phone camera, hoping to see beach waves. Instead I see half my hair flattened against my head while the other half is frizzing up like an electrocuted Albert Einstein.

I’m a fucking disaster.

But I don’t have time to fix anything now. I’m already way too late. I race down the street to DB headquarters, throwing my hair into a bumpy ponytail, my nausea rising in my chest with every step.

By the time I yank open the door to the auditorium, I’m out of breath and sweating through Snoopy. Mr Noh is already onstage, introducing the DB execs, all of whom are sitting in the first row of seats.

The execs. The execs are here. My stomach fills with dread. Appraisal day.

All the head trainers are onstage. Yujin. The lead dancing trainer. The lead vocal trainer. The head nutritionist. Mr Bae, the head of marketing and publicity. Everyone is gathered to watch the progress of the trainees, to decide if we get to stay in the program, if we’re really worth their time or money. It’s the one day that I can’t be late. The one day I can’t show up looking like I got run over by a cucumber-filled garbage truck. My heart is permanently lodged in my throat, and I can feel tears burn at the back of my eyes, but I push them away. Don’t show weakness. If you’re going to survive this, you have to be strong.

“We’re looking forward to seeing how far each of you have progressed in the last month,” Mr Noh says, the reflection off his shiny bright-blue Prada suit making my eyes water. “The executives and I know you’ve all been training very hard, so –”

He breaks off when his eagle eyes catch mine. For a second he looks stunned, taking in my unkempt hair and ridiculous pyjamas. Everyone else in the auditorium turns towards me. Whispers rise, harsh sounds that fill my ears and make my head feel like it might split open right on the auditorium floor.

“So, ah, remember to do your best today,” Mr Noh continues, regaining his composure. He raises his eyebrows at me. “Your very best.”

There’s nothing to do now but pretend like I’m not so embarrassed I want to melt out of my own skin. I hold my head up high and make my way towards Akari, who’s staring at me with her jaw dropped open. A wave of envy sweeps through me as I take in her perfect makeup, bouncy ponytail and a cropped, floral sweatshirt we bought at A-Land together a few months ago. She looks polished. Prepared. Well rested. Like I should look. Like everyone expects me to.

“What happened to you?” she whispers as I take a seat next to her.

“It’s a long story.” I sigh. “But I’m not too sure what exactly . . .”

I trail off as I notice Mr Noh staring at me from the stage, his face frozen in a dangerous smile. “As I was saying, today is not just about your monthly appraisals . . .”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mina and the other girls silently laughing behind their hands. Mina catches my eye and wiggles her fingers. She mimes holding up an invisible champagne glass for a toast and mouths, Cheers. Last night comes rushing back at me in a vicious wave. The champagne. Mina’s face and seeing double. Her gleeful voice crowing, “It worked!”

“. . . an exciting new opportunity – the chance every young trainee in Korea would kill for. Today, one of you . . .”

A wave of nausea hits, and I almost double over.

I didn’t drink too much or lose control. And this isn’t just some terrible and unlucky coincidence. This whole thing is Mina. She did this. She’s the one who handed me the glass of champagne, who goaded me into drinking it as her friends watched.

She put something in my drink.

She drugged me.

The reality of it hits like a ton of bricks. I’m completely frozen and powerless. Violated. Furious. I grit my teeth so hard I feel like they’re going to crack. I’m going to explode. In my head I keep replaying the image of Mina standing over me, cackling, “She’ll never get chosen now!”

“. . . chosen to be featured in a brand-new single with DB superstar Jason Lee!”

My stomach cramps as a collective gasp rises throughout the auditorium. Akari turns to me, her mouth open in shock. “Can you believe this?” she asks excitedly.

I shake my head, focused on last night and Mina. “I really can’t,” I respond.

“Rachel!” Akari nudges me hard in the ribs. “Pay attention! Did you even hear what Mr Noh just said?”

I stare at her blankly, my stomach and my head a swirling mess of champagne and anger and dried cucumbers.

“Rachel. Focus. The execs, Mr Noh . . . they’re choosing a female trainee to sing a duet with Jason. A real song – not some training exercise. The appraisal today is an audition. This is it. You could be chosen!”

That last word sticks in my mind as I process what she’s saying. I could be chosen. This isn’t just a typical monthly assessment. This is a chance to sing with Jason. For a trainee – for me – to sing with DB’s biggest star. I could be chosen.

She’ll never be chosen now.

I gasp and sit up straight. Mina knew all along. She knew what today was. She set me up.

Akari pokes me again. Hard. “What?!” I say, startling before I notice that Mr Noh has called up the first group for dance auditions, and the other trainees are making their way to the stage.

In a way I’m grateful. If something didn’t force me to act normal, to move through the motions by rote, I might never recover. But I have to. I have to keep taking one step forward. And so I do – trying to hide the fact that I’m shaking.

We line up along the back of the stage. The execs are sitting in the front row with iPads (a few years ago DB went fully digital when it comes to tracking trainee progress) and stern expressions, calling us up one by one to perform. Mina slides into the spot next to me, looking me up and down with her forehead creased in mock pity.

“Rough night, Rachel?” she says. “You look terrible. Cute pyjamas though.”

An image of myself tackling her to the ground and ripping out her fake eyelashes flashes through my head. But Mr Noh calls my name and I step forward on to centre stage.

The spotlight falls on me. I can just imagine how my splotchy, half-made-up face looks in the glare. But I shove the insecurity aside and plaster a smile on my face, just like I’ve been trained to do. I bow to the execs, then straighten up. Head up. Legs turned in, ever so slightly. Tummy tucked, shoulders back. I smile wide – like the whole world is my best friend.

A few of them smile back, but most are blinking in confusion at my wardrobe choice and my rumpled hair.

Make them forget how you look and care only about how you move, I tell myself. Easier said than done though. At least there are no cameras on me today, I think ruefully, remembering yesterday’s media class.

The music starts, one of Leah’s favourite Electric Flower songs, and my body immediately responds. It’s muscle memory. I’ve practised this routine a thousand times. But my head is still pounding and I’m sloppy. I keep missing the beat, stepping left when I should be stepping right.

The frustration is building in my chest, weighing me down even more. I’m getting too much in my own head, but the more I try to let go, the worse it gets. I can’t get my movements to pop as much or my legs to kick as high. By the time I land the last offbeat step, I’m out of breath and a light sheen of sweat dots my forehead. I fight the urge to wipe it away. Don’t bring more attention to your flaws. K-pop dancing is all about luring listeners into the song – but by the expressions on the execs’ faces, ranging from awkwardly smiling to looking like they want to run out of the auditorium screaming, I know I’ve done the exact opposite.

“Ouch,” Mina whispers to me as I retake my spot in line. “That wasn’t pretty.” She leans in to take an exaggerated whiff of my breath and gasps. “Omo, are you hungover? You really shouldn’t party so much the night before an important day like this. Or at least brush your teeth.”

I don’t look at her, but I’m absolutely seething. I will not stoop to her level.

Still. The image of ripping into her hair is the only thing keeping me from screaming onstage. I wouldn’t take it all, just a big patch at the front so she’s half-bald for a few weeks.

One by one, the girls go up to dance. Akari is graceful as always and, as much as I hate to admit it, Mina is the best of the bunch, her powerful moves hurtling her across the stage in perfect time to the music. Some of the girls make little mistakes, but none as badly as me. It’s quickly becoming apparent that I’m the worst.

I’m never the worst.

I can’t afford to be the worst.

I don’t come alive in front of the camera, shiny and adorable like Mina and so many of the other trainees. When I first got recruited to DB, I was so excited – a whole program full of kids who felt the same way about K-pop and Korea as I did – or so I thought. It wasn’t long before the constant “Princess Rachel” insults and subtle comments about my American background made me feel just as rejected as I used to feel back home in the States. Their words were like this constant buzzing in my brain. While Mina and her minions strutted around in front of the cameras with this innate sense of belonging, when the camera was on me, that buzzing was all I could hear. Even after years of training, I still feel like the camera is my enemy – reminding me of all the people out there who look at my face and think “She doesn’t belong here.” So, instead, I focused on my skills, making them as close to flawless as possible – not one step offbeat, not one note out of key. And so far it’s worked. I may not be perfect, but I’m talented enough that month after month, year after year, I’ve earned my spot.

And now it could all come crashing down. Will this be the end for me? Will I get kicked out of the trainee program? I try to tell myself to calm down, that they have to take my past performances into account, but I’m lying to myself. One year they cut a girl because she wouldn’t agree to get double eyelid surgery. Another year they cut an entire trainee group for posting a single picture on Instagram. They can do whatever they want, whenever they want. And they are ruthless.

A lump wells up in my throat, and I struggle to swallow it down. Crying onstage – showing any emotion of any kind – will only further anger the execs.

I take another deep breath as they call me up again to sing. This is my time to redeem myself. I have to be the best I’ve ever been, right now, or it’s over.

Someone hands me a microphone as the instrumental starts. It’s a slow song, a K-pop classic from the early 2000s. I take a deep breath and start to sing and my voice cracks on the first note, the trapped emotion coming out and bumping me off-key. The execs’ faces are unreadable, but one of them is clearly trying not to wince. No. I can’t let this happen. I won’t.

I close my eyes and keep going. I think of that day in bed when I was six years old, watching K-pop videos with my mum. How growing up, Leah and I would go to the whispering gallery at Grand Central every chance we got, whispering the songs to each other, back and forth, for hours. And then, when I was a newbie trainee, how Yujin would pick me up after school and take me to her favourite noraebang, the two of us singing cheesy K-pop love ballads from the early 90s all afternoon. Since I was a kid, music has been my happy place. K-pop has always been there for me, showing me my place in the world, giving me a reason to be proud of who I was even when the world told me I shouldn’t be. Through everything, it has always felt right. Felt like a part of me.

I’m finding my stride now, my voice riding the melody like a surfer on the waves. And that’s when I finally find it. The joy. The reason I’m doing all this. Despite my pounding head, I hold on to that spark, my face breaking into a smile as I continue to sing.

Just as I hit the chorus, I hear a brilliant harmony float alongside my own voice. Everyone in the audience gasps. What’s happening? Am I having a hangover hallucination? But it’s not my voice. It’s a deep male tenor, and when I turn my head, I see Jason emerge from backstage, singing along with me.

I’m stunned, but it doesn’t break my flow. In fact, his voice is like another strong wave, carrying me further into the song, lifting me higher. He takes a look at my pyjamas and raises his eyebrows at me like he’s remembering an inside joke. We don’t break eye contact as our voices intertwine and blend together. He takes a step towards me from the other side of stage. Even without a microphone, his voice soars, complementing mine perfectly. I take a step forward to match him. The space between us feels charged somehow, our voices crashing together, lighting up the stage like lightning in the night sky. The entire auditorium is holding their breath, watching us.

A surprising thought flashes through my mind. We are meant to sing together.

We walk towards each other until the space between us is no more than a finger. He’s almost as close as when I fell into his back yesterday. Or when he pulled my body into his on the couch.

He leans forward, and I can see the deep golden brown of his irises. They’re locked on to me as he lets the microphone

I’m holding pick up his voice. We’re truly singing together now. Perfectly harmonized, perfectly joined.

He wraps his arm around my waist as the music slowly fades away, and together we sing the last line of the chorus. We smile at each other, breathing hard. His arms feel warm and strong around me, and for one moment silence hangs in the air.

Then the crowd erupts into applause and cheers. The other trainees and the junior trainers are cheering and clapping. Only Mina and her minions are silent and sullen.

I don’t know what that was, but it was some kind of magic. I smile, my heart beating in my chest, and Jason smiles back. Unlike his cocky grin from yesterday, this one is warm and makes my breath catch. It’s almost enough to make me forget how horrible I feel.

And then, without warning, my stomach lurches. It rolls and twists, and I barely have a second to think, Oh shit, before I throw up all over Jason’s white shoes.

Jason blinks and stares down at his previously pristine Pumas. The silence is static. Someone lets out a burst of laughter. I don’t need to look to guess who it is.

My cheeks burn with embarrassment, and my body convulses with another wave of nausea. I have to get out of here.

I race off the stage, stumbling out of the auditorium and tearing down the hallway to the nearest bathroom. I burst into a stall as I feel the acid and bile rise from my stomach. At least this time it’s into a toilet and not on to an international K-pop star’s shoes. Ugh.

I puke until I feel like there’s nothing left in me. I puke out the entire contents of my stomach and my pride.

Groaning, I curl up on the floor and drop my head into my knees, feeling absolutely miserable. I have no idea how clean these tiles are, but I don’t really care right now. I’m pretty sure that was the worst thing to happen onstage in all of DB history. I’m never going to be able to show my face here again. Goodbye, Jason. Goodbye, K-pop stardom.

The bathroom door opens, and I tense up inside my stall, curling into myself. I hear Eunji’s and Lizzie’s voices as they clatter around the sink, the sound of lip gloss tubes popping open.

“So, what’s your bet?” Lizzie asks.

“I can’t believe they didn’t cut her.”

They didn’t cut me. My body nearly crumples in relief.

“Mr Noh said they didn’t cut anyone today because it was all about that duet with Jason.”

I hear a snap of gum and I can imagine Eunji pursing her lips.

“Did anyone catch it on camera? We should get someone to leak it on social media.”

Shit. Did someone film that disaster? I crane my ear to hear what Eunji says next.

“No, but trust me, the memory of it is vivid enough. It’s all anyone is going to talk about for months.”

Lizzie giggles and sighs. “You’re right. We should make T-shirts or something. ‘I survived the Princess Rachel Vomit Extravaganza of 2020’.”

Ugh. I really hope they don’t do that.

“I just wish I could have seen her face when the board picked Mina to do the duet with Jason,” Eunji says.

Of course. They chose Mina.

“She’ll find out soon enough, and her face will be priceless.”

“Let’s try to snap a pic of it – we can put it on the T-shirt!”

Lizzie smacks her lips together. “Okay, enough Princess Rachel talk. Mr Noh was looking right at me when he announced the autumn DB Family Tour . . .”

Her voice fades into the background as my head snaps up – too quickly – and I cover my mouth as my body recoils from the sudden movement. I let out a soft groan. A new family tour. The first one in seven years.

DB is debuting a new girl group.

Suddenly all the pieces start to fall into place: Mina didn’t just want this duet. She wanted me out of the way. She must have known about the tour. And she knew whoever got to sing with Jason would have the best chance to debut before the tour started in the fall.

I hear the bathroom doors open. Laughter and shouts from the hallway fill the room before the doors shut. How can I go back out there? Lizzie’s right – this is all anyone is going to be talking about.

The more people are talking about you, the more you’re worth talking about. Jason’s words from last night ring in my head.

I stand up slowly, making my way to the mirror along the back wall. Someone pale and sweaty – and oh my god is that vomit on my shoulder?! – but determined stares back at me. Mina might think she got exactly what she wanted, but she didn’t get everything. I’m still here. And I’m going to make sure I’m worth talking about.

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