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 fourth 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 100 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 lets 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 mom 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 Yujin-unni, 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 mom 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 fulfill 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.