| |
Abby is seriously the best. We’ve been plotting for the past week, hoping this fan gathering turns out. We’re offering free light sticks to the first two hundred people who come to the show. It wasn’t cheap, but since my parents have so many hookups, we ended up getting a good deal.
Mostly it was because my mom became a K-pop fan. I still haven’t completely accepted that one. After I told her about my obsession she did some research behind my back and ended up watching a drama about kids training to be K-pop stars. After that, she totally fell in love with Korean culture. Now I finally understand why she’s been so cool about Minji.
She got us the venue too. Instead of that cramped restaurant, we have a huge ballroom space located in the heart of Koreatown. All that’s left is to make sure there are no mistakes.
The whole way there, I pray. I pray that people will show up to this thing. I pray that the word has spread far enough to reach Minji. I pray he’s still in Houston. Mostly, I pray my apology will work.
Mom has a stage set up, and she’s decked the whole place out with PTS posters and some of the photo cards from my room.
“Where did you get those?” I ask her as she tacks another photo card to the wall.
Her face gets red. I didn’t think my mom blushed at anything. She turns around and sets her supplies down, then pulls me in for a hug. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I was the one who turned on Minji’s phone. I swear, I didn’t know it was his. I saw it and got curious. You can’t blame me for wanting to make sure you were safe, right?”
The old me would get upset about this. Even now I can feel the desire to throw a fit, but then I remember that keeping secrets is what brought me here. If Mom knew she could trust me, she wouldn’t have snooped.
“Yeah, Mom,” I say, patting one of her arms around my neck. “It’s okay. But maybe you can trust me a bit more?”
She smiles. “I’ll try.”
***
The place is packed. I have a fair amount of hope Minji will be here because all the light sticks have been given away. There’s no way to spot Minji, though. Lots of people are wearing hats and masks because it’s PTS fan gear.
I’ll just have to do my thing when the time comes.
We start the night off with a few games—guess the PTS member by one body part, random dance play, and fill in the lyrics to PTS songs.
Mom had the whole thing catered and even got a few prizes to donate. I’m in awe of her social prowess. I guess all her networking isn’t so bad after all.
Once the crowd is officially pumped it’s my turn to take the stage. Swag starts blasting from the speakers. Abby and I do a routine we put together, complete with double back hand springs followed by a back tuck. The crowd has gone wild, getting their phones out to record the show.
The energy is incredible. It gives me the courage to do what I’m going to do next.
“We’re going to slow it down for a second,” I say, taking the microphone even though I’m out of breath.
PTS’s Downpour is on softly in the background, a rap set to jazz piano. “I have to take a minute to first thank the PTS fan club for putting this together.”
Abby takes a bow as the crowd cheers.
“And now,” I say, not ready for this moment, but knowing it’s probably my last shot. “I have a confession to make.”
The crowd goes silent, and I can hear Minji’s voice singing on the track behind me. I’ll never understand how someone as manly as him can hit those high notes.
I clear my throat. “Honestly, I lied to someone. I didn’t tell them something that was important to our relationship.”
There’s a lot of curious looks from the crowd, but I press forward anyway. “You see, he thought I fell for him because of K-pop, and in a way, I did.”
A few people lean forward, all ears.
“But,” I continue, “He became someone I loved because of who he was. Not because of the music. If he was here I would tell him how sorry I was, and beg for a chance to make it up to him.”
“You can do it!” Abby shouts, holding up her fist in the fighting sign. The audience follows, fists raised to the air, shouting, “Go for it,” and, “Hwaiting,” in their best Korean accents.
“Thank you all,” I say giving out a wave. “Thanks for coming here, and enjoy the rest of your night!”
PTS’s Teen Anxiety comes on and gets the audience booty shaking once more. I stand on stage for a second longer and search the crowd, hoping I can pick out Minji somewhere, but I can’t see through the sea of black fan shirts and grenade light sticks.
I twist my hands and search, search, search, hoping for a sign of something. Anything, but there’s nothing.
He didn’t come. He must’ve known I would be here. He had to find out somehow. Which only leaves one conclusion, he choose not to be here. As much as I try not to let that thought bother me, it does.
“So?” Abby asks, when the hall is cleared and I sit alone on the side of the stage.
“So,” I say. “That’s it. I said what I wanted to say and he wasn’t here.”
Abby sits next to me, laying her head on my shoulder. “Are you sure? I heard you talk about him. I know you love him. You can’t just let this slide.”
I take a shaky breath. “How can I not, when I love him all by myself?”
“Because,” Abby says, sitting straighter. “Even when I hated you, you convinced me that love is more important than pride. Sometimes to really let someone know you love them, you have to be willing to do whatever it takes.”
She’s right. How can she be right? But it’s true. Maybe I didn’t get a chance tonight, but I can still try and figure something out. I have to. If only there was a way to get my heartfelt words right to him.
“I have an idea,” I say, the realization dawning on me. “I’m going to need you to take a video on your phone.”
Mom helps Abby and I set up the lighting just right and works all three of our phones as cameras so we don’t lose a second of footage.
Abby and I start with our performance again, slaying the PTS song, even landing the back tucks. Next, we put together the best of the footage until it’s just long enough to say my piece over it.
“My name is Corrine,” I say into the phone, speaking over the routine. “And I’m a coward.” We pan to a close-up of my stunt, then return to the dance. “I kept a secret because I didn’t want to lose a person. I kept that secret even when I knew it would hurt them. I kept that secret because I knew they wouldn’t see me the same way again.
“I’m making this video to say one thing. I promise that person I won’t say anything more after this, but let them live in peace.”
The routine ends and we switch to filming me sitting in a chair, alone.
“Nothing we did together was fake,” I say, my voice cracking. “For the first time in my life, I showed my true self to someone. Even my best friend didn’t know who I was when you did. I’m not going to plead for anything. I know how pathetic it’s made me. I just wanted to thank you.
“If it wasn’t for you, I never would’ve found myself. I never would’ve believed I was worth the kind of attention you gave me. You didn’t focus on how I looked. You’re the only person who treated me like I was worth more than the clothes I wore. I can’t thank you enough.”
It’s too hard to look at the camera, so I focus on my feet instead. “I promise, you’ll never have to see me again, but I couldn’t let you leave without you knowing that. And...you promised to take me to the Winter Ball next weekend.”
I give Mom a nod and she puts away the phones.
Now I can go knowing I’ve done everything I can to get to him.
“It’s up on YouTube as Awesome PTS Dance,” Abby says as we pack up the last of the stuff.
It’s late, past two a.m. by the time we get home I’m exhausted, but I also can’t sleep without checking my phone one last time.
I sit up when I see Minji has posted on Instagram. It’s not one of his usual selfies, but instead a black square.
The caption reads sometimes it’s darkest before the dawn.
I want to believe that means something, but I can’t keep getting my hopes up.
Instead, I chose a fit-full and heartbroken sleep.
