My team and I wait around in a swanky, sterile waiting room on fiftieth for a full hour before our second assessment. I’m listening to Red Velvet’s “Red Flavor” for the ten thousandth time. I do the choreography in my head. I struggled with the Korean pronunciation at first, but Clown Killah explained the difference between singing in English and Korean in ways that helped a ton: Korean has such short, staccato syllables; you have to breathe differently and soften the consonants.

My teammates are all in their own worlds, mouthing lyrics. We’re hyped up because Manager Kong gave us an extra protein shake this morning, and a nurse came and gave us all B-12 shots just a few minutes ago.

The door to the conference room finally opens and out walk Manager Shin and Team Three, which has ShiHong from language class in it. Team Three just performed “I’m So Sick” by Apink for the executives, and they’re all wearing deconstructed tuxedoes. Our teams bow to each other, and I try to read Team Three’s expressions to see how their assessment went, but they all have poker faces. ShiHong has permanent poker face.

For this assessment, all trainees have been told we’ll get very little feedback, since CEO Im is a very busy man and he needs to see all ten girl trainee teams today. Once again, we’re going in reverse order, starting with Team Ten. While the last assessment took more than twelve hours, this has only taken two so far.

Earlier this morning, we had another wardrobe session, where the stylists came up with a fruit-and-ice-cream theme, since “Red Flavor” is an upbeat, summery song that calls out all things sticky sweet: “melting strawberries,” “peach juice,” “spilled ice cream.” I’m wearing a sequined skirt (super, super short, of course) that looks like a slice of watermelon, one red sparkly heel and one green one. Aram’s look is strawberry themed, Helena is the ice cream, Binna is blueberry, and JinJoo is peach. We all have huge bows in our hair. Mine makes me look like a toddler pageant contestant, but I’m glad—my hair has suddenly decided to self-destruct in the days after my bleach job, and this obnoxious bow is covering my whole head.

A female executive assistant with her hair in a knife-sharp side part beckons us into the conference room. Manager Kong passes us our cordless mics; because the room doesn’t have a full sound system, we won’t have in-ears. We quickly put our hands together and shout, “HWAITING!”

Then we line up in order—Binna out front, Aram in the center, me bringing up the rear—plaster huge smiles on our faces, and walk into the room just as we practiced for five hours with Manager Kong: our heels barely making a sound against the hard wood, our fingers extended delicately at our sides, making sure to maintain a precise distance from the girl in front of us. My legs are coated in foundation and covered with nude stockings to hide my bruises. Our concept for this performance is ultra-feminine; we have to maintain that aura from the moment we walk in until the moment we walk out.

Once we reach our positions at the front of the room, we turn on one heel and stand with our legs elegantly crossed and bow deeply. Binna counts to three, and we say in high-pitched, delicate unison, “Annyeong hashimnikka”—the ultra, ultra formal word for hello—“we are the lovely and talented Team Two!”

Standing there, my heart starts thudding like an EDM beat. We’ve never seen this room before, but Manager Kong described it in detail, even drew diagrams so we’d know exactly where each executive and investor would be sitting.

It’s a spacious conference room with two walls that are all windows—we’re bathed in a soft golden early-evening sunlight. A table takes up most of the room, so we only have a small space to dance. CEO Im sits at the head of the table; he’s built like a linebacker and has the most massive, rectangular head I’ve ever seen, the size and shape of a SpongeBob SquarePants piñata. CEO Sang sits at his left side, and Madame Jung sits at his right. Two investors sit beside them: CEO Rho of Elektro Hydrate, the sports drinks company, and the other, CEO Noh, heads a company that drills tunnels through mountains.

“Ah, the famous Team Two,” says CEO Im in a gruff voice. “I’ve heard many good things.”

We bow many more times and giggle delicately. Even CEO Sang seems flustered and sweaty in CEO Im’s presence. He says, “Yes, these are five of our finest.” He flashes us a don’t mess this up look. “Whenever you’re ready, girls.”

The cameras are on, filming everything to send to SLK while they’re in Europe on tour. With even more at stake, I’m ten times more nervous than the last assessment.

The track we laid down with Clown Killah blasts throughout the room louder than expected.

But we’re prepared for anything. We spring into performance mode. Unlike last time, my mind doesn’t separate from my body. We’ve spent so many hours practicing together that I know exactly where my feet are supposed to go, I know exactly where my unnies are in the formation without having to turn my head. When we do a series of lightning-fast synchronized kicks, my legs fly almost as high as the others’. I know exactly when I’m supposed to smile, toss my hair, pucker my lips, wink. It’s hard to hear myself sing, but I know exactly what I sound like and when my cues are. Helena and I harmonize perfectly in the pre-choruses. JinJoo belts a crisp high G in the bridge. Binna kills the rap. And Aram, I’m sure, looks devastatingly good.

When we’re finished, we end in pretty poses—I have my hands tucked under my chin and I’m fluttering my long (fake) lashes.

There’s no applause, just as Manager Kong warned us. We maintain our bright smiles and try not to breathe too hard, even though this “effortless” and “hyperfeminine” dance is twice as exhausting as the hard-hitting dance for “Problem.” We get back into our perfectly straight line and stand in our delicate way—legs glued together, knees slightly crossed, one heel slightly off the floor. As the General put it, “Stand in a way so it looks like the slightest wind will knock you over, even though you’re perfectly balanced.”

The executives at the table turn to CEO Im to say the first word. Finally, he rumbles, “What a bright, wholesome performance. Such attractive girls, too.”

CEO Sang lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Yes, I also think they did an excellent job. Aram is our top Visual, and she embodied the song perfectly as Center.”

“Yes, she’s quite stunning,” says CEO Im. “She could become the nation’s next CF Queen.”

“She would be perfect for one of our campaigns,” agrees CEO Rho.

Aram bows profusely in thanks. Madame Jung just smiles a frosty smile.

“Cho Helena and Park Candace are from America,” explains CEO Sang. “They’ve turned out to be two of our hardest workers. Candace has only been with us for two months, but her dancing has improved dramatically. She also scored highest in her class on the Korean vocabulary exam: a ninety-eight percent.”

CEO Im raises his eyebrows and exclaims, “Oh-ho! Smart girl.”

I can’t believe what a big deal everyone’s been making about this. Two days after the exam, Teacher Lee posted the class’s scores, ranked in order. I was number one with a 98, Helena was number two with a 74, and YoungBae was all the way in the bottom with a 36 percent. The news traveled to Manager Kong, who presented me with the tiniest sliver of strawberry shortcake as a reward.

Our group photo, taken by Mr. Choi, flashes on a projector behind us. My memories of how miserable we were taking it are almost erased by how fierce we look. We turn our necks without budging from our “delicate” standing positions and gasp. This looks like a real K-pop girl crush poster.

CEO Im nods his gargantuan head. “Wahhh, cham meoshitda.”

Which I loosely translate as: Y’all look bomb-dot-com.

CEO Sang says, “Note that the concept of the photo is exactly the opposite of their performance concept you just saw. These girls can embody all sides of being a female.”

I want to remind him that there’s more to being female than Cute and Girl Crush, but I’ll take any compliment I can get today.

After the group evaluation, we each go down the line doing two-minute solo performances, preapproved by Manager Kong, for individual evaluation. Binna steps forward first, temporarily breaking from her elegant persona to slay a freestyle dance solo to “Beez in the Trap” by Nicki Minaj. I want to yas-queen her, but I stop myself. The CEOs compliment Binna on her dancing, but Madame Jung tells her that she’s too muscular and she should cover up her abs and arms more. It takes everything in my power to keep from rolling my eyes.

JinJoo almost blows out the windows with her rendition of “Reflection” by Christina Aguilera. CEO Sang compliments her for losing weight but pushes her to lose more. Aram does a funny monologue from the K-drama Cheese in the Trap; her acting is completely over the top, but she’s surprisingly funny. She gets the first applause of the assessment from all the men in the room. Helena sings “Part of Your World” from The Little Mermaid a cappella, giving Disney princess vibes as always, and all she gets are comments on her pretty hair and smile.

I’m up last, and for my solo bit, Manager Kong passes me my guitar, pretuned. Manager Kong preapproved my performance of “Expectations vs. Reality,” but in that very instant, I decide to sing something different. I’m tired of pretending I’m a perfect girl who looks like I can be knocked over with the slightest breeze. Plus, that B-12 shot and all that protein is making me wanna She-Hulk out. I start playing.

I’m sweet when I need to be, fierce when I need to be,

Don’t underestimate me, I’ll turn your traps back on you,

Cuz I’m a yeowoo, yeowoo, that’s right, negga yeowoo dah.

Then, for the entire chorus, I’m howling at a high, lilting pitch. I lose myself in the moment. I howl like I’m a fox in the arctic tundra calling out to the moon—or is it only wolves that do that?

Baby, negga yeowoo dah. Baby, I’m a fox.

I close my eyes and see how high my howls can go. By the end of the chorus, I almost reach a whistle register, something I’ve never heard myself do before.

Ahwooooooooo!

When I open my eyes, Manager Kong has her mouth open. The CEOs blink at me like freshly hatched chicks opening their eyes for the first time. Madame Jung glares at me with narrowed eyes.

I don’t know what else to do, so I bow. “Thank you for listening,” I say.

More silence.

Suddenly, CEO Im throws his head back and releases cannon blasts of laughter into the ceiling. CEO Sang takes that as his cue to laugh, too. CEOs Rho and Noh join in.

The sanitary pads in my armpits are fat and juicy with sweat. What exactly is so funny?

Once CEO Im catches his breath, he says, “To see such an innocent-looking girl singing such bold words!”

Madame Jung smiles stiffly, saying, “Is this decent for a young girl?”

“And with a pink guitar,” says CEO Noh, gasping for air.

“This girl is the queen of cute,” says CEO Im. “Bold isn’t always a bad thing for a young lady to be. You know that old saying: ‘A man can live with a yeowoo for a wife, but never a cow.’ ”

The men at the table laugh even louder. My ears are burning. What does that saying even mean? And who ever said anything about being any of their wives? Some of them are almost as old as Harabuji.

“She has a good voice, too,” says CEO Rho. He turns to me. “You wrote this song?”

“Yes, sir,” I say, and I bow in thanks at the first real compliment I’ve received.

“Well, CEO Sang, you have your work cut out for you,” says CEO Im. “This is the best team so far, and I can see each has an element you’d want. If only you had five girls who could each sing as well as Candace, look as good as Aram, have the charms of Helena, and dance like Binna.”

I glance at JinJoo, the only girl not mentioned, but she betrays no emotion other than pleasantness.

“But you see, CEO Im,” says CEO Sang, “if there’s one thing I’ve learned about forming idol groups, it’s this: A perfect group is destined to fail. You don’t want five One.Js—you need a Wookie, too. It’s all about the right balance of strengths and flaws.”

CEO Im smacks the table. “Well then, in that case, I think you might have your group right here.”

Even though not every part of our second assessment was awesome, Team Two is flying high that night about being called CEO Im’s favorite girls trainee team, and the idea, as teeny-tiny as it might be, that it might be us five who get to debut. Since Helena fixed my guitar, I’m starting to see a glimmer of hope that we could be decent group mates.

I didn’t even get scolded for singing a different song—Manager Kong said, “I just wish you’d told me. I liked your song.”

Back in the dorm, JinJoo says, all humble, “If every group needs flaws like CEO Sang said, I guess I can be our group’s flaws.”

We all say, “Nooooooo!” and make sure she dances around the dorm alongside us to “Unicorn” by SLK and “Ddu-Du Ddu-Du” by Blackpink and “Dumb Dumb” by Red Velvet and “Fancy” by Twice. Finally, a girl from Team Three pounds on the paper-thin wall separating us and screams, “SHUT UP, WE’RE TRYING TO SLEEP!” Binna shuts the music off right away and shouts back through the wall, “Many apologies!” but the rest of us make just as much noise laughing.

Well after one a.m., the five of us are finally in bed, and we do something we haven’t done in all my time as part of this team: We talk all through the night, as if we’re at summer camp. We gossip about boy trainees we have crushes on. JinJoo admits to having a crush on this boy YoonChul with an eyebrow ring on boys’ Team Four; Binna’s into Noah, a half-Canadian boy in my language class; Aram isn’t into any trainees, just ChangWoo from SLK. Helena claims she’s so focused on practice that she “doesn’t have any eye for boys.”

“Ugh, Helena, you’re No-Jam,” says Binna.

“What about you, Candace?” asks JinJoo.

“Oh, I know,” says Aram, clapping once. “She likes that cute boy—that funny one who does hip-hop dance, YoungBae.”

“That’s right, that’s right!” says Binna, seal-clapping. “I’ve noticed the way you look at him in the cafeteria.”

“I do not!” I insist. “I’ve only said a few words to him in language class, that’s it.”

“That’s more than most of us get,” says JinJoo.

I wait for Helena to call me out—but thankfully, she stays silent.

“Well,” I joke, “my heart belongs to One.J anyway.”

“That goes without saying,” says JinJoo. “That’s all of us. That’s the entire world.”

“Duh,” says Aram. “I don’t like younger guys, but One.J? I’d be his noona.”

We all cackle.

“Obviously, One.J is going to choose Aram for his solo MV,” says JinJoo with a sigh. “To be Kim Aram for a day.”

“Oh, come on,” says Aram, although I hear the delight in her voice.

As I stare at the dark ceiling, I wonder if there’s any chance in a million years One.J would pick me. Or even if One.J wanted to pick me, would the company make him choose one of the prettier girls without a broad nose and monolids?

The next morning in the cafeteria, the sweet potatoes are particularly cold and tasteless. I’m tired and grumpy. My once-gorgeous Targaryen hair practically melted in my hands in the shower this morning. I found a single strand that had eleven splits—it looked like a cricket leg. (Mmm, even fried crickets sound tasty at this point.) The color is still the same, but it’s so thirsty it needs several beverages. Binna lent me her POWDER PUP hat for me to hide my straw-colored monstrosity.

As I struggle to swallow down pasty sweet potato, I say to Binna, “I’ve always meant to ask you—what does ‘Powder Pup’ mean, anyway?”

“Oh, you know—it’s that American cartoon I love. Powder Pup Girls. I made that hat myself.”

“Powder Pup?” I ask. Then I realize what she means. Suddenly, my spirits lift a little bit. “You mean Powerpuff Girls?”

“Yeah, Powder Pup Girls. That’s what I said.”

I crack up laughing for a solid minute while Binna stares at me, puzzled, asking, “What’s so funny?”

Manager Kong and Manager Shin interrupt my giggle fit. From the center of the cafeteria, Manager Kong shouts, “Girls! Listen up! We have three pieces of important news.”

The girls’ half of the cafeteria goes silent immediately.

“CEO Sang and CEO Im were overall very pleased with what they saw at yesterday’s assessment,” says Manager Shin, who manages the five girls’ teams Manager Kong doesn’t. “CEO Sang could see that you’ve all suffered a lot and improved in the last month. That’s why the strict diet is over—we’ll go back to regular meals for the next month.”

The girls all cheer. I squeeze RaLa’s and BowHee’s hands, we’re so excited. Back to decent portions!

“However,” says Manager Kong over the commotion, “you’ll need that energy, because your next assessment will be the final one before CEO Sang decides who gets to debut. For that assessment, each team will have to perform two Stages with opposite Concepts. And that assessment will take place in Seoul Olympic Stadium and be broadcast live … for all of Korea—all of the world—to see on the YNN Network.”

There’s pandemonium in the room. We’re freaking out, holding on to each other. Some girls are actually sobbing—so many of these girls have been working toward this moment for years and years, their whole childhoods.

“It will be a three-part special showcase,” says Manager Shin dramatically, “called S.A.Y. 50, for the fifty girl trainees who hope to debut.” I peer through the Gender Glass; the boys are getting the same news from their managers, and they’re all whooping and punching the air and jumping all over each other. I spot YoungBae so overcome with emotion that he has his face in his hands.

I’m so happy for him. I’m excited for us.

“The first two nights of the showcase will be the Stages—CEO Sang and SLK will be serving as co-panelists, so all of Korea will be sure to be watching, and Korean fans will be able to vote on their favorite trainees.”

More screaming, more sobbing, more pandemonium.

“The third part of the special,” Manager Shin goes on, grinning, “will take place the following week. It will be the live coronation of the final girl group. CEO Sang will take the judges’ opinions and the nation’s votes into account, but the final decisions will be his alone. It will be a magical moment K-pop fans around the world will never forget.”

The managers let all of us feel our feelings for a minute. I’m practically hyperventilating. Binna and JinJoo are openly weeping, hanging off each other.

This is real.

No matter what, in just another month, we’ll know our fates, one way or another. I’ll either be part of the most hyped K-pop girl group of all time, at the most powerful K-pop company, alongside the most successful boy band in K-pop history—or I’ll be back at Fort Lee Magnet starting my junior year, with a full slate of AP classes, in the back of the viola section, air-bowing next to Chris DeBenedetti. Both options feel equally impossible. Straight-up surreal.

After we finally quiet down, Manager Kong says, “There’s also some bad news—not for you, but for your friends on the other side of the building. The boy group that’s training—SLK 2.0—will not be debuting as planned. CEO Sang believes the boys need a bit more time, and that the girl group should get the full attention of the public during such a high-stakes moment. Unfortunately, that also means half the boys are getting cut today.”

The girls gasp, and we all look through the Gender Glass. I realize the boys weren’t cheering earlier; they were shouting in anger and disappointment. Many are crying. I search for YoungBae again—he’s sitting on the floor with his knees drawn to his chin, sobbing. Please tell me he hasn’t been cut.

“Oh, and one last announcement,” says Manager Kong. “One.J has been generous enough to review your group and solo assessments overnight from his tour stop in Copenhagen. He has chosen one girl trainee to appear in his solo MV, which will debut just before the showcase. He’ll be flying all the way back to Seoul to film three days from now with this trainee. And that trainee is … Park Candace.”

In that moment, forty-nine pairs of tired, bloodshot eyes swing to me, widened in horror and wonder and shooketh-ness. My arms go all tingly, and I start seeing double. Suddenly, the shiny linoleum cafeteria floor is speeding right at my face.