Hana

The very next morning, I invited Eunji—and at her insistence, Miles from my dance crew—over for an emergency war tribunal before the auditions. We stood huddled in the walk-in closet I shared with three of my roommates. Eunji threw a beat-up pair of sweatpants at me in disgust, purposely shoving her fingers in the holes and wiggling them around.

“I cannot believe we are best friends,” she muttered, gingerly picking through my sad stack of equally threadbare clothes. Next to her glamorous top that she’d made herself from recycled silk, they did kind of look like rags.

“It’s not like I’m getting dressed for dinner with the queen here. It’s just an audition. Why can’t I go in what I usually wear?” I held up a pair of slightly stretched out secondhand leggings and a cropped hoodie I’d found at Goodwill. Eunji wrinkled her nose.

“No way! I’m burning those before I leave, I hope you know.”

Miles shrugged, “You could wear what you did when we won regionals?”

My annoyance melted slightly at his sweetly boyish face. It was like trying to stay annoyed at a puppy dog.

“Yeah, that might be a good idea. It’s not like what I wear matters anyway. This isn’t exactly New York amateur dance fest—no offense, Miles,” I added quickly. He laughed, flashing his pearly whites.

“None taken. As much as I love our NYU dance club, we’re pennies compared to CNTR. I’ve never seen anyone dance like those guys do,” he shook his head, amazed.

“I still can’t believe you roped me into this. As if I know the first thing about K-pop—even Miles knows CNTR better than I do!”

Eunji mumbled something distractedly, eyes glued to her phone. CeNTR Universe—BECAUSE THEY’RE THE CENTER OF OUR UNIVERSE, jumped out in big block letters.

“Seriously?” I wadded up a pile of my shirts and threw it at her. “How do you not get tired of that fan site? I bet you’ve read every single post by now.”

“I don’t get mad over the things you love, like unfashionable clothes,” she retorted, tearing her eyes away from the screen long enough to stick her tongue out at me. “You might actually be interested in this. Doyoon-oppa apparently specifically requested for a fan to take his place at the awards because, quote, ‘they will be the only people to appreciate the experience and the group the way they should be appreciated.’”

She sighed, eyelashes fluttering as she clutched the phone to her chest directly over her heart. “Isn’t he the cutest? Oppa, saranghae! I love you!”

“I don’t think he can hear you,” I snorted. Miles chuckled, poorly distinguishing his chortles as coughs at Eunji’s death glare.

“Don’t you start on me, too! I can’t believe you guys aren’t touched by this,” she said. “What kind of celebrity actually cares for his fans this much?”

“Trust me babe, all I care about right now is not making a complete fool of myself. I still can’t believe you signed me up without asking!” I tugged ruefully at my holey sweatpants. They’d been patched so many times that it was more hole than pant at this point. Miles reached out for me but seemingly changed his mind at the last minute, playfully bumping my knees with his foot instead.

“Stop thinking like that. Even if you don’t get in, it’s an amazing opportunity. Think of all the scouts that could be watching the audition! Who knows, you might get a call to dance for Beyoncé or something tomorrow.”

I glanced at Miles and his big, blue sparkling eyes. So sure of a future that could be built on dreams. He’s never had to fight for anything, a wicked voice whispered in my ear.

I excused myself to change into the outfit Miles had suggested, but mostly to hide the frown on my face.

“I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again—dancing’s not secure and it definitely doesn’t pay enough,” I said. “Not at first. I need something stable.”

“Like psychology? Yeah, real stable,” Eunji taunted. “And boring.” I reached around the door to give her the middle finger.

There wasn’t enough room in the closet for a mirror, so I did my best to adjust my joggers and braid my hair in a way that looked more “cool-and-carefree” than “sloppy-and-grungy.”

“Okay!” I called out. “I’m ready.”

A muffled cheer, some hushed fumbling, then the first strains of CNTR’s “100 Percent” filtered through the door.

“Step right up, contestant number four!” Miles boomed in his best approximation of a TV show host. I squeezed my eyes shut and strode out into the room, throwing up my hands and giving them a good twirl. When I opened them, Miles’s mouth was open in a surprised little “o,” his gaze soft.

“You look—wow. I mean, amazing. Y-you look amazing.”

He turned as red as a tomato. There was a beat of awkward silence before Eunji clapped sharply.

“Enough flirting!” she said. “You’ve got some auditions to kill!”

***

Jiho

What a difference a day can make. Here we were, all five—no, four—of us, crowded in the same rehearsal space that we’d basically lived in the for the past couple of weeks, and the mood couldn’t have been more different. All the laughter, the inside jokes, the play wrestling were gone.

The air felt heavy. Only Shin and LEO were talking in hushed whispers. I don’t know why they bothered—we could all hear Doyoon’s name from the snatches of their conversation, clear as day.

“Mind sharing with the class?” I drawled. They slunk back to the rest of the group, shamefaced.

“I was just saying to ZT that you should let me pick someone from the contest,” Shin said, trying and failing to look nonchalant as he picked a piece of lint off his Burberry jacket. “You know me, I’ve got a natural eye for talent. Just let me head up this thing.”

LEO threw back his head and laughed. “As if we need another Shin 2.0! We’d have to make the doorway bigger so both your heads could fit.”

“What makes you think I’d pick somebody like me?” Shin retorted.

“Easy. You’re a narcissist. You don’t think anyone is good enough to be in our group other than you.”

Shin considered this for a second, then shrugged. “Fair enough.”

I held my hand up in the air and the rest of the guys fell silent. “I know you’re just messing around, but this contest isn’t a joke, all right? It was all Mr. Song’s idea and he wants it executed perfectly.”

The dreaded call from the CEO had come only minutes after Shin had burst in with the news that Doyoon had left. Junghoon and I had answered the phone together, and when Junghoon’s voice gave out I was the one who pitched in to finish the story. The other line had been silent for so long, the coffee I’d brought for Doyoon that morning had turned ice cold in my hand before Mr. Song said a single word.

When he did, there wasn’t a single trace of the kind, fatherly figure he liked to portray himself as. His voice was soft, but his words sliced me deep, like shards of ice, “Do you remember what I told you, Jiho?”

“Yes, sir,” I croaked out.

“And what did I tell you?”

“That our performance at the VMAs must be perfect.”

“And that, as the leader of the team, it was your responsibility that every member of the group was at the top of their game. Isn’t that what I said?”

“Yes, sir. I know this was my responsibility, sir.”

Another long pause. Junghoon shook so hard, the phone jangled in his hands. My knee bobbed uncontrollably. The silence thickened, so hot with anticipation that a flush rose in my cheeks. Finally, a sigh released us.

“Very well, then. What’s done is done. Now listen very carefully—here’s how we fix this.”

I repeated Mr. Song’s instructions to the other members, word for word. “A contest for fans only will create so much buzz that it’ll force out all our negative press.”

Shin glanced at the coffee cup in his hand, then back at me. I chose to ignore him.

“Not to mention, we can strengthen our U.S. fan base by auditioning Americans, driving up viewers right before the VMAs. Then boom! We cinch it all up with a killer performance and go back home as heroes.”

“Yeah, but who decides who wins?” ZT broke in.

The telltale creak of a door opening came from behind. A kid, no older than any of us, strolled over to us, both hands in his pockets, cool as you please. He didn’t bow as he came in, an unthinkable show of disrespect to his elders.

My heart sank. It couldn’t be…

“Uh, excuse me? Can’t you read?” LEO waved one hand at the “Closed for Private Session” sign. I shoved past him.

“Song Youngdo? What are you doing here?” I asked, looking at the man in the suit before us. “How’d you convince your father to let you come to America by yourself?”

The unspoken question of Is he with you? hung between us. The seki didn’t bother answering me.

“Hyung, who is this guy?” ZT bristled.

LEO shrugged. “C’mon, don’t get all worked up over it. He’s probably one of those rude-ass delivery boys. Are you here to pick up our lunch orders? I’m feeling like some fried chicken,” he said. Youngdo towered over him with his six-foot frame. His lip curled.

“Shut up! Show some respect.” Shin, cheeks red, smacked the back of LEO’s head. “Don’t you fools recognize who this is? It’s Mr. Song’s son!”

Silence. The blood drained out of ZT and LEO’s faces as realization dawned on them.

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry, Youngdo-nim,” LEO stuttered, using the polite form usually reserved for those of higher status or advanced age. “I didn’t recognize you with your new haircut. Please don’t tell Mr. Song?”

Youngdo ignored him completely, addressing just me, Shin, and Junghoon in his bored drawl.

“I flew all the way from Seoul to oversee the contest,” Youngdo said in his deep voice. “I will be the one who decides who wins.”

***

Hana

The line for the audition wrapped around the block twice. An odd feeling came over me as I scanned the faces of my competition. Miles’s banged-up beater of a Nissan roared ominously as we parked in the first available spot, nearly a mile away. Suddenly, I realized what had been bothering me.

“Eunji!” I hissed, grabbing her arms so hard she flinched. “All the people here are guys!”

She shrugged me off, rubbing her arm ruefully as we took our place in line. “Maybe CNTR has a lot of secret guy fans? I’ll check.”

She rummaged through her bag, nose deep into her fan café forums within seconds. Miles gave me a quick side hug. Did I imagine his hand ghosting my back for a second? “Don’t worry, kid. None of them stand a chance against you. Take it from someone who’s seen you on stage and knows what you’re capable of.”

Despite my mixed feelings about Miles, I leaned into the comforting warmth of his hug. The heat radiating off his body was irresistible and my stomach did backflips.

“Oh, shit.” Eunji’s face fell. She glanced at me nervously, chewing her bottom lip the way she did when she really messed up, like the time she’d taken her dad’s Jeep for a joy ride to the bottom of a lake.

“What?”

“Please, please don’t kill me.”

“Just tell me!”

Wordlessly, Eunji passed me her phone and I snatched it, scrolling through the audition rules. “It looks fine to me.”

She moaned. “Look at the bottom of the page. They have all the terms and conditions in this itsy-bitsy font.”

I read out loud: “All entrants must be men.”

The three of us froze. The sound that ripped from my throat was more animal than human. “Are you kidding me? Eunji, you’re the one that dragged me out here!” I was shaking “This was all your idea! How could you not know I had to be a guy to enter?”

“But that part of the rules is written so small, and it’s all the way down at the bottom—” Catching the look on my face, she hurriedly added, “Okay, I didn’t read any of it. Happy?”

“No!” I shrieked, shoving her phone back at her. “What a waste of time. I could have been looking for a real job this whole time. You know I don’t have time to be screwing around like this.”

This is what you get for dreaming, a little voice whispered in my ear. I looked desperately around. “Maybe Miles could audition in my place?”

“No way. I’m sorry, but you know I’m not into K-pop like that,” he said. He did seem really sorry about it, his big teddy bear eyes brimming with sympathy. It just made me even angrier. How dare he feel bad for me?

“As if I’m into any of this stuff either!” I shouted so loudly a couple of the guys in line around us turned to glare. “You know what? I’m out of here.”

I nearly ran back to Miles’s clunker, tears stinging my eyes. Before I could hide myself in the back seat, a small hand clamped on my shoulder, turning me to face a breathless Eunji.

“No. You’re not going anywhere. I promised you an audition and you’re going to get an audition,” Eunji said. “I have an idea.”