According to the dorm supervisor, I’m the only student moving in this morning; the majority of the students in Year Three are either returning students, who keep their same room, or live off-campus with their families. I could have opted to live with Halmeoni and my mom, but it would have been a forty-five-minute commute, there and back. And on campus, there are practice rooms where I won’t annoy any sound-sensitive neighbors. Plus, with how many hours my mom works, I’m used to living more or less on my own.
“Though you requested a single room,” the supervisor explains as we take the elevator up to the top floor, “we unfortunately didn’t have any available.”
“That’s not a problem,” I say.
The elevator opens to a clean hall with ambient light filtering through the high windows. I push forward the small cart that holds my suitcases and cello.
Halfway down the hall, the supervisor stops at a door with a keypad lock. “Did you receive an email from housing?”
“Yes.” I pull out my phone, scrolling down in the email for the code to the keypad. I press the buttons and it makes a whirring sound as it unlocks.
“I have to sign in some deliveries,” the woman says, distracted. “Will you be okay moving in by yourself?”
“Oh, yes, go on ahead.”
She heads back in the direction of the elevator and I open the door to the room. I’m surprised to find it’s more spacious than I expected, about twice the size of the guest room in Halmeoni’s house. Propping open the door with my luggage cart, I slip off my shoes in the small entranceway. I open the cabinet to my left out of curiosity and gape at the amount of shoes already stockpiled inside. I spot Doc Martens, three pairs of sneakers, knee-high boots, flats, and a pair of stilettos. My roommate, whoever she is, has some serious footwear.
The room is split in half by a bookshelf divider with the area nearest the doorway clearly occupied. Besides the shoes, my stylish roommate has a standing rack with coats and dresses, presumably overflow from her already packed closet. Everything else about her side of the room is neat, her desk bare but for a computer and a few landscape photographs pinned to a corkboard.
I wonder if she’s always this clean or if she tidied up in preparation for my arrival.
I drop my backpack beside the unmade bed on my side of the room and prop my cello against the wall.
I’m tempted to collapse onto the bed, but I know that if I do, I won’t get up for another hour. I start to bring my luggage into the room, beginning with the one that has my bed sheets. I make a note to go down to the housing office to pick up a comforter and pillows.
I’m on my way out for the last suitcase when I bump into my roommate’s desk. One of her pictures dislodges and floats to the floor. I quickly lean down and pick it up. It’s not a photograph, but a postcard. From Los Angeles. I flip over the card to see a long message written in Korean. I’m glad my Hangeul is severely lacking, otherwise I’d be tempted to read it. I’m putting it back when a few words in English and a signature at the bottom catches my attention.
Chin up, Songbird.
You will always have my heart.
XOXO
“What are you doing?”
A girl stands in the doorway. Walking over, she snatches the postcard out of my hand.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I say. As far as first impressions go, this is the worst. I feel awful. I shouldn’t have looked at her things, even if it was by mistake. “I knocked into your desk and it fell.”
She opens a drawer and drops the postcard inside, shutting it with a loud bang.
I wince. “I’m your new roommate, Jenny.”
“I know,” she says. She doesn’t offer her name, though I’d seen it on the small placard outside our door.
Min Sori.
Her name is as beautiful as she is. She has cat-like eyes, a long, elegant nose, and gorgeous pouty lips. I thought I was tall for a Korean girl, but we’re the same height, though she appears taller due to her ballerina-like posture.
“I wouldn’t have been able to the read the postcard, even if I wanted to,” I explain further. “I’m from the States. My Korean reading skills are the equivalent of a grade schooler’s.”
“Could you move?” she says. “I need to study.”
I don’t care much about honorifics, but it feels pointed that she isn’t using any with me. Instead of familiar and friendly, her banmal sounds rude.
I step away from her desk and she sits down, opening up her computer and putting in her earbuds.
Well, these next few months are going to be awkward. I’m not usually intimidated by people, but she could freeze fire.
I spend the rest of the morning unpacking, careful not to disturb her, though she doesn’t glance up once from her computer. At noon, she gets up and changes into workout clothes. I’m tempted to ask if she wants a running partner, but her earbuds are still in.
When she leaves the room, I let out a huge sigh. Damn. I’ve heard of tense roommate situations from Bomi who’s already on her second year at UCLA, but this seems a little extreme.
Since Halmeoni didn’t have a dryer at her apartment, I held off doing laundry. I decide to do a quick load now, grabbing my hamper and taking the elevator down to the dorm’s laundry room. After starting the rinse cycle, I set a timer for thirty minutes on my phone and head outside in search of food.
Luckily, there’s a convenience store across the quad in the student center. I purchase a few triangle gimbap—rice wrapped in dried seaweed and shaped like a triangle—and eat heartily, washing them down with bottled water. Then, because I still have fifteen minutes before my laundry is finished, I head over to where a couple of students have gathered around a series of monitors. They’re all broadcasting the same program, Music Net LIVE, which I’d seen a re-run of when staying at Halmeoni’s. It’s a show that features popular and new artists who perform live on a stage in front of a studio audience.
On the screen, two MCs introduce the next performers. “Making their Music Net comeback with ‘Don’t Look Back,’ XOXO!”
The camera angles an establishing shot of Sun, Jaewoo, Nathaniel, and Youngmin in formation on the stage, surrounded by backup dancers.
“Is this happening right now?” I ask one of the students.
“Yeah,” the student—a boy—responds. “Every Sunday on EBC.”
The camera zooms in on each individual member when it’s their turn to stand at the front of the formation, whether to sing or rap their lines.
Jaewoo begins his verse, his voice clear and strong, even while dancing.
“They go to our school, you know,” the boy says.
“All of them?” I don’t know if I sound hopeful or full of dread.
The boy apparently doesn’t either because he raises an eyebrow. “Three of them do.” Jaewoo finishes his lines, and the oldest member of the group begins to rap. The boy nods at the screen. “Sun graduated last year.”
So I will see Jaewoo. Tomorrow, since apparently he’s performing live on a nationwide television program today.
I wrap my arms around my body, feeling the nerves I felt last night. I just don’t know what to expect, having never been this situation before, meeting again the boy who basically rejected me over text. Oh, and he’s a K-pop idol.
“A lot of trainees go here,” the boy continues, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “From Joah and the other entertainment companies.”
“I’m a trainee at Neptune Entertainment,” a girl pipes up. “My label enrolled me at SAA since I’m still underage.” She’s a few inches shorter than me, with rosy cheeks and a sweet demeanor. “My name’s Angela Kwang. I’m from Taiwan. I moved to Seoul about three months ago.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say. “My name’s Jenny Go. I’m . . . American.”
The boy nods at both of us. “Hong Gi Taek. I’m not a trainee, but I’m planning to audition for Joah soon. I’d say half the student body here is either a trainee or trying to become one.”
“Joah is XOXO’s label, right?” Angela asks. “I can’t believe I’ll actually be able to go to school with them, though I’m sure they never come to classes. They’re probably so busy.”
“They’re here more than you would think. Joah Entertainment is practically down the street, and the CEO of the company is on the board of directors for the school.”
Oh, wow. I knew SAA was a performing arts school, but I didn’t know it had such a significant tie to the entertainment industry. But it makes sense why idols and trainees attend this academy. If it’s anything like LACHSA, the school is probably flexible when it comes to excused absences and regular core classes, prioritizing the performing arts.
“What about you, Jenny?” Angela asks.
For a second, I think she’s asking me if I’m excited to see XOXO, then I realize she means what am I studying at SAA.
“I’m a cello major.”
“That’s so cool!” Angela exclaims. “I’ve always wanted to play an instrument. But I just never had any talent. I mean, not that I have any talent in singing and dancing either.” She giggles, and I smile, appreciating that she can laugh at herself. “But it’s my dream to debut.”
“Debut?” I ask. In my deep dive into XOXO’s timeline, I’d learned they “debuted” only a year ago, though I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant.
Gi Taek sighs, clearly disappointed that I’m lacking the basic knowledge of idol culture.
“Ooh,” Angela says, eager to share hers. “It’s pretty simple. After undergoing training with your company, which for me means learning choreography, taking voice lessons and language classes in Korean, Japanese, and English, as well as public speaking classes, a company will form a group based on a whole slew of factors—like branding and specific talents and voices. Then, they release the members’ profiles and photos online in order to build up excitement for the group. Finally, they’ll put out a single or an album. Once the group holds a showcase and starts promoting, they’ve officially debuted!”
I gape at her. If that’s simple, what’s complicated?
“Of course there’s more to it than that,” Gi Taek says, “but that’s the gist of it. And even if it is your dream to debut, it’s not a given.”
I compare their experiences to mine. “That sounds a lot like what I’m trying to do with my cello playing,” I say, thoughtfully. “Except I want to get into a music school instead of an entertainment company. And I want to join an orchestra instead of an idol group.”
“That’s exactly like it!” Angela says, beaming.
Gi Taek nods, giving me an appraising smile.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I check it to see my timer has gone off for my laundry. “I gotta run,” I say, then hesitate. It’s been awhile since I’ve actively made friends and I’m not exactly sure how to go about it.
And though I don’t necessarily need friends, seeing as I’m leaving at the end of the semester. Having them would make my time here at SAA that much more enjoyable.
Angela smiles. “I hope we have some classes together, Jenny.”
“Me too,” I say, then give a little wave. Before I turn toward the quad, I glance at the monitors. XOXO has finished their performance and a new group stands on stage, singing about youth and running toward your dreams with all your heart.
