On the morning of the showcase, I receive a text from Jaewoo. For the past couple of days, he’d been promoting in Japan, and though we’ve been texting every day, it’s been sporadic, only a quick “good night.”
On my way back now, but probably won’t get to the school until right before the showcase starts. If I don’t get to say it in person, you’ve got this!
Gi Taek and Angela are in the room, having slept over the night before, Gi Taek and Angela in Sori’s bed and Sori and me in mine. I told them about leaving Korea earlier than planned and they’d been attached to me like barnacles since.
“Can’t you try convincing your mom again?” Gi Taek asks.
“You don’t know my mom. When she thinks she’s in the right, there’s no convincing her otherwise.”
“What was Jaewoo’s reaction?” Angela asks as she rolls one of my shirts in a tight bundle, handing it over to Gi Taek who lines it up alongside others in my suitcase.
I don’t respond immediately, instead taking books down from my shelf and placing them in a box. I’ll mail these, along with my heavier items, back to the States.
“You haven’t told him yet, have you?” Gi Taek says.
“He’s been promoting in Japan. I didn’t want to . . . worry him.”
“Jenny, your boyfriend needs to know you’re leaving the country two days after he gets back.”
“I’ll tell him,” I say. “After the showcase. I just don’t want it to ruin tonight.”
The keypad outside the door sounds, and Sori comes inside carrying a bag of Subway sandwiches. She distributes one to each of us in turn, then sits down at her desk, spinning to face me.
“Did Kim Jina say anything to you?”
I frown. I haven’t thought about Jina in a long time. Once our little friend group formed, she’d left us mostly alone. Bullies don’t like a difficult target.
“No, why?”
“Someone told me she was in the bathroom, talking crap. Not exactly sure about what.”
“Why do girls like to gossip in bathrooms?” Gi Taek asks, plucking out the tomatoes in his sandwich.
“I don’t,” Angela says. “I use the restroom for a different kind of crap.”
“Angela!” we all say together.
“Hmm . . .” Sori drinks diet soda from her eco-straw while slowly spinning around in her chair. “As long as we can keep an eye on her and squash any rumors she starts, it should be fine.”
“No one hurts my Jenny!” Angela shouts, reaching into my underwear drawer.
“Angela, you don’t have to fold those,” I say.
“I guess that’s one pro about going back to the States,” Gi Taek muses aloud. “You don’t have to worry about waking up to a front-page article on Bulletin.”
We all laugh uneasily and Sori shakes her head. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
An hour before the showcase, I slip on my black wide-legged jumpsuit. It’s my favorite outfit to wear for performances or recitals when black is a uniform requirement. The wide-leg pants, worn with heels, give the illusion of a skirt when I walk. And most important, I don’t have to worry about flashing the audience when I have to tuck my cello between my knees. To complete the outfit, I wear just one accessory—a red ribbon, a gift from my father. When I was little, he used to tie my hair up with it, but tonight I wrap it around my wrist, end over end, like a good luck charm.
The orchestra opens up the showcase, so I head out before Sori and the others. Already the doors to the music hall are open to the public and people can be seen streaming from the gates across the lawn. I scan the crowd for Mom and Halmeoni, but I don’t see them.
“Eonni!”
A young girl calls across the lawn, and though the term could literally address any “older sister,” I turn toward the voice.
Jaewoo’s younger sister races across the lawn, stopping short of colliding with me.
“Joori,” I say. “Hi!” I look behind her to where Jaewoo’s mom approaches and bow to greet her. “Did you come to see Jaewoo? That’s so nice of you.”
“We did come to see Jaewoo . . . but also you!” Joori shouts. “Jaewoo says you’re performing three times!” She holds up the program, where my name is indeed listed three times, among the cello section of the orchestra, next to Sori’s name as a duet, and then as a soloist toward the end of the program.
“Are your parents here?” Jaewoo’s mother asks.
“It’s just my mom and me,” I say, “and she should be here soon, if she’s not already inside. She’s bringing my halmeoni.”
“Oh, yes. Jaewoo mentioned you’re close with her.”
“Yes.” I smile, then offer, “She’s scheduled for surgery soon.”
“How wonderful!” Jaewoo’s mother says. “Your mother must be so relieved.”
“I—yeah.” I hadn’t thought of that.
I’ve thought about how Halmeoni feels about Mom and how I feel about her, but I’ve never thought about how Mom feels. It’s just that she never seems to have any feelings, which I guess is unfair. She’s a daughter too.
Maybe I can convince her to let me stay in Korea another month. I didn’t try because I knew how’d she answer. But maybe it’ll be different if I tell her, honestly, how I feel—that this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time and I feel rejuvenated, a better musician, a better person.
I’ve decided. After the showcase, I’m going to talk to her.
Beaming, I bow to Jaewoo’s mom. “See you inside!” She and Joori smile and wave me off.
Behind the auditorium, where the orchestra students are moving their instruments to backstage, I catch up with Nora, my stand partner. She’s brought my cello from the music room along with hers.
“Thanks,” I say, retrieving it.
We head inside, moving onstage from the right wings, where stagehands have already set up the chairs and stands in a half circle, with the conductor’s podium front and center.
Settled in our seats, the conductor has the first chair oboe play an A note, and we all tune our instruments to match hers.
Muffled through the closed curtains, we can hear the sounds of people in the auditorium, their voices a loud murmur.
For the hundredth time, Nora reaches out to fiddle with the music. Then silence descends. Everyone sits a little straighter in their seats. The curtain parts, and Jaewoo and Nathaniel walk onto the stage.
I’m supposed to keep my eyes on the conductor, but I can’t help gazing after Jaewoo. He’s wearing a suit perfectly tailored to his lean body, with a thin tie and classic black leather shoes. He’s let his hair grow longer in the past few weeks and though it’s mostly swept back from his face, one strand is left to dangle rakishly over his eyes.
“Jenny,” Nora hisses and I wrench my gaze from Jaewoo, focusing on the conductor who’s lightly tapping his baton against the podium.
From behind him, Nathaniel and Jaewoo begin their opening words, welcoming the audience and highlighting a few key students in the ensemble. When Nora’s name is mentioned, she stands and bows to the audience. Though Jaewoo and Nathaniel are reading from a teleprompter, their banter and lightheartedness appears natural, the audience laughing at the appropriate moments.
“And now,” Nathaniel says, “the Seoul Arts Academy Symphonic Orchestra will play Stravinsky’s ‘The Firebird.’”
The conductor raises the baton and Nora and I both lift our bows to the strings.
Twenty minutes later, I’m rushing off the stage. I have thirty minutes until my next piece, and in that time I have to change and do my hair and makeup.
In the hallway I run into Sori, who has my dress in a garment bag.
“I watched the whole performance from the back of the audience,” she says. “You were incredible.”
“It was an ensemble,” I say. “You couldn’t have picked me out.”
“No, you were incredible. Accept my compliment.” She hands over the garment bag. “Twenty-six minutes and counting.”
We rush to the bathroom. We don’t bother with the stalls, stripping down next to the sinks. She’s wearing her outfit beneath her regular clothes, so it’s just a matter of throwing them off with a magician’s flourish. She then proceeds to help me shimmy into my dress, which is a floor-length ballgown she’d had Joah’s stylist procure from the company closet. While the skirt poofs out, the top of the dress is fitted to my chest, leaving my arms and shoulders bare. She carefully gathers up all my hair and pins it into a neat ballerina’s bun to match her own. We each do our own makeup and then, turning to the mirror, we stand side by side, me in my red ballgown with rhinestones dotting the skirt, her in a red leotard with a sheer skirt, also festooned with rhinestones.
We look good; in fact, we look beautiful.
Slowly Sori raises her arm, cell phone in hand, and takes a mirror selfie.
We make it to the stage with five minutes to spare. I grab my cello and quickly tune before hurrying to the left wings.
After the trio of violinists before us finish to loud applause, the lights dim and a stagehand quickly rushes out onto the stage and places a chair and music stand to the left of the stage. The applause quiets as I walk forward, one hand tightly gripping the neck of my cello, the other holding up my skirt so that I don’t trip.
I make it to the stool and sit down, arranging my dress around me before placing my cello neatly between my knees.
“And now we have our only duet of the program.” Nathaniel’s voice can be heard announcing us. “A collaboration from two students from Year Three. Dance major Min Sori is a trainee at Joah Entertainment. She holds national champion awards in rhythm gymnastics, classical jazz, and speech and debate. Though coldly beautiful on the outside, on the inside, she’s a bucket of marshmallows.”
The audience chuckles, and on the far side, a few teachers exchange glances. Apparently Nathaniel had gone off script.
“Our second performer,” Jaewoo says, his voice strong and warm, “is classical cellist major Jenny Go, a Korean American transfer student from LACHSA.” From this vantage, I can see the teleprompter. It ends there, but he continues speaking. “Jenny is also an honors student, a loving granddaughter, and a phenomenal dancer, though she might disagree.” The crowd laughs appreciatively, with one loud guffaw from the back, presumably Gi Taek.
“She’s planning on attending music school after graduation, where she’ll continue to grow her incredible talent and share her music with others.”
On the sidelines, I can see the teachers trying to get Jaewoo’s attention, but he continues, his voice resonating throughout the auditorium. “Though her time at SAA has been short, she’s left a lasting impression on many of us, especially those of us whom she’d call her friends.”
A gentle spotlight finds me on the stage. I drag my gaze away from Jaewoo and take a deep breath. I press my left hand to the fingerboard and bring my bow level with the strings.
As I begin to play another spotlight materializes right of the stage, and I know with the murmuring of the audience, that Sori has appeared. She sways and leaps to the sound of the music, which is a classical arrangement of a popular K-pop song. It’s a blend of both of our interests, a true collaboration. I put everything into the performance because it’s not just for me, but for Gi Taek and Angela, whose friendships have meant the world to me, and for my mother and Halmeoni listening somewhere in the audience, and for my father, who can’t be here as he should be, but still is here, because I am.
I play for Jaewoo, who, while everyone watches, enraptured by Sori’s movement, never takes his eyes off me.
And lastly for Sori, who in these short few months has become my very best friend.
After the song ends, the hall explodes with thunderous applause.
“Jaewoo?” Nathaniel says. “Wasn’t that something else? Hello, Jaewoo? Come in, Bae Jaewoo.”
“Oh, sorry,” Jaewoo says, startled, and the audience laughs.
I pick up my cello and walk toward Sori. She meets me halfway, at the center of the stage. She takes my hand, squeezing, and we turn to the audience together and bow, letting the roar of their applause wash over us. Then, still holding hands, we rush off stage, laughter in our throats, adrenaline rushing through our veins.
Backstage, I barely have time to place my cello on its stand before Sori grabs me in a fierce hug. “We did it! We really did it!”
I hug her back, just as tightly. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
We hold each other for a few more seconds before she lets go. “You have to get ready for your solo!”
“And you have to get ready for your group routine.” She and Angela are both performing in a contemporary group number.
As I turn to my cello, I feel a soft vibration in the pocket of my dress. I reach into the voluminous skirt and pull out my cell phone.
“You brought your phone onto the stage?” Sori says, aghast.
“I put it in there as a joke, to be honest, when I found the pocket, and totally forgot about it.” I open up my phone. “It’s a text from my mom.”
“Maybe she’s congratulating you on the performance.”
I pull up the message and start to read.
Jenny, I’m so sorry. I had to leave early. I’ve gone to Severance Hospital at Sinchon. Halmeoni was taken to emergency—
I don’t finish. Grabbing the edge of my skirt, I rush out the door.
