POV: Jade
I watch the lights down on the street from the balcony of my room, sipping an iced tea.
A valet delivered my suitcase from the hotel, and my father called me at least three times.
He didn't believe I'd passed the selection process; he asked to see the paper countless times, only giving up when I sent him the image via chat.
So little faith in his daughter.
I smile.
I'm not surprised he doesn't take my word for it anymore, considering how many times I've disappeared without leaving a message. If I stop to think about it, I must have given him about fifty heart attacks from worry.
The truth is, leaving my mother at the age of seven to move to the States, finding myself in a different culture and unfamiliar places, destabilized me.
The only good thing was that I knew the language, but the completely different times and ways of doing things threw me into chaos.
I was terrified at school by the contact with those screaming, rude children who pushed me, took my things, shouted incomprehensible words, and laughed like ducks.
I spent entire afternoons crying, not wanting to return to that terrible place, and my paternal grandmother didn't know how to console me.
Sherry's arrival was my salvation.
I met her at school, one of the many moments when I hid behind the gym equipment to watch the older girls dance.
"Don't you want to come in so you can see better?"
That sentence scared me, as did the hand she held out to me, along with a beautiful smile.
A little fearfully, I accepted her and followed her into the living room. I sat in a corner and spent hours studying those girls moving sinuously or awkwardly in their ballet shoes and tutus.
"Do you have to go to the bathroom?" she asked after a few minutes. "I see your leg is shaking."
I shook my head, not taking my eyes off the dancers.
"I do it all the time. I move my legs because it makes me feel calmer."
Sherry was a special education teacher and immediately understood that I had problems; I wasn't adjusting to school, so she decided to take care of me and my education.
I was diagnosed with PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) and ADHD (attention deficit hyperactivity disorder), but she was very good at finding an outlet for me: dance.
Dancing until I was exhausted, repeating sequences of steps and twirls, allowed me to control my tremors and attention span; I began to not have episodes of violent anger or crying fits; I discovered that daily life in the States was less overwhelming than in Korea.
But I missed my mother, even though she wasn't a model of affection and talkativeness, she had been my only point of reference during the long periods my father was away for work.
With their divorce, she gave up on me, packing up my things and giving me a hasty hug, accompanied by a phrase I'll never forget:
"Let the past go with the wind and seize the opportunities life offers you."
I haven't seen her in ten years; she hasn't responded to my letters, emails, or phone calls.
I contacted her residence to let her know I'd be in Seoul, but they told me she was out of town for a long time.
I've resigned myself to the fact that she doesn't want me in her life, and I can't even say if it hurts me or if her memory has truly been blown away by the wind.
Sherry stayed; when I finished elementary school, she married my father, and now I have a little brother and sister, twins, who have filled my life.
With catastrophes.
They're two crazy eight-year-olds, driving me crazy.
But I adore them, even though I really want to leave the house and find my own way.
Which is right under my feet, a few floors up, making its judgment.
I sigh and get up, hunger gripping me, and, glancing at my watch, I realize I have to move quickly, otherwise the snack bar downstairs will close and I'll be forced to stock up on vending machines to get something to eat.
I put on my headphones, my hoodie, grab my phone and key, and leave the room.
In the elevator, I bump into a couple of guys I saw near the arena, so they must have been there too. They exchange a greeting, but otherwise we ignore each other.
After all, we'll always be rivals in this talent show.
The place is still crowded, there's still plenty of food to choose from, so I grab a tray, ask for rice, vegetables, and some slices of meat, the color of which isn't particularly appealing, and head to the cashier. I glance around for an empty table and see it at the back of the room.
I sit down, gazing out the window at the evening that quickly arrives with its shadows.
The sky is overcast; I think it's going to rain tonight.
"You're American, right?"
The voice addressing me makes me tense as I turn my head toward her.
A tall girl, long blonde hair, an athletic body, squeezed into a tight tracksuit, is staring at me with a sardonic smile. Behind her are a couple of Western guys.
"No!" I reply, opening my water bottle and taking a sip.
"I saw your name on the board. You're Taylor Jade, right?"
I sigh and put down the water, looking up at her.
"Actually, I'm Korean. My name is Lee Yeona, but they only listed my Western name. What do you need?"
"Really? How funny."
They sit at my table, and I already know dinner is ruined.
"Do you think so?" I ask, taking down my chopsticks and starting to pick at some rice.
"Wow! You use them divinely!" one of the boys says to me. "I can't do that."
I give him a sidelong glance, but he must be too stupid to understand the meaning.
"It takes practice."
"So you're Korean. Mixed parents?" the girl asks, grabbing a huge sandwich filled with all sorts of greasy, fatty foods.
"Who wants to know?" I ask, putting down my chopsticks and crossing my arms.
"Oh, right. I'm Ari Thomas from Dallas. This is Mark Thompson and Harry Davidson. We're the Cosmos, but we decided to try this program to expand our resumes. What about you?"
"I just want to dance," I reply, picking up my chopsticks again and trying to swallow a piece of stringy meat.
"And you needed to come all this way to dance? Sorry, honey, but you'd have better opportunities in the States than here."
I snort, knowing she's right. But why should I explain my reasons to someone like this?
"True. But I love K-pop and I want to improve," I reply, shrugging.
"And if you passed, it means you have some talent," Mark says, winking.
Our conversation has piqued the curiosity of the other tables, who are watching us curiously while continuing to fiddle with their phones.
Gossips, nothing more. They have to film everything that happens, comment on it in chats, criticize it.
I hate this part of the Eastern way of doing things, but apparently, it's their favorite pastime.
"You understand what they're saying, right? They're talking about us?" Ari asks me, gesturing to the next table where a group of girls are watching us and giggling.
I nod and give our neighbors a challenging smile.
"They say we're a bunch of losers and that they should have kicked us out right away. But they'll have more fun humiliating us... give or take a word," I reply.
In response, the girl raises a middle finger towards the table, eliciting indignant exclamations while she laughs out loud.
"Listen, Korean Jade, you're one of us, right? Aren't you allied with these losers?"
Despite everything, I can't help but laugh, and I even find her nice.
"I'm here to crush you all, so I'm not allying myself with anyone," I tell her, winking.
"I fucking like you!" she replies, and everyone bursts into laughter.
Maybe I'll have fun.