My Summer in Seoul

Huh, something to think about.

According to my dad, Uncle Siu was super nice and a wicked smart businessman. In all honesty, I could totally see him being desperate enough to bring me in.

Rae smiled. “No. But the labels do give you around six dollars a day to eat on.”

“You’re joking.” I stopped walking, already feeling sweat run down my back from climbing the stupid stairs. Solia’d mentioned stipends being low, like in four dollars. I’d just assumed once they made it, they could eat better meals. “That’s like, the cost of a Grande Starbucks!”

“We don’t joke about food.” Rae smiled, and I found myself attempting not to trip again; his smiles were devastating.

Did they include that in idol training? Two hours in front of the mirror? I could just see the instructors saying, “And this is how to make everyone obsessed with you. Okay, now smirk, okay wink, hold up that little heart motion with your hands. PERFECT!”

I smiled to myself, then looked up at Rae again. He was watching me, studying me a bit too closely. “So, do you at least get paid once you debut?”

Lucas said something in Korean.

And even though I had no clue what he’d said, I found myself nodding my head like I actually understood him.

Rae said, “Da.” Then jerked his head toward Lucas. “One of his friends debuted shortly after us and got paid after two years. Then the group didn’t take off, so they disbanded. Most of them produce for other groups now or are modeling.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I know I’m asking a lot of questions. It’s just… depressing, I guess. I can’t imagine working that hard and not getting paid and not even becoming successful on top of it. Plus, how do you even measure success? Millions of views on your music video? Or just getting on stage and trying your hardest?”

Lucas chuckled, then Rae patted me on the back like I was a small child.

“Gnionen guyeopda,” Lucas said to himself and laughed again.

“Why do I feel like he’s making fun of me?” I looked over at Rae, but he wasn’t smiling; in fact, he looked almost… angry.

Shoot, he really did insult me. Again.

Apparently, the pizza truce was over. It had been nice while it lasted.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rae said quickly. “It’s nice, though, that you’re so…” He seemed to be searching for the word. After a moment, he finished, “…innocent.”

Being called innocent was pretty much like being called immature, which fine, I guess I had a lot of growing up to do at twenty-two, but I wasn’t completely innocent.

I didn’t say anything for the rest of the trek up the stairs—I wanted them to believe it was because I was enjoying the scenery.

But it was because I wasn’t sure I could actually talk and walk up the stairs at the same time without passing out, then falling backward down the rest of the steps and ending up in the hospital, creating yet another scandal for the group.

The rest of the guys were already at the top, sitting on a bench overlooking the city and drinking their soju—including Sookie, who was talking wildly with his hands and pointing down at the view.

He was adorable.

I could imagine he got a lot of fun gifts from fans, teddy bears, candy, that sort of thing, he just seemed—sweet. Hey, he was the innocent one, not me!

I would never survive them if I got offended every time they said something to me, and it made me sort of sad that growing up, my dad never really brought my Korean roots into the house.

We were fully immersed in Western culture.

Maybe it was because the only family we really had was my uncle? No one else was alive—at least that I had talked to, and even then it was cousins like twice removed. My grandparents had died in a car wreck really young, and the only family left had been my uncle…

My uncle was single as far as I knew, married to his work, and we’d never visited him in Korea, so there was never any need maybe for my dad to teach me things.

At the same time, why would my dad want to lose such a rich culture? I would think he’d want to pass it down to me, at least some of it? The more I thought about, it the more it bothered me, leaving a hollow spot in my chest and a giant question mark.

Why?

“Eh,” Kai elbowed me and held out a small shot glass.

Well, that was a bad sign.

Shot glasses and I didn’t really get along, not that I was going to embark on story time again with these guys. Once was enough, thank you very much.

God, I wished I hadn’t inherited the nervous talking gene from my mom.

I reached for the glass only to have Kai pull it back teasingly. Dark tendrils of hair poked out from his beanie too; his smile was a mixture of mockery and teasing.