“Daebak!” exclaims YoungBae. “I love bubble tea.”
The six-hour session actually goes by pretty fast. After the first two hours, Helena and a couple of the more fluent trainees leave for other practice sessions. By the final hour, YoungBae and I, the most beginner-level language students, are alone in the classroom.
For the last fifteen minutes, Teacher Lee lets me and YoungBae chitchat in Korean together, since we “probably have a lot to talk about,” because we’re both from America. We stare at her incredulously; this much interaction between a boy and a girl is definitely not allowed. But she just points to her eye, then points at the door.
Just like that, I decide Teacher Lee is my favorite grown-up at S.A.Y.
I get my first decent, close-up look at YoungBae. Even under the gross fluorescent lighting, YoungBae’s face glows. He has pouty, kinda heart-shaped lips, a fresh haircut that’s buzzed on the sides but tousled and swoopy on top. He’s wearing a white button-down that’s halfway tucked into his holey jeans.
All this is to say: YoungBae is young and totally bae.
He’s also definitely not shy. “So, Candace-shi … is that the name you want to debut with?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t think there’s another Candace in K-pop, so probably.”
“That’s cool. There are a few other K-pop YoungBaes, so the company might make me change it.”
“You can go by your American name if you have one.”
YoungBae smiles. “There’s no way I can use my American name. It’s the worst name. It’s so bad that I go by ‘YoungBae’ even in America.”
“Okay, now you have to tell me.”
“Promise you won’t laugh?”
“Promise.”
“All right.” He pauses. “It’s Albert.”
I bust out laughing.
“You promised you wouldn’t laugh!”
“I’m sorry! But Albert is so not an idol name.”
“Yep, it’s unfortunate. What is it about Korean American parents giving kids old-people names?”
For the first time, I forget that I’m in a K-pop training facility, or even that I’m speaking Korean. It turns out YoungBae and I have a lot in common: We both play guitar; we both like jokbal; we both go to big Korean churches back home. In fact, YoungBae got discovered when a S.A.Y. recruiter found a YouTube video of him rapping about Jesus in his church’s praise band.
A chime sound effect comes from the speakers in the wall, signaling the end of the session. Teacher Lee waves goodbye cheerily and says, “Good job today, Candace.”
YoungBae shoves his books into his backpack. “Well, nice to meet you, Candace.”
Out of nowhere, Teacher Lee pounds her desk, turns bright red, and shrieks, “THE TWO OF YOU, FOR THE LAST TIME, NO TALKING!”
I practically have a heart attack. I make a note to self: Watch out for Teacher Lee, because she’s clearly a two-faced psycho.
But then I realize YoungBae’s manager and Manager Kong have arrived to escort us to our next lesson. On my way out, I turn back to Teacher Lee when the managers aren’t looking. She smiles and shrugs at me in apology.
Manager Kong attends my first Team Two group practice. We sit cross-legged on the floor as Manager Kong writes each of our names on the whiteboard next to a bracket. Then she writes the word PROBLEM in huge English letters across the top. For a second, I’m convinced she’s referring to me, the big PROBLEM.
“Girls, this is the song I’ve decided you’ll be performing for your next monthly assessment,” she says. “ ‘Problem’ by Ariana Grande and Iggy Azalea.”
There’s a squeal of excitement. “Daebak!” says Binna.
Aram looks horrified. “Another song in English? We already did ‘Worth It’ last month.”
“Well, since it’s our American friend’s first assessment, I figured we should do something in her comfort zone,” says Manager Kong.
Aram flashes me a stunningly beautiful glare. I bow apologetically, but I have to admit, I’m relieved.
“Now, this song has a very challenging vocal line, and because it’s so energetic, the dance will also have to be hard-hitting,” says Manager Kong.
Oh, snap. Stupidly, I haven’t been thinking about the possibility of singing and dancing at the same time, even though that’s literally what being a K-pop idol is all about.
“That said,” says Manager Kong, “who wants to be Center?”
Four hands immediately shoot up in the air. I notice that the girls cover their armpits in a show of modesty.
“Candace, you’re not interested?”
I shake my head. I know from Imani that the Center is extremely important. They should embody the essence of the song in some indefinable way. In an MV or live performance it’s the Center’s face that’ll be the camera’s focus at the beginning and end. But I have exactly zero confidence that I can carry a performance of this or any song.
“Really. Huh,” says Manager Kong.
I keep my eyes down and shake my head again.
“Suit yourself. Binna, you were Center for ‘Worth It,’ so let’s give someone else a turn. Aram, you were just complaining about the English, so put your hand down. Helena and JinJoo, let’s have a sing-off to decide.”
I lean forward; I’m eager to hear what these girls can do. Helena and JinJoo jump to their feet to sing a line from the hardest part of the song, the pre-chorus. Helena’s voice is clear as a bell, but she cheats by switching to falsetto on the high notes. JinJoo sings the same line, but much more powerfully. She has a thick Korean accent, but her voice is money, a cool throwback to old-school diva vocals, like Christina Aguilera or Mariah Carey in her prime.
“Wahh, I think Ariana suits JinJoo really well,” says Manager Kong. “JinJoo, let’s make you Center this time.”
JinJoo does a happy dance. Helena looks pissed.
“Candace,” says Manager Kong, “let’s hear you sing the same line. Just so we know what we’re working with.”
I feel the pinpricks of cold sweat breaking through the skin of my armpits. Other than at my audition, I’ve never actually sung in front of strangers before. Besides, I’m so used to singing at barely above a whisper in my room; with an Ariana song, you have to go full volume or go home. I stand up, hiding my trembling hands behind my back. Here goes. I squeeze my eyes shut and let loose on a song I’ve heard millions of times but have never actually sung.
I open my eyes to everyone making an O shape with their lips. Binna, JinJoo, and even Aram slow clap. Helena looks more pissed than ever.
“Daebak, this is why I picked you, Candace,” says Manager Kong, giving me a thumbs-up.
A nuclear blast of heart-eye emojis detonates in my brain as I sit back down. Manager Kong assigns the rest of the roles on the whiteboard.
I can’t describe how giddy I feel seeing my name up there with assigned roles—I remind myself that “Main” is above “Lead” in K-pop language, which is super confusing, but still, being part of a real singing group is thrilling. This is how Tommy must feel being on sports teams.
My giddiness flames out fast, though, because Manager Kong says we should focus on figuring out the dance before adding vocals.