“They’re lucky to be so close to Jason,” Red Bow says, shaking her head. “But honestly, DB should have picked someone else. These girls aren’t even pretty enough to make up for their lack of talent.”

I’ve had enough. “I don’t think I want to go on this ride anymore,” I say, tears threatening to leak out and ruin my makeup. The girls are so absorbed in their conversation that they don’t even notice as I duck out of line, Jason chasing after me.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says. I’m walking so fast he has to jog to keep up with me. He catches hold of my elbow. “Is everything okay?”

Is he serious?

“Do you really have to ask? Didn’t you hear what those girls were saying?”

He nods sympathetically. “Yeah. It’s tough hearing other people’s opinions about your performance. It never really gets easier.” He puts an arm around my shoulder and steers me toward the food stalls. “But I know what’ll cheer you up. Caramel popcorn!”

Huh? I blink, thrown off by how quickly he’s moved on from what those girls said. Doesn’t he understand—it’s not about their opinions; it’s about how sexist and inappropriate they were being, gushing over Jason and shitting all over me and Mina. I open my mouth to say something but close it again when I see how hard he’s trying to cheer me up, talking excitedly as he orders the biggest bucket of caramel popcorn on the menu. So far it’s been the perfect day, and I don’t want to ruin it. This is our first official date, after all.

So I swallow my words and grab the popcorn instead.

* * *

“I need to introduce you to the other woman in my life.”

“Sorry, what?”

Later that night Jason and I are strolling around a quiet neighborhood that I’ve never been to before—and where he swears no one will recognize us even after we wash off our faces. He leads me into a pojangmacha where the owner, an ahjumma wearing a matching red apron and hairnet, is serving up odeng, tteokbokki, mini kimbap, and soju. The air inside the small red-tented bar is thick with the cozy smells of classic Korean street food, and my stomach rumbles as I inhale deeply.

“Ah, my favorite customer,” the ahjumma says brightly, coming forward to pinch Jason’s cheeks. “You haven’t been to see me in weeks! You look too skinny.”

“Ahnyounghasaeyo,” he says, bowing. He halts, looking at her face incredulously. “Eemo, I swear, you’re getting younger every time I see you. What’s your secret? If you keep going on like this, your tent is going to be filled with handsome young boys asking you out on dates.”

She laughs, ushering us onto a pair of plastic stools and handing us a plate of tteokbokki and steaming skewers of odeng. “Ah, you flatter me. Go on, then, eat with your pretty girlfriend.”

Jason winks at me before turning back to her. “Girlfriend? You think she’s my girlfriend? Oh, Eemo, you hurt me! You know I only have eyes for you.”

She rolls her eyes. “Aigoo, silly boy. I know what you’re after.” She reaches for a platter of tuna kimbap—the roll bursting at the seams with spicy canned tuna fish, perilla leaves, imitation crab sticks, yellow radish, carrots, eggs, spinach, and burdock root—and lowers it ceremoniously onto our table. “Now eat, you two.” She gives Jason a warm smile before returning to her spot behind the makeshift counter.

I take a huge bite of odeng, the fish cake filling me with warmth from head to toe. Jason grins. “What do you think? It’s the best, right? Try the kimbap next. It’s the best in Seoul.”

I smile back and nod. But even with the warmth of the odeng, I still can’t forget what happened at Lotte World. It wasn’t just about what the girls said. It was Jason’s reaction to it. Or rather, his nonreaction. I shake my head and take another bite of odeng. Forget it, Rachel. Just enjoy the day. Don’t make this into a thing.

“Ahjumma!” a voice at the table next to us yells. “Another bottle of soju!”

Jason and I glance over in the direction of the voice. Three girls are sitting around a table eating plates full of dalkbal and gyeran mari, but one of them is clearly wasted, chugging soju straight from the bottle, her delicately polished seashell-swirl nails digging into the green glass.

I freeze. Where have I seen those nails before?

Seventeen

I remember right before we moved to Seoul, I took Leah to the ice-cream shop down the block from our apartment. It was winter, and Umma thought we were going across the street to the library, but Leah had begged for “one last ice cream to remember New York by,” and I had given in like I usually did. We had only a few minutes before Umma expected us back, but Leah ordered the largest cone they had and gobbled it up instantly, strawberry ice cream smearing all over her face.

This is the image that flashes to mind as I watch Kang Jina jam a piece of dalkbal in her mouth, the spicy sauce dribbling down her chin. She’s chewing so ferociously I can almost feel the crispy snap! of boneless grilled chicken feet—more delicious than any chicken wing New York could ever dream of—between her teeth. She washes it down with a swig of soju, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her two friends sitting across from her try to slow her down, but she swats them away. I can’t quite believe it, but it’s definitely her.

“Is that…?” Jason’s voice trails off, his shocked expression mirroring my own.

At that moment, Jina turns her head and looks right at me. Or more like right through me—her soju-weary eyes seem to be having a hard time focusing on anything around her. One of her friends tries to take the bottle out of her hand, and she snaps, “It’s mine! You can’t take it away.” Her eyes are wild now as she scans the room, and her gaze falls on Jason. She rises from the table, the bottle slipping out of her hands with a clatter, her eyes swinging back to me as she sways toward us like a drunken tiger.

“You,” she says, pointing a finger at me, her speech slurred. “I know you. Rachel Kim. You look like you’re on a date. Didn’t I warn you about dating?”

At this, she jabs a thumb in Jason’s direction. He raises his eyebrows in confusion, eyes swiveling between me and Jina. I have no idea how to respond, so I do the first thing that comes to mind. I pull out a chair.

“Please sit down,” I say. “How are you? Have you… been well?”

She lets out a bark of laughter. “Oh please. Don’t give me that pity bullshit. I know you know I got kicked out of DB. The whole fucking world knows. Or no, I’m sorry.” She flops down onto the chair, crossing her legs and nearly falling off before regaining her composure and smiling widely. “I ‘chose not to re-sign.’ ” She makes air quotes with her fingers. “That’s the story they’re telling everyone, isn’t it?”

My brow furrows. “What do you mean that’s the story they’re telling?”

“Come on, Rachel,” Jina says, the smile wilting off her face. “You of all people must know how two-faced the K-pop world is. DB controls everything about our lives, and all of a sudden I’m the one who can’t handle this lifestyle? Everything I ever wore or ever said or ever did was because they told me to! All this shit”—she flashes up her fancy nails, her voice rising—“the expensive clothes, the makeup, the beauty products, it’s all so DB can turn us into whoever they want us to be, make us look perfect for public consumption. And they’re saying I’m the one who’s a diva?”