Page 10 of I'll Be the One

“People watch that show all over the world, not just in the United States and Korea,” Mom continues like I never said anything. “Does it really not bother you that everyone will see you dance with your arm flab shaking all over the place and your belly jiggling like Santa Claus? The least you could—”

Something clatters loudly onto the floor and Sally gasps, “Omo!”

When Mom and I turn to look at her, she sheepishly grins. “Sorry.”

A glass lies shattered by her feet. Water’s splashed all over the floor, and some of it seeps into Mom’s plush rug.

“Sally, be more careful! Are you hurt at all?” Mom’s attention immediately focuses on Sally, momentarily forgetting about me.

“I’m fine,” Sally replies. “Sorry, Ms. Kang, I’ll clean everything up right now.”

When she walks past me to get paper towels from the bathroom, Sally gives me a wink. I shoot her a grateful look.

Mom, oblivious to our little exchange, bends down and says, “Here, let me help.”

As they clean up the mess, I slowly exhale, feeling like I can finally breathe again for the first time since Mom started talking. I get up to help too but Mom shakes her head at me.

“We’re done,” she says. “It wasn’t that big of a mess. I’d rather you worry about the things that actually matter, Haneul. Likethat competition. Is it too late for you to call them and ask them to pull the footage?”

Sally freezes from where she’d just thrown the glass shards into the trash can. I pause too, wondering where this is coming from. Can’t Mom just let this go? But of course, she can’t. She’s my mom. And I know exactly what kind of person she is.

“I don’t want them to pull the footage,” I say. “I think I did great. And I got in, for both singinganddance. Ifsomepeople can’t see past what I look like to see how good I am, it’s on them.”

“Well, honey, just because you got in, it doesn’t mean they have to use your footage.”

I abruptly turn to face her. “They do, Mom. They always use the footage for the people who get in. They’re only accepting the top one percent of thousands of people auditioning this year. Can’t you just be proud that I made it?”

I don’t mention the fact that most of those thousands of people were weeded out during the preliminaries, which I couldn’t have auditioned for without Dad. The last thing I need is for Mom to get mad at Dad because of me.

“I—” Mom starts, falters, and then tries again. “Iamproud of you. I just think you should care more about how you look. Do you really not care that people might make a laughingstock out of you?”

I think about the hours I spent in front of my bathroom mirror this morning. Today was a special occasion, but there wasa time when I used to always spend several hours in front of the mirror, wishing I could “fix” myself. Every time I looked, something seemed off about me. But I could never tell what. It wasn’t just that I wanted to be skinnier and prettier, like Mom wanted me to be. Everything seemedwrong. I cared so much about how I looked that nothing was okay.

When I steel myself to talk again, my voice is low. “Caring more about how I look is the last thing I need right now. And if people want to laugh at me, well, let them. I’m still going to win. I’m going home. You don’t have to write me a note if you don’t want to. We’re allowed one unexcused absence.”

I’m almost out the door when I hear a scribbling sound from behind me.

“Here,” Mom says. “Use this as an excuse letter. And don’t be ridiculous. I’m done for the day, so I’ll drive us home in a bit. You can go wait by the car.”

She holds out a piece of paper with her signature on it like it’s a peace treaty.

I take it, unsure what to say except, “Thanks.”

“Have you eaten yet?” Mom asks all of a sudden. It’s such a complete one-eighty from the way she was fat-shaming me just moments before that I need a few seconds to recover. Asking if someone’s eaten is a common way for Korean people to show we care for one another, but it feels so out of place in this current moment.

“No,” I say. “I will when we get home.”

“All right. You really shouldn’t skip meals, Haneul. We’renot in North Korea. Think about how lucky you are compared to the poor, starving children.”

“Okay,” I say through gritted teeth. That’s the frustrating thing about Korean moms. One moment, they’re telling you that you need to lose weight, and the next, they’re shaming you for not eating.

Mom gives me a small nod before closing the door.

Chapter Five

“SO, DID SHE TELL YOU TO DROP OUT OF THEcompetition?” Dad asks as I walk to school the following Monday.

I have my earphones plugged into my phone, and I’m FaceTiming Dad like I do every Monday morning before school. Luckily our neighborhood is pretty quiet, so I’ve never gotten hit by a car or come even close to it. Not yet, anyway.

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