Page 19 of I'll Be the One

Sally nervously glances back at the closed door of the facial room before whispering, “Don’t tell her I showed you these, okay? She usually only opens this folder after she’s had some wine after a particularly exhausting day.”

She clicks on the folder, and then on one of the first image files. It’s simply labeled “03_15_1989.”

I have to blink a couple of times to believe what I’m seeing.

“Is that...”

“Yup, your mom,” Sally says. “She was fat, like you.”

The girl in the photo looks like a miniature version of me. She’s a bit younger, maybe twelve or thirteen, and she’s shorter, too. But other than that, she’s a dead ringer for me. Or, I guess, I’m a dead ringer for Mom. And she’s beaming at the camera while happily lounging at the beach in her swimsuit.

Mom’s rail thin now, so skinny that you can clearly see her collarbone and ribs. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile like that. Not in person.

“Whathappened?” I flip through more of the photos, just in case the first one was a fluke. But the girl is there again. And again. In one of them, she’s playing with a cute white dog, while in another, she has her arms linked with her friends in front of what must be her old middle school in Korea.

Why has Mom never shown me these?I wonder as I keep flipping. But I know why. She wanted to hide this part of herself from me. From everyone.

As I flip, I get flashes of the things Mom has said to me throughout the years.

Haneul, don’t eat so much! Think about what everyone will think of you when you’re freely eating like this. Haneul, what will everyone think if you’re wearing such tight clothing? Americans might think curves are sexy, but not Koreans. Everyone will think I’m a bad mom!

For Mom, what “everyone” thinks of me is always more important than what I want. “Everyone” could be our neighbors, our relatives, or even my friends. Regardless of who she’s talking about, she’s always scared about what other people might think of me, like everyone in our lives is scrutinizing my every move.Ourevery move.

And now, seeing Mom’s pictures makes me sad. She looks so happy in them, and I wonder what happened to make her so afraid of what “everyone” thinks of us.

“I think she was bullied in high school. Like, a lot,” Sally says, as if reading my mind. “The only time she’s talked about it was when she had a bit too much to drink, but yeah. Things were—still are—really different in Korea. The antibullying rules are more lax there, or at least, they were back in the day. And in Korea, people think the ideal weight for a young woman is one hundred and ten pounds. If you’re any heavier, people give you a hard time about it. Including family and friends.”

The photos suddenly stop.

Wordlessly, Sally navigates out of that folder and into the next one. The photos in this folder are labeled with the year, 1998. Sally clicks on the first one.

The girl with the easy smile is gone. Instead, there’s Mom in her twenties, and she’s every bit the model-thin woman with steely eyes that I’ve always known. And she’s not alone. Suddenly, Dad’s there with her, ever his goofy, smiley self. Irecognize UCLA in the background, although I know Dad went to USC.

“This must be during one of the times your dad visited your mom at her school,” Sally softly says. “She told me she hated taking photos but started liking them again after she met your dad.”

Before I can fully process everything I’ve just seen, Mom calls out, “Sally? Ms. Moon is ready to check out.”

“Crap.” Sally immediately exits out of all the folders. “Coming!”

I stare at the computer screen. In a way, I feel like how Harry Potter must have felt when he stared into the Mirror of Erised and saw his dead parents. Except, instead of my parents being alive again, my deepest desire was for Mom to understand what it’s like to be me. And of course, instead of just being some illusion, the photos I saw are real. Unfortunately.

The fact that Mom was once fat herself makes the way she treats me even worse. If she understands what it’s like, then why can’t she just let me live and be happy the way I am? Is she reallythatafraid of other people?

My phone chirps. It’s a text from Rebecca.

Is it just me or does the APUSH DBQ look IMPOSSIBLE? Hard to believe that these guys were responsible for creating our nation when their writing was so convoluted. Is this why America doesn’t make any sense???

Pushing all thoughts of Mom out of my head, I go back towork, all the more determined not to let other people treat me the way they treated her. I feel sorry for Mom, I really do. But I have my own problems and responsibilities to deal with right now. And what she went through in the past doesn’t give her an excuse for how she treats me now.

Chapter Eight

DAD IS THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE OF MOM IN HOWhe reacts to the show. On our way up to the dance studio in North Hollywood where rehearsal’s being held, he asks me about every single little thing that has to do withYou’re My Shining Star. He asks about the audition, about the judges, and even about Lana and Tiffany.

With any other parent, it’d probably feel like an interrogation, but with Dad, it feels like catching up with an old friend at a party. I know I should probably tell him about what’s been happening with Mom, but I don’t bring it up. I don’t want to ruin a good moment like this. We’re both laughing and joking around so much that it’s a wonder he doesn’t crash the car.

There’s an actual accident somewhere down the highway, so traffic is awful. I see so many people scowling behind their steering wheels, but I’m having so much fun catching up with Dad that I can’t relate. By the time he drops me off at the dance studio, I’m actually wishing the car ride was just a bit longer,so I’d have more time to talk to him before he flies back to the Bay Area tomorrow morning.

Unlike the recording studio, the dance studio looks modern, even from the outside. It’s shaped like a cube and painted bright orange. The parking lot is full, so I know I’m late even before I run into the building to find Mr. Park and Bora waiting for me with their tablets.

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