Page 5 of I'll Be the One

I jump forward and begin moving with the beat.

Chapter Three

DANCE ALWAYS HAS A FUNNY EFFECT ON ME.One moment, I’m all jittery and anxious about being onstage, and in the next moment, it’s like someone has turned off all sections of my brain except the parts that control my muscles and ears. I’m the music and I’m the confident, bold movements of my arms and legs. Nothing else.

I’ve never rehearsed this choreography onstage before, but I adapt quickly, taking full advantage of the space by stomping and sashaying across the wooden surface. I pump my arms up and down to the beat of the girl-group power song I chose as my accompaniment. Instead of hearing my heartbeat, Ifeelit, like my chest is about to explode with energy that flares up inside of me from head to toe.

The crowd is completely silent at first. Shock and confusion flash across people’s faces. But as I enter the chorus, a few and then a whole lot of people start cheering me on, until soon, the noise of the crowd is a deafening roar that only adds to theflames burning within me. I catch a glimpse of the guys who’d snickered at me just a few minutes ago. They aren’t laughing now. They’re still gawking, but they look more like they’re about to have a heart attack.

I’m just about to wrap up my routine when Park Tae-Suk raises his hand.

The music cuts short. I recover quickly, sliding into a resting position so I’m standing on both feet. I’m panting and sweaty, but I directly meet the judges’ gazes as I wait for them to speak.

I don’t have to wait long. Park Tae-Suk sits back in his seat and picks up his mic.

“Miss Shin,” he says in Korean. “When did you first begin dancing?”

His face is completely expressionless, so I don’t have the slightest bit of idea about what he thought of my performance.

“I’ve been dancing since I was three,” I say after a stagehand gives me back my mic.

Park Tae-Suk raises his eyebrows. “Impressive. And are you going to sing for us next?”

I nod.

I grip my mic tightly as I look out into the audience. I have everyone’s attention now. Countless faces look back at me with varying expressions of mockery and awe.

The piercing opening notes of my accompaniment flood the auditorium. In contrast to my dance piece, which was fast and explosive, this music is a slower song that I specifically chose toshow off my vocal range. Slow songs are always a gamble, but I made sure to pick an interesting song, a Korean rock anthem from the eighties that starts soft but gets loud and powerful in the chorus.

The moment they hear the opening notes, the older members of the audience sit up in their seats, their faces lighting up with recognition. Again, Park Tae-Suk raises his eyebrows. Bora doesn’t react, but Gary gasps, leaning forward in his chair.

I first heard my audition piece when Dad was drunkenly singing karaoke at one of our many family parties. He couldn’t reach any of the high notes but tried his best all the same, so he ended up sounding like a dying pterodactyl. It wasn’t that Dad is a bad singer—he was actually the best among the people at the party—it was that this song is so freakin’ hard, since it was originally sung by one of the greatest heavy metal legends in Korea.

Unlike Dad, I can reach all the notes. Or at least, I could when I rehearsed this song over the last few months. Although my heart starts to thump loudly in my chest again, I’m determined to sing this song just as well—if not better—as I did in the practice rooms at school.

As I sing, the expectant faces of the crowd fade away, replaced by all those years of going to choir events with Mom. Singing is the one thing Mom has supported me in throughout the years. She actually shows up to all of my choir concerts and even signed up to be the choir booster mom, which is astark contrast to how, aside from the first few ballet recitals, she never went to a single one of my dance events in the last thirteen years.

I almost wish my momdidn’tcome to my choir events, though, because whenever she comes, she always makes these little remarks like, “You know, maybe it’s a good thing that you’re a bit on the large side. Like Adele! The additional girth must really help with the singing,” and, “Honey, God gave you a big body for a reason. Maybe you should consider quitting dance and just stick with choir instead.”

I never have the courage to actually speak up against Mom, because I know from experience that she’ll come back with another hurtful comment. I’ve gotten in the habit of saying “mhm” over and over again until she stops talking, even though every word she says feels like a sharp needle piercing my skin.

Enough.I bring myself back to the present. I take a deep breath and let my voice take flight, so it soars above the thundering guitar and drums of my instrumental accompaniment. Fueled by the frustration and hurt I felt during all those conversations with Mom, I not only reach but blast through the high notes, like I was born to sing this song.

The crowd gasps. From where I’m standing onstage, I can see people staring back at me, transfixed. Some are even crying.

I’m about to close my eyes and fully immerse myself in the music when I catch sight of camera flashes coming fromthe crowd. But it isn’t me that people are taking pictures of. Instead, they have their phones locked on Henry Cho, who’s staring at me from where he sits in the audience.

They’re taking pictures of himwith the flash on. Duringmyaudition. Rude.

Despite the people around him, Henry’s attention is 100 percent focused on me. His eyebrows are knit together in a slight frown, and his eyes look so sad, like he’s fully immersed in the emotions of my song. When our gazes meet, I look away, my face flaring up in an undeniable blush.

Park Tae-Suk raises his hand. The music cuts short again, and I refocus my attention to the judges’ faces.

Gary Kim is beaming. Park Tae-Suk and Bora, however, are still stone-faced.

I squeeze my hands into fists. It’s the end of my audition. If they’re not reacting positively now, it probably means that I didn’t do well.

“Wow!” says Davey, popping onstage to stand in front of me. “That was an amazing performance. Everyone, please give another round of applause for Skye!”

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