Page 1 of Teach Me K-Pop

?? - INTRO

NIKKO

one year ago

Iam still laughing at Ryo-hyung’s disgusted expression as I perch myself on the seat next to him. Tang-hyung slides in on his other side and fills out the second row of chairs that have been set up for us. I’m glad I was not the one who had to drink the nasty concoction the show had waiting for the challenge’s losing team.

At this point, I think we’ve seen every possible kind of game and punishment these international entertainment series have been able to come up with. Before we debuted, I would have never imagined some of the things we have been asked to do in front of an audience. Or that we’ve agreed to all of them. But we do it for the fans, because we know they are watching. Because we can give them these peeks into our personalities in different ways as we try all the crazy ideas the production teams throw at us.

Chita-hyung is sitting closest to the host of the show, the way he always does as the leader of the group and our main English speaker. Settling in easily, he answers a few questions on his own before translating the next one for the group to chime in. Lalo-hyung is also near fluent, but he doesn’t have the same kind of patience and easygoing banter that Chita does in these situations, so he chooses to let his language skills stay a fairly well-hidden secret. The rest of us know some basic words and sentences, enough to introduce ourselves and say a few things that pass as polite responses to simple inquiries.

I space out a little, looking over the outlines of people in the studio audience, their details difficult to see under the bright lights. I’m only half listening to the conversation Chita and the red-haired host are having, so their words sound mainly like white noise to me.

I recognize a few of the phrases here and there. The ones that get repeated most often, either from Chita or Lalo, or the reporters asking the same questions over and over. We joke on the way to interviews, taking bets about which easily searchable things we’ll be asked this time—what five seconds of internet searching could have told anyone. The stuff our fans know already and are just as tired of hearing as we are of answering.

When I turn my attention back to the host—who is cackling about something—I don’t catch any of what she has said, but I notice the change in Chita and Lalo’s body language immediately. I see the way Ryo and Tang glance at each other and I know they’re aware of it, too. Chita’s shoulders square, his jaw subtly clenching, while Lalo stiffens, careful to not give away just how much he picked up on. Whatever the host has asked, they don’t like it. Whether the question was inappropriate or just dumb, it put them both on edge.

I hate that I don’t know what just happened, that I can’t understand this sudden tension. Chita has been known to incorrectly translate things he doesn’t want us to have to deal with, so it is not always possible to get the truth from him if he is feeling protective. I appreciate the way he looks out for us, but it bothers me that he carries so much of the burden on his own.

It’s been weighing on me lately, this feeling that I don’t contribute as much as I would like. As much as I think I should. I want to be helpful, to always do my share. That is why the group works as well as it does, why we have been able to accomplish what we have.

“Nikko. Jibjunghada.” Ryo-hyung elbows me, calling my focus back to the host who is asking us—through Chita’s translation—if we prefer Korean girls or foreign girls.

I want to roll my eyes—there is no good way to answer a question like that. And it’s certainly not possible for me to be honest. I would love to be able to say that I don’t prefer girls at all, but I smile and reply with a version of the truth. “Modeun yeoseongeun areumdapda.”

Chita-hyung nods in agreement. “He says all women are beautiful.”

“And that’s why he’s such a charmer!” the host exclaims.

Smiling, I duck my head as though I am being extra shy, knowing it will come off as cute and likely keep her from circling back around to directly ask me anything else.

I pretend to listen to the rest of the interview, trying to pick out the English words she uses before Chita translates them back to us. I don’t get nearly as many as I would like to. The lack of understanding frustrates me, making me feel inferior and unintelligent. It does not help that I know there are people who perceive us that way—as if the language barrier was somehow indicative of our talent or worth as artists.

We spend hours and hours practicing the pronunciation of every English word that goes into our songs, after we learn the meaning and how it contributes to the lyrics. But I know it’s not enough. I feel like I should have learned more, even if I’m not sure when that would have been possible. It was not a focus during our formal education, and in our time as trainees we were spending 18 hours a day practicing—rehearsing choreography until we could barely stand and singing until our voices gave out. I have been working since I was barely a teenager; there was just no time.

Chita is already multilingual, skilled in Japanese and Russian, as well as English. I know as the group’s leader he feels the most responsible for communicating. Lux and Ryo have never shown much interest, and Tang claims he can get everything he needs to know from listening to American rap.

But I want to learn. Ineedto learn in order to do the things I hope to do. I want to be confident no matter where we are performing or who we are talking to. To not shy away from the microphone at awards shows. To be able to seriously pursue a solo album one day. I feel like so many important things looming in my future, just out of my reach, are dependent on this one thing. I know that I have to study English more to be able to present myself to the world the way I wish for everyone to perceive me.

I want to be able to stand on my own and not rely on someone else to speak for me.

CHAPTER ONE

JASE

“What about Mr. Kitson?”

I pause, mid-step, hesitating between the rows of books. I’m assuming they don’t realize I’m here or they wouldn’t be talking about me. Although, with that particular group of girls, I’m not sure it would matter. They’re library regulars and we have a good rapport, so now I’m all kinds of curious about the current topic of discussion and how I play into it.

“I mean, like, not no?” I can tell that’s Lizzie, but I have no idea what she’s saying means.

“He’s not Russian hockey player hot, but more like whatever comes between dad-bod anddaddy.”

Thanks, Rae. At least, I think that was a compliment.

Deciding that’s more than enough eavesdropping onthatconversation, I move on to shelve the American history books that were the whole reason I came out here. Normally, I’d let my assistant put the books back and make sure everything was in order, but sometimes I feel like I need to spend more time in the stacks to remember what’s here and where it’s at so I can help the students better. Or at least that’s what I’d tell someone if they asked—not that I’m just trying desperately to stay awake and thought I’d do some shelving to get moving in hopes of perking up. There’s also a little part of me that just doesn’t want to leave a full cart for Brenda when she comes back tomorrow, because even though it’s literally part of her job, I can picture the hostile stare she’d toss my way, and truthfully, she kind of scares me sometimes.

Slipping everything back into its rightful spot is always soothing in that oddly satisfying kind of way, like watching those videos on YouTube. Squishing all the volumes together and aligning them equidistant from the edge of the shelves might well be one of the most underrated facets of librarianship. Sure, helping the students is great and promoting reading is vital to creating well-rounded adults and all, but the organization and aesthetics just can’t be beat sometimes.

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