Page 3 of Teach Me K-Pop

I helped him brush up on his English skills while he studied for his business degree, and he’d become my social director, introducing me to people, places and things I’d have never gone out to find on my own. I was grateful for him then and I still am. Despite the distance between us, I would absolutely call him my best friend.

“To what do I owe this Friday evening surprise?” I ask. We usually schedule calls for Saturday my time—which is Sunday for him—so this Friday/Saturday situation was a little out of the ordinary. But when he’d texted me earlier and requested to chat, I’d been more than happy to adjust and see what was going on.

“We have to keep the relationship interesting, yeah? Isn’t there some saying about that?”

I pause for a moment, wondering if he’s thinking of English or Korean, but I don’t come up with anything for either. “I have no idea. Probably.”

He laughs again. “No matter. We have a debut coming up, and it’s about to get even more hectic, so I wanted to talk to you now. Check in, get proof of life.”

“Ah, yes, debut time,” I remark, only vaguely understanding what that really means. I know his life gets chaotic and stressful, and he watches a lot of charts and frets about numbers of hits on videos, but that’s not the whole story.

I was barely aware of k-pop when I lived in Korea, and I can’t say I know anything else about it now, other than the fact that Kija works for Task Force Entertainment, one of the biggest labels in the industry. I’m not even entirely sure what his role is, but having sat through many a noraebang night with him, I am positive it has nothing to do with any of the artists or making music. He’s a spreadsheet kind of guy, so I assume he does business-y things while other more creatively inclined folks take care of the actual production of songs and such.

Kija groans a little. “You know how it is. Always trying to find the next big thing.”

“Oh, definitely. I’m sure the pressure I feel to predict the next book I need to buy multiple copies of to make sure no one has to wait too long to check it out is exactly the same as you trying to plan for global domination by a boyband,” I tell him, rolling my eyes hard enough he can probably hear it.

“Girl group,” he corrects.

“My apologies.”

It’s not that I don’t support what he does or take his job seriously, I just don’t understand most of it. From what I can tell, everything about k-pop is kind of the polar opposite of the way people seem to stumble into celebrity in the western world by posting a few covers on YouTube or however it works these days. We don’t talk much about what he does, and I think that’s because he realizes I don’t get it and probably because there are crazy strict rules about basically everything related to the company. I learned that a long time ago, when I had actually asked a few questions and was told, very seriously, that he literally could not tell me, thanks to the volumes of legal documents he’d signed upon being hired.

Sometimes, I think I’m jealous of the extremely divergent paths our lives have taken. Not that we were ever in the same place, other than both being physically in Seoul for a while. Kija graduated and got picked up by Task Force and has steadily risen through their ranks. I came back home and got promoted from working with the under-10 crowd to hanging out with 14-18 year olds. I love my job and my students, but comparatively it’s just, well, not ascool.

As we catch up on the past couple of weeks since our last call and he shares the latest news from our friend group, including an engagement, that feeling of discontent settles a little deeper. I always wonder what would have happened if I’d stayed in South Korea or if I’d found a way to go back. I always wanted to, but had never been able to make it work on a teacher’s salary.

I could never justify spending the kind of money that trip would take—maxing out a credit card for it—while I was still paying off student loans. Kija had offered me a place to stay numerous times, and even some of his frequent flier miles during an especially pitiful period of whining. But I could never bring myself to take advantage of his generosity, hoping I’d be able to pull it off on my own someday. The tutoring that I do with Korean students keeps the dream alive, allowing me to keep my language skills sharp and have some sort of connection with a place I love so much.

“Maybe you can make it for the wedding,” Kija suggests.

I huff a little, like I always seem to do when one of the other guys we used to hang out with comes up. We exchange messages sometimes, but none of them keep in contact like Kija. “I mean, Dae-Ho would have to invite me first, but yes, that would be a great reason to get back.”

“We already talked about you, so assume you’ll be making the trip,” he informs me.

I’m more than a little pleased to know that. “Guess it’s time to look into that strip club downtown and see if they’re hiring if I have to start saving for a plane ticket.” I laugh, only half joking. I’m pretty sure getting naked for cash would go against the school district’s personnel policies about public behavior, but I am definitely going to have to think about where that money is coming from.

Kija legitimately snorts at the suggestion. “I’m sure the locals would love to see that, but I may have a better offer.”

“I already told you, Kija, I am not going to volunteer to let people practice hapkido on me. I don’t think I can get paid to get tossed around like a ragdoll.”

“Which is unfortunate, because I assume there would be a fairly large audience willing to donate money to watch that,” he comments. “But I was wondering if you’d be willing to take on another student. He’s not really looking for lessons; he’s been studying on his own. I think he just wants to feel more confident in conversation.”

“Um. Maybe? I can probably find some time a couple of days a week,” I manage. The idea of taking on another client feels exhausting on top of my already crazy schedule.

I know he hears the hesitation in my voice, because the next thing he offers is an hourly rate that’s over quadruple what I normally make per session. I can only guess that this must be because the person is an absolute asshole and has already burned through all their other options. “That much… just to talk. This isn’t some sort of undercover video sex thing, right?”

The sound that comes from the other end of the line is something between a laugh and a shout. “You are probably the last person I’d try to convince to do virtual sex work. I just thought you could probably use the money. And the social interaction.”

I’m not sure which part of that I should be most offended by.

We talk a little bit longer—I ask him to describe in explicit detail the last meal he ate at my favorite restaurant in Seoul because I miss legit Korean food so badly I regularly dream about it, and he tells me about a member in one of the groups that he’s pretty sure has a crush on him. I share Rae’s assessment of my not-hockey-player- not-dad-bod, and he laughs so hard he may actually have teared up a little.

As we hang up, I’m feeling especially grateful for him—his friendship and presence in my life. For as long as I’ve known him, Kija has always been thoughtful and always looked out for me, and I appreciate that he continues to try to help me however he can. Even if this new client is a total douchebag, I’m going to trust that Kija knows what he’s doing by setting me up with him.

CHAPTER TWO

JASE

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