XOXO (An XOXO Novel)

In the following weeks I pour myself into practicing for the showcase, which includes extra orchestra rehearsals and hours with Sori trying to nail down our collaborative duet. We’ve perfected all the technical aspects of the piece, but when our respective advisors—my orchestra director and her dance instructor—come to critique our performance, both point out the same glaring truth: we’re not in harmony. Which isn’t surprising. It’s difficult to be in harmony when one of us is not speaking to the other.

I’m walking across the quad the Saturday before the showcase, when a familiar voice calls out my name.

I turn. “Mom?” It takes me a moment to register that she’s actually here, on campus. For the three-and-a-half months I’ve been at SAA, she hasn’t visited. I know she’s been busy, but I wish she’d found time to visit at least once.

Still, she’s here now. I walk over, smiling. “When did you arrive? You should have texted me you were coming.”

“Jenny, we need to talk.” My heart drops into my stomach. “Is there some place quiet we can sit?”

“There are tables outside the library.” I lead her to a table that faces the quad, shaded by a large tree. “I usually sit here when I have study hall, especially now that it’s warmer.”

She perches at the very edge of the circular seat.

“Can I get you anything?” I ask. “There’s a coffee vending machine—”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the opportunity to play with the Philharmonic?”

I blanch. Eunbi must have told her. I hadn’t because I was still holding out that the showcase would go so well that I wouldn’t need the Philharmonic. I could spend one last month in Seoul, as planned.

Mom watches me, waiting for an answer.

“I didn’t think it was possible,” I lie. “School doesn’t end for another month.”

“Is it because you have a boyfriend?”

I must look startled because she says, “Your halmeoni let it slip by accident.” Standing, she brushes imaginary dirt off her skirt. “I already spoke to your teachers here at SAA, and they said you can take your finals online. And once you turn in your English and history papers, you’ll have met all the requirements for LACHSA. You can leave Seoul as early as next week, in time to audition for the Philharmonic.”

Next week? “But—but what about the showcase?”

“The showcase is next Friday, isn’t it? Your return flight isn’t until the following Sunday.”

I gape at her. “You already bought the tickets?”

“Yes. You’ll do the showcase, which Eunbi says will be pivotal for your portfolio, and then leave, like I said.”

I can’t believe this is happening. Today is Saturday. I have a little over a week in Seoul, in Korea.

“I can’t just leave,” I say. “Halmeoni still hasn’t had her surgery yet.”

“Don’t make that an excuse,” she says sharply. “She’s not your mother, she’s mine.”

“Then why aren’t you spending more time with her?” I think of Halmeoni, the last few times I’ve visited her, the sadness in her eyes. “She misses you.”

I miss you.

“I didn’t come here to argue with you. I came to tell you what our plans are moving forward.”

“What your plans are for me.” I’m getting all mixed up, my emotions making me raise my voice. My mother looks around, grimacing at the attention we’re receiving. “You’re not even asking me what I want.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to stay in Korea.”

She narrows her eyes. “Because of a boyfriend?”

“Because I love it here. I have a life here. Friends.” Family, though I don’t say that.

“Jenny.” My mom sighs, and she genuinely sounds tired. “Don’t jeopardize your future because of a few wonderful months in Seoul. I understand how new experiences can feel exciting, but they’re just temporary. Don’t prioritize short-term moments over long-term goals. I know you’re unhappy now, but once you’re back home in LA, you’ll see it was all for the best.”

I race to my dorm room and call Jaewoo the minute my mom leaves.

He doesn’t pick up, so I text him.

Where are you? I need to talk.

He texts back immediately, which means he saw my call but couldn’t answer: Sorry, I have a taping in a few minutes. I’ll call you later tonight.

At six, I text: When are you calling?

At seven, he answers: I’m sorry. We’re being rushed to another event. I can still call you though, when it’s over. It might be late.

It’s fine. I’m okay, I text back. I don’t want him to worry. Yet, even as I send the text, tears start forming at the corners of my eyes.

At eight, I hear the sound of buttons being pressed and the door unlocking. Light from the hallway filters into the room, where Sori stands backlit.

“Jenny?” she says, flicking on the light switch. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

Catching sight of my face, she drops her bags on the floor and hurries to my bed. She gathers me into her arms, as if we hadn’t been not speaking for weeks, as if none of that matters anymore. “I’m sorry. I’ve been such a brat. This must be so hard for you. It was hard for me and Nathaniel, but I knew what to expect.”

She thinks I’m crying over Jaewoo, and I am, partly, but it’s not just that.

She gently pushes back my shoulders, looking me in the eyes. “We need to get you out of this room,” she says.

I nod. Right now, I’d do anything to chase away these feelings.

“How do you feel about going to a K-pop concert?”

Is it considered cheating if you go to the concert of a boy band that’s not the idol group your boyfriend belongs to?

This is not a question I ever thought I would ask myself. Yet here I stand, outside a concert venue, staring up at the poster of nine beautiful boys.

Their group is called 95D or 95 the Dream, which apparently stands for 9 High-Five the Dream.

“I’ve seen them before,” I say. “At EBC. They were in the lobby.”

“Are there any that catch your eye?” Sori asks, her expression serious.

I point to the one in the middle, who of the nine, looks the most like someone I might meet on the street. “He’s pretty cute.”

“Jo Jisoo,” Sori says. “He used to be a trainee at Joah, but then switched companies and debuted with 95D as their youngest member. He’s cute, but he’s not my favorite. Him.” She points to the guy second from the right with red hair. “Jun-oppa. I love him.”

I turn to stare at her. Sori usually looks gorgeous, but tonight, she’s gone all out. Her hair is in a high ponytail that swings when she walks, plus a leather bustier and vinyl joggers.

“You love him,” I repeat. Just to be clear. She’s never said this about Nathaniel, who was her actual boyfriend.

“Yes, I love him.” She says the words without inflection, like she really means it. And . . . I guess when you’re a fan, you really do mean it.

I turn back to the poster, where Jo Jisoo looks at me as if, with him, I really can high-five my dreams. “Then I love Jisoo.”

When I turn back to Sori, she gives me a single nod. “Okay.”

We buy light sticks at the merch booth inside the stadium. Only then, outfitted properly, do we head into the arena, which is already packed to the rafters. Sori’s pulled some strings so our “seats” aren’t seats at all but access to the standing floor in one of the sections next to the stage. The concert hasn’t started yet, but music blasts through the speakers. On either side of the stage are huge screens showing clips from the band’s music videos. Beside me, Sori waves her light stick whenever Jun’s face appears, even if only for a quick second.

At 9:05 the lights dim and a chant rises up from the crowd.

“Nine! Five! Dream! Nine! Five! Dream! Nine! Five! Dream!”

I turn around in a complete circle, gazing up at the sea of colors in the stadium, as the light sticks, synchronized and controlled backstage, change from white to pink to baby blue.

Then the stage erupts with fire and all nine members of the band appear, as if by magic, though probably from a lift beneath the stage floor. The music starts and I recognize the song from when they performed it at Music Net. The choreography takes over and I get lost in the total, all-encompassing experience.

I don’t re-emerge until two hours later, when 95 the Dream performs their last song, called back onto the stage by the crowd for an encore performance.

“That was incredible!” I say as Sori and I stumble out of the stadium into the humid night. My heart is still racing, and it’s like I can still feel the beat of the music vibrating beneath my feet.

Pressing closer to Sori, I confess, “I think you might be the best friend I’ve ever had. I’m glad you’re my roommate.”

“Me too,” she gushes. “I’m glad you’re my roommate. I’m going to miss you so much when you go back to the States.”

“I love you, Sori. More than Jo Jisoo.”

“I love you, Jenny!” She pauses. “Not as much as Oppa, but close.”