Somewhere Only We Know(54)

“Are you allergic to dumplings?”

I looked at the plump row of sheng jian bao she was pointing to. “Mmm, no, I love these.”

“Good! They’ll go perfectly with stinky tofu!” Lucky ordered some and I caught a whiff of the pungent tofu before I saw it on the menu.

Lucky was such an adventurous eater that she made me feel like a conventional bore. And maybe I was, to an extent. Today was the first day I’d run around the whole city like this. Everything was so much more fun through her eyes. She soaked in every experience, every molecule of it.

We grabbed a few other eats—a stick of fried pork intestines, curry fish balls, and egg tarts.

“Let’s go find a spot to sit,” I said, trying to balance all the food in my arms. A few minutes later we came across a group of low tables with colorful plastic stools scattered around them.

We were surrounded by people, but no one was paying any attention to us. Lucky was relaxed; the disguise seemed to be working. I wished we had thought of it earlier. We ripped into our feast messily with our bare hands, using almost the entire box of tissue paper that had been placed in the middle of the table.

“So. I have some questions,” I finally said as she finished inhaling some pork intestine. I figured the best time to get answers was when she was full and happy.

She nodded. “I’m sure you do.”

I leaned forward on the small table, our knees touching, my elbows pushed close to her. “Why are you doing this?”

“Eating pig innards?” A smirk.

Despite wanting to lunge across the table and kiss that smirk off her face, I resisted. Stick to the story. “Lucky.”

“Jack.” She moved her arm across the table and stuck her index finger into my cheek. Making a dimple. “Our names both have ck sounds in them.”

“Wow, you’re really avoiding the question,” I said with a laugh, her finger still poking into my cheek.

She pulled away. “I know. I wasn’t sure why I was doing this at first. But now, I think the simple answer is … because I want to?” The noises around us grew louder and I could barely hear her. So I scooted closer. She smiled and scooted closer, too. “Yeah, I wanted to. Today’s my last day before everything.”

“Everything? Because you’re going to be on The Later Tonight Show?”

She raised an eyebrow. “So you know about that?”

Heat flooded my face and I could only nod in response.

“Yeah, The Later Tonight Show. The everything of becoming a Western K-pop star. If I succeed, it’s going to be next level crazy. The stuff that I find intense about my current situation is only going to get so much worse,” she said, her words picking up speed. “And if I fail? That’ll stop the Lucky train right in its tracks. Poof goes the top spots everywhere, endorsements dropped, my managers will move on to the next shiny thing.” It was pouring out of her. Everything. The entire story.

Her stool scraped against the ground, her body moved back. Giving space to all the words.

I clasped my hands under my chin. “So, first. Let’s assume you succeed wildly. What’s so nuts about your current situation? Other than the fact that you’re some huge star. I don’t know much about K-pop.”

A long time passed before she answered. “My life is not my life.” That soundbite, Jesus. Perfect. Her expression grew stony. “My life is scheduled down to the minute. It’s been that way since I was a kid. Because it was what I wanted to do, I was happy to forgo the normal kid things for it. But I thought, at one point, I’d get a break. I keep thinking, When I get this, or that, or reach some other thing, I’ll have that freedom. But it never comes. And I’m freaked out that it never will.” Her voice cracked and her posture tensed.

I reached over the small table and tugged on her sweatshirt sleeve. Reaching for her. She instantly came in closer, pushing her hand out of the sleeve to hold mine. Like a reflex.

We were so into each other it was ridiculous. It never failed to surprise me every time I noticed it.

“I’m sorry,” I said. It was the only thing I could say. And I meant it. About her life, the difficulty of it. And for today. For the lies I told, for the lies I was still going to tell.

She took a deep breath. “And it isn’t only that. It used to be so fun for me. But somehow, even though I’m doing the same thing—recording albums, doing concerts, videos, et cetera—it’s changed. I don’t like it that much anymore.” Her hands left mine and picked up a tissue, twisting it into a skinny rope. “I know I’m an ingrate to complain. This was my dream, what’s my problem?”

“It was your dream?” I asked. I realized I had no idea how she got into this. Why she did it. The church choir subtext only told me part of the story.

“Yeah, my parents didn’t make me do it or anything. Every K-pop star you see out there? We’re the same. Incredibly obsessed with becoming a performer since we were young. So, I trained for years as a kid, then auditioned. K-pop labels have satellite offices or auditions in other countries to find talent. They came to LA and I was determined to make it,” she said, smiling at the memory. “Believe it or not, I’m a ham.”

“Super hard to believe.”

She kicked me playfully under the table. “Anyway. I drove my parents crazy with the obsession but they supported me, ultimately. They paid for vocal lessons, dance class, drove me around the city, and came to every meeting once I got signed. The day I got signed was … wow. It was a dream and I felt like, well, the luckiest girl in the world.”