CHAPTER SIX
JASE
“ I mean, obviously you’re going to take me, right? … Right?!” It’s the tone of indignation on the last word that makes me look up from my computer, figuring whatever comes next will have to be more interesting than the overdue fees list I’ve been staring at for the last 20 minutes.
“And me? We’re all going, aren’t we?”
“Ohmygod! It’s MY birthday! I just said I had tickets. I didn’t even say how many. Can I just have a moment with the fact that I will be in the same room with Lux?”
“Okay, but can we just talk about the fact you wouldn’t even know who he was if it wasn’t for me?”
I do my best to cover my chuckle with a cough. These kinds of conversations are some of my favorite to eavesdrop on and this trio of girls never disappoints. They’re regulars in the media center, and we’ve built a good enough relationship that I assume it will only be a few more minutes before I become part of the discussion, too.
“So, who’s going with you?” Savannah asks, dropping her bags onto a chair and looking expectantly at Harper, the ticket holder.
Alita nods. “Honestly. It’s not cool to tease us like this.”
Harper is clearly enjoying her moment of holding whatever she’s got over them and sits primly at the edge of the seat nearest to the circulation desk. Glancing over at me, she waves. “Hey, Mr. Kitson.”
“Hi, Harper. Sav, Alita, nice to see you,” I reply. “How is everyone today?”
“It’s Harp’s birthday and she’s being a b—” Savannah is abruptly cut off when Alita whacks her arm.
“That’s not how you get a ticket!” she hisses, glaring.
I actually do laugh this time, at the shock on Harper’s face and the annoyance in Savannah’s expression. People are always telling me that I have to be crazy to work in a high school, but the daily drama around here is better than any reality show I’ve ever caught a snippet of on TV.
Before anyone gets legitimately upset, I turn my attention to Harper. “Happy birthday! Do you have big plans for after school?”
She sighs, “No, my brother has a baseball game. Like, a big one or something. So we’re going to celebrate over the weekend. But whatever, it’s fine. I got my present this morning with my latte and crepes.”
A latte and crepes sound amazing in comparison to the gas station hot dog and energy drink I slammed on my drive in to work. “Was it a good one?”
“The best!” Alita exclaims, hands clasped in front of her heart like it was her gift instead.
Harper looks smug. “Yes, it is the best. I got tickets to the RYSING show! It’s not for like, another month, but it’s been sold out for like, a year, and I was so sad. But my dad scored some for me somehow and now…” she pauses for dramatic effect. “I can finally meet the love of my life.”
“Oh wow, you get to do a meet and greet?” I ask.
“Meet and greet?” Alita gasps. “I would simply expire just from being that close to Lalo.”
“I would happily die for the chance to have him smile at me,” Savannah remarks.
Alita practically swoons. “Same.”
“No meet and greet, but I wish,” Harper says. “We’re just going to lock eyes during ‘ here by now, ’ and he’ll know I’m The One.”
“Totally,” Savannah and Alita agree simultaneously, as if that scenario was actually plausible.
There’s a part of me that wishes I had that youthful optimism (or is it delusion?)—the certainty that impossible things like a celebrity crush falling in love with you could just work out.
I’m more than willing to humor her dreams for now, though. “Oh, of course. That’ll be quite a story to tell your grandkids.”
“I know, right?” Harper whips out her phone and shows me her lockscreen. “Look how beautiful he is. Our children will be gorgeous.”
“Absolutely,” I assure her, peeking at the picture of a striking man. He looks like a model, somehow both soft and sharp at the same time. The make-up he’s wearing highlights his features in a way I find so attractive that it kind of surprises me. “And what’s his name again?”
“UGH. Mr. Kitson! How do you not know who he is?!” she yelps. “I know you work in the library, but you like, leave here sometimes, right? They’re, like, the most famous group in the world .”
I feel like the Beatles or the Rolling Stones or, I don’t know, Nirvana, would have something to say about that, but I’m not going to argue with her.
Alita seems to pick up on the fact that I am still clueless and tells me, “That’s Lux, he’s in the vocal line of RYSING.”
“Vocal line? So he’s a singer? In a band.”
Savannah giggles. “Yes, he sings. In a k-pop group.”
“And you and Alita also like this Flux guy?” I gesture in the general direction of Harper and her phone again, where she’s pulled up an impressive collection of photos.
She squeaks, “ Flux guy ?!”
Alita fully turns around to hide her laughter at Harper’s offended reaction, while Savannah explains, “We’re all VOX, but we have different biases.”
I blink. Sure, I recognize all the words she just said, but have no idea what any of them mean in context of how she’s using them. “Huh?”
Harper gives me an epic eye roll and says, “Come on. Get the projection screen going. We have to broaden your horizons.”
As an educator who professes to be dedicated to lifelong learning, I feel obligated to follow the three of them across the library over to the presentation area and let Harper have access to the laptop that controls everything.
Savannah pats the table where she and Alita have just sat down, “Join us, Mr. K. Welcome to your crash course.”
Dropping into the chair, it occurs to me that I will have to tell Kija about this later. I can practically hear him laughing at the idea of me getting schooled about the industry by a group of enthusiastic teenage girls. I clap, rubbing my hands together, like this is the greatest thing that could be happening to me at the moment. “Right. Teach me k-pop.”
Alita takes a deep breath like she’s about to impart the wisdom of the ages. “Okay, so k-pop performers are known as idols. And there’s lots of different groups, but the one that we love is RYSING. Every k-pop group fandom has a name and RYSING fans are called VOX. There are six members. Four singers, two rappers. Sav and I have the same bias—”
I cut her off. “What’s a bias?”
“Like, your favorite guy. The one that you think is the hottest or cutest or that you would totally marry and have babies with,” Savannah tells me. “But you also have a bias wrecker , who kind of steals your attention and could totally still get it.”
“Don’t tell him that part!” Alita slaps at her hand. “ Anyway . So, Sav and I have the same bias, we both stan Lalo, one of the rappers—”
“Stan? What?” I interrupt again, not realizing I was going to need a whole new vocabulary for this.
Savannah sighs. “Seriously? Even my mom knows what stanning means. It’s just being a big fan—like, you’re crazy about someone. And we’re crazy about Lalo. But Harper is in love with Lux.”
“Who is the maknae,” Alita informs me.
I recognize the term, but it probably doesn’t mean the same thing here, so I prompt, “And that means…”
“He’s the youngest in the group.”
Okay, I did know that. “I guess that’s a big deal in the hierarchy?”
“Kind of?” Savannah shrugs. “It really seems like it’s only a big deal to the people who are obsessed with the maknae.”
Speaking of, I realize Harper has been shockingly quiet. I look up at the screen to see an unnecessarily large picture of the same incredibly attractive guy from her phone staring at me in what I would believe could be called a smize, and Harper gazing longingly back at it with a fondness I’ve only felt toward Noel or pizza with white sauce. “Harper?”
“Huh?” She turns toward me slowly, all starry-eyed. “Oh. Yeah. Um.” She taps on the keyboard a few times, minimizing the solo shot of the Luxury Maknae and pulling up something on YouTube.
I immediately notice the insane numbers of views—65 million, and the video is only two months old. “What are we watching?”
“This is their latest single, ‘ hand over heart ,’ and the dance break in it is WILD,” Harper says, pressing play and stepping back to take it all in.
As soon as the music starts, I’m surprised. Yes, it’s pop, but it’s edgier than I would have expected. The bass is heavy beneath the upbeat melody, and I find myself nodding along. I don’t even notice the lyrics because I can’t keep up with the video at all—there’s too much to look at, with each of the six members in some kind of individual story, making minimal screen time for any of them. I catch flashes of brightly colored hair, but that’s about it. Each of the girls squeal when their guy—their bias —shows up, but I couldn’t tell them who was who if I had to. The futuristic makeup and tinted glasses make it difficult to even get an idea of what any of them really look like.
The moment the video ends, all three of them snap to look at me, like they’re trying to gauge my reaction. “It was good,” I say, which is the truth. I could easily imagine singing along as I drove to work, gas station coffee in hand.
“That’s it? It was good?” Harper is indignant again.
I have to laugh. “I thought I was supposed to be learning about these guys, but you showed me a video where I literally cannot see any of them because of all the… What is that anyway? Are they aliens?”
Savannah groans. “ Ugh . Mr. Kitson. Seriously. It’s in the future. They’re talking about love and how it changes people .”
“Oh, of course,” I say, realizing I should have tried to follow the words more. “Wait, how do you know what they’re saying?”
“All of the videos have English translations in the captions,” Alita tells me. “But there are lots of lyrics sites that explain them, too. Plus, some of us have apps to help us learn Korean.”
“Wow. That’s incredible.” I’m honestly impressed with this level of dedication. I glance at my watch. “We have time for one more. Show me another clip where I can actually see these people you’re all twitterpated about.”
“On it!” Harper clicks away on the laptop, cueing up a new video that is distinctly different from the one we just watched from the first frame.
The song is definitely a ballad and feels lush and almost sensual compared to the other. The video itself seems dreamy, with its hazy lighting and these six very well-dressed young men strolling down the streets of some unknown city. They’re clearly supposed to be in some sort of emotional distress over the girl they’re lamenting in the verses. The members of the group remind me of every guy I ever found attractive while I’d been working in South Korea—all impossibly good-looking, and wearing smoky eye make-up better than most women. As the shots linger a little longer on each face, there’s something vaguely familiar about one of them and I can’t help but wonder if it’s possible one of my former students had somehow grown up to be a k-pop star.
It’s over before I know it, and the three of them are staring expectantly again. I honestly don’t know how they want me to respond. “That was good, too,” I say, trailing off before picking up again. “They look quite a bit younger, maybe?”
Sighing, Savannah says, “It’s a couple of years old. But it’s one of Harper’s favorites. We watch it a lot .”
“Show him a picture from the Vogue shoot they just did!” Alita shouts, then looks at me apologetically. “Sorry. That was loud. The photos are just really incredible.”
Harper’s typing again as she agrees. “Oh my god, yes! How did I not think to start there?”
Suddenly the giant screen is completely filled with a very high-definition black and white picture. It’s obvious they’re older and styled to fit the image of the magazine, but they are, honestly, breathtaking. Again, my gaze is drawn to one of them, something so familiar about his eyes.
Stepping closer, Harper points to each of them in order. “Okay, so Lux is in the center, obviously where he belongs, then from the left it’s Ryo, Chita, Lalo, Lux, Tang, and Nikko.”
Nikko.
What the actual fuck?
I know those eyes because I’ve spent hours staring at them via my computer screen, talking about everything from the weather and our favorite foods to dancing around how we seem to feel about each other.
My heart has started some kind of complicated gymnastics routine in my chest, skipping around like an Olympic hopeful, and I have never been more glad to hear the bell ring than I am right at this moment.
“We’ll be back, Mr. Kitson!” Savannah promises, as the three of them gather their bags, unaware of my current existential crisis. “You have so much more to learn!”
That seems like an incredible understatement.
???
Choi Nikko.
One-sixth of RYSING, what appears to be one of the most popular k-pop groups—if not the biggest —on the planet.
And I’ve been talking to him at least a couple of days a week for the last several months.
The irony is not lost on me that, essentially, I have a celebrity crush. I may have wanted to tease the girls about it earlier, but here I am, with all these feelings about someone that it’s obvious I don’t actually know.
As I stare at my computer screen, filled with hundreds of pictures from the image search I did of “Nikko + k-pop,” since I couldn’t figure out how to spell the group’s name at first, I can see pieces falling into place. The crazy hours, the cagey answers he’d give sometimes, his hesitancy to discuss anything that could be considered personal, and his brothers that he spoke of—the other members. It all made sense now.
Clicking on one of the photos to make it bigger, what I see still surprises me, even given all the new information. It’s a side-by-side—one photo of Nikko all made up for something and another of him “bare faced.” The accompanying text seems to be pointing out just how much product has been used, as if this was a criticism of his natural looks or the artistry that went into well-done makeup. He’s beautiful either way. I’ve seen him in various states of put-together, but always fresh-faced. The eyeliner and whatever else he’s wearing only accentuates his features.
I find myself staring at the pictures and wondering how I’m supposed to talk to him now. I know that I should act like nothing has changed, because, really, it hasn’t. He’s always been this person—a celebrity. I’m the one who has to deal with this new information. I should be professional enough to disregard it and continue speaking to him like he’s the same person, because he is. This is my problem.
And as I lose the next hour to reading article after article about RYSING, the history of the group and the members, I realize this is, indeed, a problem. I’ve missed two bells ringing, classes ending and beginning, all while I’ve been down a rabbit hole on the internet. It takes a student popping into my office—Alyx’s pink hair appearing in my peripheral vision—that alerts me to the fact that so much time has passed.
“You cool, Mr. K?” Alyx asks, taking their usual place at the circulation desk.
I have no idea how to answer that honestly, so I just smile and say, “Of course. You?”
They tell me a story about their last class and I don’t hear a word. My eyes keep straying to the headline of the article I’d been reading when Alyx popped in. I hope I’m nodding at the appropriate places as they talk, but the relief is real when they are called away by a student with a question.
Choi Nikko Announced as Brand Ambassador for Prada, Joins Group Members Jeong Iseul and Ahn Yung-Sun as Faces of High Fashion Houses
While I’d certainly never pretend like I had a clue about fashion, even I know Prada. I skim the remaining paragraphs, which seem to be more about Lalo and Lux’s liaisons with Saint Laurent and Armani, and that’s great for them, but I need to know more about Nikko.
There’s only about an hour left in my day here, and I know I’m not going to get anything else accomplished, so I tell myself this is important research to help me find common ground with my students.
By the time the final bell rings and Alyx is yelling good-bye as they wave at me through the window into my office, I have devoured an astonishing amount of content. I know a basic history of the group—all the firsts they’ve had, awards they’ve won or been nominated for, the names of their biggest hit songs—and have a vague picture of who the members are.
If I’m downloading their most recent album as I lock up and walk to my car, well, that’s just good data collection methodology.
??
As I pull into my garage, I double tap the brakes unintentionally, my foot bouncing along to the very catchy beat of ‘ Brooklyn.’ The drive gave me enough time to listen to about half of their first record— CNTRL —and I figure Noel is due for a long walk, which will let me hear the rest.
She’s waiting by the door as always, tail wagging and tippy-tappy toes greeting me. I set my bag down and scoop her up, allowing her to cover my face with kisses while I tell her how much I missed her. Outside of having allergies, I don’t understand how anyone could not be a dog person. This kind of love is impossible to resist.
I get Noel into her harness and ready to walk, aware that I’m really just biding my time until I can call Kija. I need to wait at least another three hours before it’s even remotely acceptable to call Seoul, but I will be on the phone almost immediately around the time I think he’ll be waking up. I want to know why he didn’t tell me who Nikko was, and how I’m supposed to move forward now knowing what I do.
I pop my earbuds in as we head out, and I’m grateful for the excuse to burn some energy. Noel prances along the sidewalk as I nod my head to the beat of the songs. I’m still surprised by the mix of the music—and that it’s not the generic top 40 pop that I had previously dismissed. Maybe k-pop had meant something different when I was in Korea, or maybe the newer groups had helped the genre evolve. Whatever it was, I was starting to understand the appeal. There was something almost addictive about the sound, both the rhythm and lyrics. It was easy to see why so many people loved it so much and how they might become enthusiastic fans.
Noel is panting by the time we get back to the house, and I’m basically doing the same. The peppy BPM of the soundtrack to my walk seemed to spur me on to move faster and definitely put a spring in my step that was not normally there. I drop a couple of ice cubes into Noel’s water dish and grab a neon sports drink from the fridge for myself before sending Kija a quick “I’m about to call” text, figuring I’ll be at least a little bit polite before I surprise him with an early morning ring.
I manage to wait maybe a full minute before tapping on the call button in the app.
He answers almost immediately. “Yeoboseyo. Greetings from the future. To what do I owe the pleasure of talking to you at this extremely unpleasant hour of the day?”
“Hi. I just have some questions,” I tell him. “Like, why didn’t you mention that Nikko was really fucking famous?”
There’s a pause that stretches long enough I wonder if maybe the call has dropped or he’s hung up on me. Then I hear him burst out laughing, long and loud.
I squawk, offended like one of the teenage girls from my library. “What the hell, Kija?”
“Seriously?” he asks, still obviously amused.
“Yes, seriously. I had to find out this afternoon from a few superfans,” I say. “Imagine my surprise while learning about biases that there’s probably a whole legion of women who would kill me for access to my laptop and his contact information!” It only occurs to me that it’s true as the words are coming out of my mouth.
“That is accurate,” he replies. “I knew you were kind of clueless, but I thought it would just mean you could be cool about things. I didn’t realize you actually had no idea.”
“Why would I have known?” I flip the lid from my drink and watch it roll off the counter, then clatter onto the floor and startling Noel.
“I mean, I work for the label he’s on. I told you he was an important client. I guess I figured you were smart enough to put it all together.” His voice is still amused.
“I thought he was your nephew or something!” I huff.
Kija snickers. “Jase. You know I’m an only child.”
I did know that. I’m not sure I ever even thought about how he was connected to Nikko, actually. But, then again, I never have been great about getting all the details before I jump into something.
“Is it going to be a problem?” he inquires, like he’s worried now that I’m in a snit.
“No. It’s okay. I just… it really caught me off-guard. I don’t want to make it weird for him.” I also don’t want to make it weird for me, but mentioning that seems unnecessary because I’m pretty sure Kija already thinks this whole conversation is ridiculous.
“Just keep doing what you’ve been doing and it will be fine,” Kija pronounces, like it’s just that simple.
“Sure.” What else am I going to say?
“Go make dinner or something. Some of us have to get to work. We’ll talk more later, yeah?”
I nod like he can see me. “Of course. Have a good day.”
“Jalga, Jase.”
We hang up and I wander to the pantry. Looking for something quick and easy, I snort as I reach for packets of ramen without even thinking. Seems appropriate for what I have planned for the rest of the evening.
I feed Noel and prepare the noodles, telling myself it’s healthy enough if I toss in some vegetables. Killer ramyeon is one of the many things I miss about Korea, but this will have to do for tonight. I grab my favorite pair of chopsticks—red, smuggled back home in my luggage so many years ago—and drop onto my couch, turning on the TV.
Back on YouTube, I type in Nikko’s name, and am immediately rewarded with hundreds, if not thousands, of videos dedicated to literally everything about him. “Cute Choi Nikko Habits.” “Nikko and Lalo are in LOVE.” “Nikko’s hottest thirst trap edits.” “Best Choi Nikko Dance Moments.” “Nikko being Adorable in TINY.”
I don’t understand half of what those titles mean, but damn right I’m going to watch all of them and find out.
??
Noel barks at the dog on screen, and I jump, pulled out of whatever trance I’d apparently fallen into. There’s a video playing that has one of the members running around an open field with a dog, shouting gleefully as it nips at his heels. I can’t tell who it is, but glimpsing at the title I am informed that it’s “Tang, animal lover extraordinaire.”
I didn’t click on this video. I haven’t clicked on any video in hours—instead just letting them play, one right after the other, trusting my fate to the algorithm. I don’t know what time it is, or how much content I’ve actually consumed. I’ve seen all kinds of things—from official music videos to fan-made edits that are sweet and wholesome and others that are wildly suggestive.
I have watched some compelling arguments on the various ships within the group—the pairings of members that fans think have undeniable romantic chemistry or evidence that seems to suggest they’ve at least hooked up. Nikko’s main partner in these appear to be Lalo, and I’ll admit I could see it in some of the clips. But if I had to go with my gut on any of the so-called couples, I’d think it was ChiRyo who are most likely to have actually had some kind of relationship beyond just the sibling-esque bond they all seem to share.
It makes sense to me now, the way Nikko has spoken about his brothers and his friends. It’s obvious from these moments captured on camera that they are a kind of family—that their lives are so intertwined they’re difficult to separate from one another. It’s also obvious the amount of time, effort, and practice that has gone into everything they’ve done. I’d be lying if I said I was not deeply impressed.
Glancing at the clock I realize it’s almost 3:30 a.m.
I have to be up for work in two hours.
I’m supposed to have a call with Nikko this afternoon. My stomach twists at the thought. I feel like I know him now in a way I’m not sure I’m supposed to. I wonder if he would have preferred that I stayed at a distance, away from that side of his life. He’s been careful to never mention anything that would tip me off. Is this an invasion of privacy somehow? Or crossing a line?
I don’t know if I should just tell him right away or keep it to myself. Not saying anything feels dishonest. But the idea of telling him seems worse somehow.
I’ve got 10 hours to decide.