Page 9 of Wish Upon a K-Star

That last one sends a chill down my spine. I’m used to angry commenters, and this one is from a handle I recognize, HyeriTopAnti.

They regularly comment on articles about my scandals. I know Hongjoo is going to yell at me when I tell her I was reading the comments, but I flag it to show to my manager. There is a file for them now, another sad reality of my life. Will this happen the rest of my career? Having to collect the worst of the worst to make sure they don’t actually follow through with their promises? I shiver just thinking of it.

The movement pulls on my hair, still in David’s hands.

“If you don’t sit still, I might accidentally give you a mullet,” he warns.

“Sorry,” I mutter, staring at the phone.

“Sweetie, you’re not reading forbidden things, are you?”

“Not anymore,” I promise, lowering the phone to my lap.

I finally look up and his eyes capture mine in the mirror. Soft and understanding. He’s been around for the worst of it. I’ve cried too many times to count while he’s cut or dyed my hair.

“You shouldn’t do anything to mess with your own head before a broadcast,” David says in a knowing voice.

He’s right. I’m on edge as it is. Being back at one of the big arenas makes me remember my year in Helloglow and how I’d get horrible stomachaches before performances. As it is, I’m regretting the tteokbokki with Sohee before coming here. It’s rolling around in my stomach right now.

It doesn’t help that every time the door opens, I jump in anticipation of a camera. Hongjoo told me there’s a behind-the-scenes crew coming by today.

But instead of cameras it’s Hongjoo. She’s short, probably only 155 centimeters. She has a sweet round face and always wears her hair back in a ponytail. She looks like she could be a kindergarten teacher. But she’s fierce. I’ve seen her put men two times her size in their place.

She hurries in, a tray of coffee drinks sloshing in her hands. Even as she jumps over a fallen paper takeout bag, she doesn’t spill them. Hongjoo would never let coffee spill.

“David,” Hongjoo says, handing him a latte.

He grins and gives her a smacking kiss on the lips in thanks. “When can we finally register our marriage, Hongjoo-yah?”

She rolls her eyes. “If you were interested in women, I would do it in a heartbeat.”

“Oh, what could have been,” David muses, then winks at me in the mirror. I can’t help smiling. Hongjoo and David love to pretend to flirt to pass the time.

Hongjoo hands me my iced Americano before pulling out a vanilla latte for herself. I can practically see the calories swimming in it, and it makes my mouth water.

You had your cheat snack, I remind myself. One that would give Hongjoo a heart attack if she heard about it.

To slightly appease myself, I take a sip of my Americano. No sugar added. The bitter drink does the opposite of what I hoped.

“And then sound check in thirty, okay?” Hongjoo is saying.

Shoot, I did it again. Got lost in my own meandering thoughts. I chirp out a quick reply. “Okay.”

“Hyeri, you have to pay attention.” Hongjoo knows me too well for me to hide anything from her.

“Sorry, Eonni.”

She shakes her head before continuing to read off the schedule. “After sound check you can come back here and finish your hair and makeup. Did you tell them what you wanted to order for lunch?”

“Salad with a side of salad,” I say obediently. If Hongjoo hears the sarcasm in my voice, she doesn’t react to it. She’s too used to my moods by now.

I’m lucky that Bright Star let Hongjoo remain as my manager when I moved from the idol division to the actor division in the company. Sometimes I worry she regrets agreeing to continue working with me. She’s always having to put out fires as my manager.

I close my eyes, taking eight deep breaths. Something I learned from the dance instructor at Bright Star. With each successive breath I relax a different region of my body: hands, feet, arms, legs, shoulders, neck, stomach. By the end of the exercise, I feel looser, if not better.

“Done for now,” David declares. My long hair is in careless waves. It still has pins holding my fringe in place, but I know those will stay in until right before I go out onstage. “I’ll be back before the show for final touch-ups.”

“Thanks, David-oppa.”

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