Page 91 of XOXO

“I—yeah.” I hadn’t thought of that.

I’ve thought about how Halmeoni feels about Mom and how I feel about her, but I’ve never thought about howMom feels. It’s just that she never seems to have any feelings, which I guess is unfair. She’s a daughter too.

Maybe Icanconvince her to let me stay in Korea another month. I didn’t try because I knew how’d she answer. But maybe it’ll be different if I tell her, honestly, how I feel—thatthis is the happiest I’ve been in a long time and I feel rejuvenated, a better musician, a better person.

I’ve decided. After the showcase, I’m going to talk to her.

Beaming, I bow to Jaewoo’s mom. “See you inside!” She and Joori smile and wave me off.

Behind the auditorium, where the orchestra students are moving their instruments to backstage, I catch up with Nora, my stand partner. She’s brought my cello from the music room along with hers.

“Thanks,” I say, retrieving it.

We head inside, moving onstage from the right wings, where stagehands have already set up the chairs and stands in a half circle, with the conductor’s podium front and center.

Settled in our seats, the conductor has the first chair oboe play an A note, and we all tune our instruments to match hers.

Muffled through the closed curtains, we can hear the sounds of people in the auditorium, their voices a loud murmur.

For the hundredth time, Nora reaches out to fiddle with the music. Then silence descends. Everyone sits a little straighter in their seats. The curtain parts, and Jaewoo and Nathaniel walk onto the stage.

I’m supposed to keep my eyes on the conductor, but I can’t help gazing after Jaewoo. He’s wearing a suit perfectly tailored to his lean body, with a thin tie and classic black leather shoes. He’s let his hair grow longer in the past few weeks and though it’s mostly swept back from his face, one strand is left to dangle rakishly over his eyes.

“Jenny,” Nora hisses and I wrench my gaze from Jaewoo, focusing on the conductor who’s lightly tapping his baton against the podium.

From behind him, Nathaniel and Jaewoo begin their opening words, welcoming the audience and highlighting a few key students in the ensemble. When Nora’s name is mentioned, she stands and bows to the audience. Though Jaewoo and Nathaniel are reading from a teleprompter, their banter and lightheartedness appears natural, the audience laughing at the appropriate moments.

“And now,” Nathaniel says, “the Seoul Arts Academy Symphonic Orchestra will play Stravinsky’s ‘The Firebird.’”

The conductor raises the baton and Nora and I both lift our bows to the strings.

Twenty minutes later, I’m rushing off the stage. I have thirty minutes until my next piece, and in that time I have to change and do my hair and makeup.

In the hallway I run into Sori, who has my dress in a garment bag.

“I watched the whole performance from the back of the audience,” she says. “You were incredible.”

“It was an ensemble,” I say. “You couldn’t have picked me out.”

“No, you were incredible. Accept my compliment.” She hands over the garment bag. “Twenty-six minutes and counting.”

We rush to the bathroom. We don’t bother with the stalls, stripping down next to the sinks. She’s wearing her outfit beneath her regular clothes, so it’s just a matter of throwing them off with a magician’s flourish. She then proceeds to help me shimmy into my dress, which is a floor-length ballgown she’d had Joah’s stylist procure from the company closet. While the skirt poofs out, the top of the dress is fitted to my chest, leaving my arms and shoulders bare. She carefully gathers up all my hair and pins it into a neat ballerina’s bun to match her own. We each do our own makeup and then, turning to the mirror, we stand side by side, me in my red ballgown with rhinestones dotting the skirt, her in a red leotard with a sheer skirt, also festooned with rhinestones.

We look good; in fact, we look beautiful.

Slowly Sori raises her arm, cell phone in hand, and takes a mirror selfie.

We make it to the stage with five minutes to spare. I grab my cello and quickly tune before hurrying to the left wings.

After the trio of violinists before us finish to loud applause, the lights dim and a stagehand quickly rushes out onto the stage and places a chair and music stand to the left of the stage. The applause quiets as I walk forward, one hand tightly gripping the neck of my cello, the other holding up my skirt so that I don’t trip.

I make it to the stool and sit down, arranging my dress around me before placing my cello neatly between my knees.

“And now we have our only duet of the program.” Nathaniel’s voice can be heard announcing us. “A collaboration from two students from Year Three. Dance major Min Sori is a trainee at Joah Entertainment. She holds national champion awards in rhythm gymnastics, classical jazz, and speech and debate. Though coldly beautiful on the outside, on the inside, she’s a bucket of marshmallows.”

The audience chuckles, and on the far side, a few teachers exchange glances. Apparently Nathaniel had gone off script.

“Our second performer,” Jaewoo says, his voice strong and warm, “is classical cellist major Jenny Go, a Korean American transfer student from LACHSA.” From this vantage, I can see the teleprompter. It ends there, but he continues speaking. “Jenny is also an honors student, a loving granddaughter, and a phenomenal dancer, though she might disagree.” The crowd laughs appreciatively, with one loud guffaw from the back, presumably Gi Taek.

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