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ME:No. You need to be 18 or older to go alone and there’s no way my parents would go with me. Can you even imagine? Uptight Korean parents at Coachella?

HENRY CHO:We should go sometime. Either Steve or Portia goes with me every year, depending on who’s free. It’s chill.

I try to imagine the life he lives on a day-to-day basis. How could someone be only one year older than me but have a life that’s so different?

ME:Sure.

I don’t ask him the question floating around in my thoughts.Does this count as you asking me out on a date?

I shake my head, as if that’ll knock the thought out of my mind. This is going too far. Regardless of how I feel about him, I don’t even know if Henry and Melinda are really broken up yet. Sure, the press and everyone else says they are, but if Melinda herself says they’re not... I just don’t know. Melinda may be a jerk, but I’m not one to steal other people’s boyfriends.

I have to admit, though, texting Henry is a nice distraction. Almost all the tension I was feeling before fades away, and I feel a lot more relaxed than I was only a few moments ago.

When we get to the venue, Tiffany switches seats with Lanaso she can park the car while Lana and I head backstage. As soon as the stage manager sees us, she gives us instructions.

“You’re team number six,” she says. “The dressing room is on your right, if you still need to get ready. If not, please head over to the green room. It’s on your left. Please be on standby after team number five leaves to perform.”

I look to my right, where a crowd’s already formed at the dressing room door. Thank God Lana had the brilliant idea to get us ready before we left.

Once we’re in the green room, Lana leans back against the wall and is immediately engrossed in texting Tiffany. I settle down onto the couch with my bag, in between two Korean girls I recognize from practice. I think I actually know one of them from back when my parents used to make me go to Korean school. But they both give me wary looks before scooting farther away from me, whispering between themselves.

I try not to let that bother me. Instead, I close my eyes and sit back, trying to relax. My heart is already starting to beat faster than usual, and now I feel even crappier than I did before.

The room is full of nervous energy, and understandably so. Although we technically performed for a studio audience during the main auditions, this just isn’t the same. We had months to prepare for those performances, and we didn’t have to depend on another person to do well like we have to for this round.

The people who aren’t warming up their voices and running through scales are on their phones, furiously texting orscrolling through Instagram. Many of them smile, and a quick glance at the other girls on the couch tells me that their friends and families are sending them encouraging messages. Besides Henry’s, I don’t have any other messages. Mom went back to passive-aggressively ignoring me again after the premiere last week, and Dad’s in Seattle this weekend on an important business trip.

I didn’t tell any of my friends about this performance since I knew they’d be just as nervous about it as I am. And I didn’t want them screaming about it when I can barely handle myself. We’d already agreed to FaceTime after every episode, so I figured having their support when this episode airs a few weeks from now would be enough.

But now, I kind of regret being secretive. Even though it’s mostly my own fault that my phone is silent, I can’t help but feel lonely that no one’s texting me well-wishes.

Instead of dwelling on how sad I’m feeling, I watch the TV as I run through some vocal exercises. The chairs and couches in the room are set up around it so we can watch what’s happening onstage while we wait for our own turns. Currently, Mindy—the SpongeBob T-shirt girl—and Isabel are singing their rendition of Blackpink’s “Kill This Love.” Mindy can’t be more than ten, but she has more swag than I can ever dream of having, and Isabel raps flawlessly in Korean. They’re both so good that I can practically see fire emojis around them. When they reach the chorus, the audience sings along, shouting, “LET’S KILL THIS LOVE!” Before they even finish, thejudges stop them and shower the two with praise.

Mindy and Isabel are a tough act to follow, and a guy in the duo after them totally freezes while singing a BTS song. Bora doesn’t even give him a moment to recover before she slams her hand down on the big red reject button in the middle of the judges’ table.

“NEXT!” she yells.

The guy bursts into tears, while his partner looks like she wants to murder him. Davey Kim, who’s back to emcee this episode, tries to console the two as he escorts them offstage.

I wince. Man, things are getting brutal.

So far, no one has thought to incorporate dance into their performances. Even Mindy and Isabel focused more on the rap and vocals, only bouncing up and down occasionally to the beat. I smile. This means that Lana and I will stick out, andnotin a bad way.

When team number four leaves for the stage, Lana comes to stand next to me. She raises her eyebrows at the gap between the girls and me on the couch.

What the heck?she mouths at me.

I shake my head, not wanting to start drama.

Lana just shrugs and plops down right between us. The other girls yell and jump up. They look annoyed but don’t say anything when Lana flat-out ignores them. I laugh. Lana is thebest.

When it’s finally our turn, we head over to where the stage manager stands at the very edge of backstage.

“On my cue,” she says.

“Next up, we have Lana Min and Skye Shin!” yells Davey Kim.

“Okay,” the stage manager hisses. “Go. They’ll start your music shortly.”