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Even Lana looks a bit concerned, although she doesn’t say anything herself.

“We don’t really have any other queer Asian girls at my school,” I say. “At least, none that are out. Sorry, I know I probably look like a weirdo, but it’s just so nice to see people like me. Like, freakin’finally.”

Lana bites her lip, looking nervous for the first time since we met. “Oh,” she says. “We’re not exactly out. I mean, all of our friends know, and so do our families, but if we werereallypublicly out... I’m not sure if we’d even have a chance at this competition.”

“Wait, but then why did you tell me?”

Lana shrugs. “Figured we could trust you. Besides, the way you were looking at me? It wasn’t very hetero.”

“Oops.”

Both Lana and Tiffany burst out laughing. Despite my embarrassment, I join in, because there’s no denying that I was totally checking Lana out.

At that moment, a staff member calls Lana’s name.

She lets out a quick breath. Tiffany gives her a tight hug.

“Good luck, babe,” she says. “Sing your heart out.”

Lana smiles sweetly at her, then gives us both a little wave before heading to the stage.

I wave back. “Good luck!”

My phone vibrates again. Tiffany hands me back my phone.

Crap.I forgot about Mom.

I say goodbye to Tiffany and run out of the now-crowded building. The lines are now ten times longer than they were when I arrived.

“Haneul?” Mom’s voice is frantic and sharp with worry when I call her back. She’s the only person who still actively uses my Korean name, even though everyone else—including Dad—calls me Skye. “Your school called and said you didn’t show up today. What’s going on? Where are you?”

I sigh. Here we go.

“I just got out of an audition,” I tell her, since she’s bound to find out eventually.

A pause. “Did you try out forYou’re My Shining Star?”

“You know about it?”

“I heard a few of my customers talk about it. There was a spike in the number of appointments in the past few weeks since everyone wanted their skin to be in the best condition for the competition.”

“Oh.”

“Well? Did you get in?”

For a split second, I consider lying to Mom. I’m still kind of jittery from my audition, so I don’t want to have this conversation with her at this very moment. But not telling her the truth now will probably only make things harder for me later on, especially since I’ll have to attend the rehearsals every week. So, I slowly say, “Yeah.”

“Oh, Haneul!” Mom says. The happiness in her voice is so genuine that it startles me. “I always said you have a good voice. You could be the Korean Adele!”

I wince.

“I didn’t just audition for singing,” I say. “I also auditionedfor dance. I got in for both.”

Silence. Any other parent would probably be even prouder of me, since it’s twice as hard to get in for both than to get in for one category. But Mom doesn’t say “I’m proud of you” or even “congrats.” Instead, she says, “Oh, I see.”

Her tone is completely different from just a few moments ago, when she’d been all bubbly and friendly. Instead, it’s eerily flat, like her voice always gets when she’s on the verge of yelling at me. But she doesn’t yell. She just stays silent, and I wish we weren’t talking on the phone so I could see the expression on her face.

“We can talk about it when I get to your studio,” I say, when it’s clear she isn’t going to say anything else. “I’m about to hop on the metro right now.”