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“Many know that Moonster and Shin Hyeri are friends from their trainee days. We hope that throughOur Celebrity Marriagethe fans will get a peek into the close relationship between both artists.”

The first episode with Moonster and Shin Hyeri will air July 20.

“Okay, this is a good start. The company sounds like they’re happy with this.” Hongjoo is pleased, I can tell by the way she taps the steering wheel in excitement.

I look at the article on my phone.

Like many of the others I’ve seen, this one doesn’t use any of the carefully posed shots from the photo shoot, but a candid from the end of the conference. Minseok and I are looking at each other, soft smiles on our faces. If I didn’t know the exact anxiety parade that was streaming through my brain at that moment, I’d think I was enamored with Minseok. And it doesn’t help that both of his hands softly cradle mine. Something I hadn’t realized at the time.

The photo looks sweet, like we really do get along.

So, I suppose this is all working out so far. If I can keep this up.

But that’s a bigif, as my stomach is already rolling like a monsoon as I sit in the van waiting to be called to set.

It’s an outside shoot for the “first meeting.” An important episode because it sets the tone for each couple, so they’re often set in iconic romantic areas around the city. But ours will be a little different, since we already know each other.

We’re at the playground outside our old trainee dorms, where Minseok and I both lived when we first came to Seoul. A strange flood of memories assaults me. This is where I lived when I still thought being an idol was all I ever wanted. When I couldn’t see anything except for the desire to debut.

Looking back, I feel foolish for how I thought debuting would solve everything. How I thought it would fix my anxiety, my relationship with my mother. How I thought it would finally make me happy. I gave up everything to succeed. My old friends back home. Studying. Any chance at making new friends in Seoul.

But even though I succeeded in debuting, it all feels wrong. It would be easy to blameCitizen Producerand my scandals, but there’s this gut-deep unsettling sensation that I started to get about three months before the show even started. Something that I was too scared to tell anyone about.

I was so certain that if I told my company I’d had doubts about going on the show, it would ruin my chances of ever debuting with them. And I’d have to find a completely new company and start over. At sixteen I hadn’t been “old” yet, but I didn’t want to risk any delays. I wanted every advantage I could get to ensure I debuted.

So, I buried it even deeper and pushed forward.

Seeing the playground with its bright plastic slides and orange metal railings, nostalgia fills me. Gray metal exercise equipment sits on the far side, mostly used by the older residents early in the mornings. I’d see them huffing on the mechanical elliptical or bar press when I left at dawn for the practice rooms.

There’s a giant teddy bear in front of the main slide with a giant bow on it. I roll my eyes at the corniness of the gesture. But I know this is par for the course for variety shows.

David hurries up as I climb out of the car, Jeongho trailing behind. I say hi to him and he gives me a nervous nod. I wonder if his awkwardness is because he’s seen the articles. I wonder if he thinks they’re true.

But I tell myself he’s probably just nervous because he’s new. Plus, the company has a strict policy that staff cannot be fans of the artists. He could get fired if he fawned all over me.

David comes over and air-kisses me. I remind myself that at least I have him. He doesn’t care about showing preferential treatment—the benefit of being so in demand in this industry.

“You didn’t have to come,” I tell him. “I know you’re too busy to attend all of my schedules.”

“I wanted to be here for your first shoot,” he says. And even though he doesn’t mention it, I know he’s worried about me.

It both comforts me and makes me feel like a burden.

“Thank you.” My voice cracks a bit, and I hate myself for letting my emotions get the best of me. I should be better at this by now.

But, for his part, David skillfully ignores it, letting me have my moment without any embarrassment. Instead, he pulls out a can of hairspray and spritzes it over my head in a light mist. “I’m glad we went with the simple pony. The humidity is deathly today.” He smiles. “I saw the press conference. You did well.”

I want to ask if he really means it. I’m still not sure it went that well. Despite the mostly positive articles, there are still a few saying that I hid behind Minseok when it came to the midsummer festival incident. Though there were far fewer than I thought there’d be.

“Don’t worry. This is all going to blow over. Just keep being your sweet self,” David says with an encouraging wink.

“Thanks.” I try to hold on to the comfort his smile gives me. To not let it dissipate too quickly as I turn toward the set and the waiting crew.

The main PD walks over to greet me. He’s short, only a few inches taller than me, with an avuncular face framed by big square glasses. “Hyeri-ssi, looking forward to working with you.”

“It’s an honor, Han-PD,” I say with a bow, and I mean it. Han-PD is the most successful variety show producer on HBS.

As an assistant starts pinning my mic, Han-PD goes over the shoot. This is just the meet-and-greet scene. I listen intently even though I’ve read the pages for today over and over. Not having some kind of script makes me nervous, so I wanted to be as prepared as possible. I haven’t gone on this kind of variety show since Helloglow broke up. The kind with vague missions that depend almost entirely on the participants’ personalities to provide entertainment. I’m not sure if I’m enough all on my own to be interesting without some kind of script to follow.