Page 14 of Wish Upon a K-Star

W hen I was younger, I used to always ask what-if questions.

“Appa, what if the road opens under our car and swallows it whole?”

“Oppa, what if all my hair fell out? Would you still tell people I was your sister?”

“Eomma, would you still love me if I was a worm?”

But now, all the what-ifs in the world wouldn’t prepare me for what actually happens. My life is more improbable than any what-ifs I could come up with.

While I was busy wondering what if HBS released its backstage footage in the vlogs, it was actually an anonymous phone recording that outed us. Someone on the crew who thought it was worthwhile to film the disaster and post it online.

Hongjoo promises they’re looking into who leaked the backstage footage, but I know better than anyone that it won’t erase what is already out there.

It’s not fair. But I’ve learned by now that wallowing in why it’s not fair does nothing except make me feel worse. I try my best to snap out of it quickly, but today that’s a hard task.

I hurry to the car idling in the parking garage. Bright Star wants an emergency meeting. My stomach is already twisted in knots.

But my plan to immediately ask Hongjoo for more details is ruined, since she’s on the phone when I climb into the car.

“Yes, but it’s a misunderstanding. Can’t they take some more time to reconsider?” She’s got that line on her brow that means she’s holding in her anger. And even as it digs deeper, she keeps her professional voice. “Ye, ye. I understand. Thank you for calling personally. Let’s have lunch sometime soon.”

She hangs up and rubs at the bridge of her nose.

“Is it bad, Eonni?” I ask quietly.

“We’ll recover,” she says. “Buckle up.”

“What did we lose?”

She sighs and closes her eyes for a moment. It must be bad if she can’t say it right away. “They’re going with Kim Ana for the drama.”

I nod and let my chin drop to my chest. I’m good at keeping a straight face for bad news now, but Hongjoo is particularly good at seeing past my masks. And she knows better than anyone how sensitive I am when it comes to things involving Ana. Just her name has become a trigger for my anxiety by now.

I pull on the seat belt, but it locks up. I try again to no avail. By the third yank I’m pulling desperately at the belt with tears burning my eyes. Why is nothing going right?

“Ya, Shin Hyeri. Gentle. You always have issues with your seat belt. What are you, five?”

I sigh and take a minute before pulling slowly on the belt. It finally extends so I can buckle it. “Let’s just go, Eonni. We shouldn’t be late, right?”

That would be the icing on the cake, showing up late to an emergency meeting about how I’m messing everything up.

The familiar streets zoom past the window. But still I read every sign to myself as we pass. A way to clear my head, to focus on something that doesn’t dig up bad thoughts.

“This isn’t that bad,” Hongjoo says, glancing in the rearview mirror. “We’ve dealt with worse.”

“That’s not helping,” I mutter, because it makes me think of all the worse things that have happened. Like when a rumor went around that I was dating one of the music producers on CiPro , a guy seventeen years older than me. Or the false plastic-surgery scandal that people still reference sometimes like it wasn’t completely debunked. But, of course, the most hurtful ones are any time I’m painted as entitled or a bully.

People love to claim I’m a brat who doesn’t deserve to be a celebrity. And the worst part of it, is, sometimes I worry they’re right. What if I’m only here because of my famous brother?

But this time it’s not just the fact that I’m in a scandal that upsets me. It’s who the scandal is with. Of course it had to be Moon Minseok. Someone who can grate on my nerves just by being mentioned in the same sentence as me.

My phone buzzes with an incoming call. From my mother.

I don’t want to answer it. But when I ignore her calls, my mom gets pissed. Once she called the CEO of my company looking for me. It was so embarrassing.

I answer. “Ye, Eomeoni?”

“Hyeri! What are you doing?” Her voice is high and angry.

“Eomma, please.” I rub at my temples, a headache immediately brewing.

“People are just starting to forget your past mistakes and now you’re ruining it all again! We’ve worked too hard for you to mess everything up.”

Mistakes. Mess. That’s how she sees me. She hasn’t even asked me if I’m okay. Or made sure I wasn’t actually hurt in the incident.

I tell myself that I should know better by now, but it still hurts. She’s never once told me something isn’t my fault. Even when the media publishes blatant lies.

I take a full deep breath. “Nothing happened. The video makes it look worse than it was.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter now, does it? Because the articles are out there. How could you let yourself get filmed hitting someone?”

I almost laugh. She’s not actually mad that I hit someone, which would perhaps be valid. But that I did it in a place where I could get caught.

“Don’t you care about why it happened?” I ask, laying my head back and closing my eyes.

“I care about what this is going to do for your already-tarnished image. What if it loses you the role in Idol Academy ?”

I squirm because I know I have to tell her. But I really, really don’t want to. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that now, because I didn’t get it.”

Her voice gets low. “Are you telling me you lost the role?”

“There was no guarantee I was getting it—” I start to say.

“Oh, don’t give me empty excuses, Hyeri.” Mom cuts me off. “That’s what people say when they’re not trying hard enough.”

“Sorry, Eomma,” I say. It’s almost an automatic reaction at this point. “But there will be other dramas.”

“I already told half my friends about this role! Do you know how embarrassing it will be when I have to tell them I lied?” Her voice is so loud and shrill I have to pull the phone away from my ear. I’m sure Hongjoo hears it.

“I’m sorry, Eomma,” I say again quietly. I don’t have anything else I can say.

“Fine. We’ll just find a way to recover. I’ve talked to one of your managers, told them that I think you should release a public apology for your actions.”

“What about Minseok?” I blurt out. “He’s the one who hit the confetti gun. Are you calling his manager to tell him to apologize?”

“Minseok is not my child. And as far as I’m concerned, he would never have hit it if you hadn’t pushed him. There’s no reason for you to have acted that way with a senior idol. And one as big as Moonster! You need to fix this, Hyeri. You can’t let all our hard work go to waste.”

“Yes, Mother.” I barely have the words out before she hangs up. I let my hand drop into my lap but keep my head laid back, breathing slowly through gritted teeth. I count my inhales, relaxing myself slowly by zones until my jaw no longer clenches. Until I no longer want to throw my phone.

“Hyeri-ya?” Hongjoo says softly, and I flinch.

Then I slouch again. It’s not like she hasn’t seen all this before. “Did my mom call you?”

“She did.”

“Do you think I should apologize?”

“We’re going to discuss options with the company.” A classic Hongjoo non-answer.

“But what do you think?” I need to know. I can feel tears threatening.

At a red light, Hongjoo turns in her seat so she can look me in the eye. “I think it’s a misunderstanding. And we’ll figure it out. Together.” She reaches out to grip my hand, and I hold on to it a little tighter than I intended.

I nod, blinking hard, finally able to push away the tears. “Thank you, Eonni.”

“Don’t let your mom get to you, okay?” The light turns green, but she keeps herself turned toward me, waiting for my answer. A car behind us beeps impatiently, but she still doesn’t move.

“I’ll try.” It’s an empty promise because both of us know I won’t keep it. It feels like we’re constantly in crisis and cleanup mode. I wonder if Hongjoo and the rest of the team are as exhausted as I am.

“Don’t worry too much, Hyeri-ya.” Hongjoo steps on the gas again. “The marketing team has a potential solution for us.”

There’s something in her voice that rings alarm bells as we turn into the Bright Star building. “Is it something I’m going to hate?”

I see the reflection of her frown before she answers. “It’s a variety show.”

Immediately, I seize up at the suggestion. I hate going on variety shows. Too often I’m the butt of jokes and teasing by the hosts because I’m an easy target and that’s what gets the most views. And I never have clever comebacks or replies. Without a script to lead me, I’m useless on-screen.

I put up with it while I was in Helloglow—it’s all I could contribute to the promotions for the group and I felt like I’d been so lacking. So, I grinned and bore it. And if I had to cry, I knew how to save it for later, for the privacy of my own bed.

When I’d debuted as an actress, the company had promised going on the promo circuit wouldn’t be necessary this time. I wasn’t a main role. I could let the leads handle the variety shows and interviews.

But now, one mistake means I’m being thrown back into the fire.

I hate how often my entire life feels like it’s at the whim of other people. Any small bits of control I think I have are so often taken away.

Hongjoo walks around the car to open my door. “You need a minute? I can tell them we’re running late.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine. Let’s go see what the plan is.”