Undercover Fan Read online

  Undercover Fan

  A K-pop Romance Book

  Text © 2017 Jennie Bennett

  Cover Design © 2017 Jennie Bennett

  Cover Photos © feedough

  Font © Astigmatic One Eye Typographic Institute and Manfred Klein

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  To my teen self: stop worrying about what other people think of you.

  Undercover Fan

  A K-pop Romance Book

  By: Jennie Bennett

  Contents

  This is Why I Don’t Leave the House

  Just Having a Heart Attack, No Biggie

  The Time When Everything is Messed Up

  Can I Download the Korean Language Into My Brain?

  Bring on the Killjoy

  It Takes One to Know One

  If I Screw This Up, My Life is Over

  Friday Night Lights Never Looked so Dull

  Heaven Couldn’t be Better Than This

  Maybe Fear Isn’t Such a Bad Thing

  Too Good to be True

  When All Else Fails, Keep Fighting

  At Least I Remembered How to be a Friend

  Epilogue

  Bonus: First Chapter of Kidnapped Idol

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  This is Why I Don’t Leave the House

  The first rule to keeping a secret is to deny everything. If anyone were to ask me about K-pop I would feign ignorance. All the squealing, jittery excitement would have to manifest as obliviousness. K-pop? Never heard of it.

  Rule number two is to look uninterested. So what if there are seven boys who can sing and dance in perfect sync, and look amazing doing it? I mean, that’s something that would NEVER happen in America, but who cares, right? It’s just incredible music.

  Rule number three, when all else fails—which it’s bound to—walk away. If the secret cannot be kept, then at the very least distance must be maintained.

  Which is why I should never have logged into social media today. It wasn’t really me logging in, but my alter-ego Korean Corrine. Her profile picture is a gif of her favorite idol, Minji, member of the best boy-band known to history PTS. He’s puffing out his cheeks and winking at the camera. It’s the epitome of cuteness.

  If Korean Corrine hadn’t seen the invite to a PTS fan gathering in her hometown of Houston, then real Corrine—a.k.a. me—would never have dragged her perfectly manicured nails away from home and straight into the danger zone. Yet, here I am, driving to the very place I shouldn’t be going, and sneaking around behind everyone’s back.

  PTS has that affect. Everything about them clouds my otherwise sensible judgement. It’s not like I’m seeing the real group. In fact, the fan gathering has been put together because there’s no concert tour-stop in Texas. Only LA and New York were lucky enough get one. It sucks that they get all the privileges with that sort of thing.

  I wouldn’t ask my parents if I could go to a concert, anyway. The truth is, no one can know about my obsession. Not my best friend Abby, not my family, not even my dog.

  If anyone where to find out that Corrine Miller-Hayden, captain of the cheer team, straight A student, and Texas beauty queen obsesses over something like K-pop...well, I’m pretty sure I’d be kicked right into loser zone with no chance of recovery.

  I know how shallow it sounds, but it’s not just about me. My family has a certain image around town. Since my father is an elected judge, the things his kids do are a direct reflection on his own character.

  My family is important to me, so I have to put on my face. That usually means wearing the right brands, dating the right guy, and listen to the right music.

  Except, K-pop is making all of that incredibly difficult. Lately I’ve had a hard time putting on my usual act. Every party I go to is a bore, every social event I attend is a drag, and even hanging out with Abby can be taxing. All I want is to watch everything PTS puts out, which is a lot thanks to YouTube.

  I pull up to the venue and throw my white Chevy truck into park, then bang my head on the steering wheel. I’m really doing this. Without anyone knowing, I’ve driven to a Korean restaurant in Spring Branch a half hour from my home.

  It took me an hour to get here since I avoided the freeway. I’ve only had my license for a year and my car six months. I am so, so, dead if anyone spots me.

  I shouldn’t be here, but I have to. This is PTS we’re talking about. The group that trumps all my other biases. THE GROUP. If it was anyone else, I would forget about it, but the more reminders I saw, the more I knew I had to go. If I didn’t support something like this for them, could I call myself a real ran? Even if it’s just a few local people meeting at a restaurant to talk and watch videos, it still matters to me. I can creep in the corner, listen in, and fangirl to myself.

  In and out. No big deal. Easy peasy.

  So why does this blonde wig look so wrong? It might be that my eyebrows are as brown as my hair, but a little makeup has helped fix that. Or maybe it’s because my olive skin is a touch to dark to be natural for a blonde. Although, there are tanning beds.

  I’m glad Mom thought it was a good idea to dress like Christiania Aguilera for Halloween last year, or I’d be in a serious pinch. I’ve popped out the lenses of my Burberry sunglasses and thrown on three layers of clothes along with my only pair of comfy sweatpants. No one will think it’s me because I normally wouldn’t be caught dead in something like this. Nor would most people in Texas because it’s so hot, but I had to do something.

  I don’t feel like me so that’s a good sign, but I still grab the slouchy beanie from the passenger seat and pull it over my wig.

  My name is Corrine Miller-Hayden. There’s nothing a Miller-Hayden can’t do. Even this.

  Think about Minji, I remind myself. He’s the one who drew me in and wouldn’t let me go. He’s the reason all of this started.

  If I hadn’t stumbled upon a video of him dancing, I wouldn’t have gotten into this mess. I was minding my own business, looking up cheer routines, when he popped up out of nowhere. The video was fifty-three seconds of incredible dancing and I was a goner. I didn’t mean to click on the next video of him, or the twenty other videos after that, but it happened and I can’t recover.

  I check my appearance once more, take a deep breath, and open the truck door. The humidity envelops me immediately, and I tighten my sheer scarf around my nose and mouth.

  Alright, so maybe I look like I’m trying to be disguised, but I don’t care as long as it actually hides me.

  Music pounds out the windows of the storefront, overwhelming me to the point of tears. We Are Invincible pt. 2 is floating on the moisture-laden breeze right here, in my home town. It’s coming out of speakers owned by a legitimate American business. Sure, it has Hangul—Korean writing—on the same storefront, but it’s still part of Texas.

  This is where I’m supposed to be. These are my people. I can’t believe something as silly as social status almost kept me away.

  I push open the front door to Korea House, and it’s wooden like the palaces in the historical K-dramas I’ve seen. There’s an entryway with a shelf of Korean dolls in traditional dress, Korean flags and Korean instruments on display. I try not to bounce even though the excitement of that one feature has me inwardly screaming.

  Before I got here, I promised myself I wouldn’t get in the middle of everything. That meant not tasting the food, no talki
ng to anyone, and no dancing.

  I start tapping my foot as the song changes to Swag. My shoulders move all on their own. I’m keeping it subtle, but this my jam.

  A wave of cool air hits my face as I enter the main part of the restaurant, carrying the smell of grilled meat with it. The place, although small, is packed. Wall-to-wall fangirls and boys fill every open booth and sing Swag at the tops of their lungs. A few people have gathered in the small space at the back of the restaurant and started a dance floor.

  I want to join them. If I was here as myself, I’d be in the middle of the circle showing off my best moves, but I’m afraid my disguise will come off.

  Looking over the neat rows of booths and tables, I spot a chair shoved in the corner where the light is low and the crowd blocks my view of the dancers. Hidden. Safe. This is what I want, isn’t it? To come here incognito and observe? If only my bouncing leg agreed with me.

  All I can see from here is a giant banner with a picture of PTS on it. The first time I saw the letters PTS, I thought of Post Traumatic Syndrome. And although I’ve experienced plenty of trauma since becoming a K-pop fan, I found out PTS is actually an abbreviation for Invincible Boy Scouts in Korean. Which is kind of weird, but also what makes it fun.

  Sweat, Blood, and Tears comes on next, the one PTS song I know all the choreography to. I sit in my corner, dancing in my seat and doing the hand movements in my lap. This is pretty good. If I can’t be in the middle of the party, I can at least enjoy myself knowing others feel the same about the Invincible Boy Scouts. That’s the real reason I came, to longer feel so alone, and I’m not. There are so many people in here I’ve started to sweat. Tonight, even that makes me happy. Who knew there was so much PTS love in my own backyard?

  I look up during the chorus and spot a guy a few chairs over, looking my way. As soon as I lift my head, though his gaze shoots to the floor. He’s wearing sunglasses that cover his eyes, a mask over his mouth, and a cap low over his head, like he’s also hiding. He kinda looks familiar, maybe? Guess I’m not the only closet fan.

  I should turn and keep to myself, but I feel like me and hat-guy have bonded over one look. We’re both PTS fans, and both here under the strictest cover. When he glances up again I hold my fist in the air to show him the fighting sign. In my head, that’s the universal Korean-fan signal. I don’t know if that’s true in real life, but I do it anyway. I can see the hint of a smile at the corners of his sunglasses as he gives me the fighting fist back. Thank goodness he understands.

  The music pauses and a loud screech blares from a microphone. I can’t really see the speaker from where I’m sitting, but I crane my neck to get a better look.

  “Welcome PTS fans!”

  A huge roar bellows from the crowd and I half stand in my seat so I can try to see the girl talking. She sounds kinda like Abby, but so does every high school girl, and Abby would never come to a place like this.

  I join in the applause, but keep the cheers bottled inside. There’re too many people. I can’t see a dang thing.

  As I sit, I catch the guy in the other chair turned my way. I can’t tell if he’s looking at me because of his dark glasses, but it feels like it.

  He points to the seat next to him. I really shouldn’t. What if out of the four-million people in the Houston area he knows me? But I’m here already and I’d only be sitting next to him. We bonded.

  “We’re going to start off the night with a video we made and dedicated to PTS fans,” the microphone girl says.

  Okay, I have to see that video. Mysterious dude is in the perfect position parallel to the microphone. Which is probably why he invited me over.

  I point to myself just to make sure he’s offering the seat to me and he nods. Perfect.

  The light is better on his side, and even though I can’t see through his disguise, I can tell he’s cute. Too bad I’m hiding under a pile of frump.

  I don’t know where I’ve seen him before, but it still nags at me. We can’t be that close if I don’t remember his name. I’m probably safe anyway since he’s disguised as well.

  “Hi,” I say, taking the empty seat and turning my attention to the screen rolling down at the back of the restaurant. Maybe it’s rude to look away so fast, but he has to know the real reason I’m here.

  The speaker is gone, microphone taken with them. The lights in the restaurant dim until only the projector glows. People fan-scream as the video starts, a picture of B fading into view. You can tell the people who bias him because they’re yelling as loud as they can. Pictures of Rapdude fade-on next, followed by the rest of the members.

  All except for Minji. My bias. The one guy I would give my left arm to meet.

  I whistle the moment his angelic face appears on the screen. He has these incredible soul-searching eyes, perfect plump lips, and a serious bad-boy/sweetheart vibe. It’s complicated.

  My fangirl instincts totally take over and I stand, clapping and screaming. I didn’t even know my voice could be this loud. Sure, I yell when I’m doing cheer, but this is a whole new level.

  The video changes to a fancam of a PTS concert, panning over a sea of grenade-shaped light-sticks. The room goes silent at the same time as the video, and we all take a moment to respect what it means to be a PTS fan.

  My hand drifts to my heart as I watch. A reverence has taken over. The fandom love swelling in the room. Nothing needs to be said, we can all feel it. My eyes are getting misty as the sound in the video starts to build, the camera sweeping to the stage where all the members of PTS stand.

  One note. That’s all it takes for me to know what song it is. My favorite song of all time―Minji’s solo, Liar. Now I’m crying, the tears dripping onto the scarf still around my neck. The frames of my glasses move as I swipe under my eyes. I’m so glad I came. Glad I know I’m not alone in my obsession. It’s enough to be silently watching for now. Someday I’ll let the world know of my love, but not today.

  I flash a smile at the guy sitting next to me. I’m glad he let me sit by him, but I need to leave before I get too sucked in. It was dangerous enough coming here, and I should escape before anyone recognizes me.

  “Thank you,” I say, standing.

  I think I see one of his eyebrows go up, but I can’t really tell under his hat and glasses. The lights are still low too, so that doesn’t help.

  He tips his hat as I walk by, and I stop for a second. I definitely know him. I can’t think of his name, but I’ve seen his face a thousand times. Maybe he won’t say anything at school, but the recognition hits me so hard I feel like I’m in trouble if he figures out who I am. He just witnessed me cry too, which doesn’t help. He could blackmail me.

  My hands shoot over my face. I stumble past him, legs wobbling. This was a bad idea.

  I put one hand to the wall, trying to keep my head down in case the guy is still watching me. I’m a freaking idiot. Why did I sit with him?

  I’m so preoccupied with staying hidden, I don’t look where I’m stepping. My toe catches on a chord, and I’m moving so fast the plug comes out of the wall. The video goes dead, the room plunged into darkness.

  One person screams and chaos explodes. I’m not sure if people are running for the exits or trying to flip on the lights, but it feels like everyone is moving. I end up squishing against the wall, forearms protecting my face.

  Someone touches my shoulder and I yelp, another set of hands wandering around my legs.

  “Stop!” I yell, panic flaring in my chest, but my voice is lost in the cacophony.

  Another set of hands grasps my head and my wig falls off. Why is everyone attacking me? I reach out and tug at the first person I find, a hat falling into my palm.

  “Got the lights!” Someone says over the microphone. Everyone pauses as the room illuminates.

  There’s a random girl at my feet trying to plug the projector back in. Another person is searching above my head, probably looking for a light switch. I peek under their arm to see whose hat I took and find the b
oy who sat next to me looking back.

  Turns out I do know him. Very well. So well in fact I should’ve recognized him on sight, disguise or not. I’ve failed as a lover of PTS, as a fangirl, as a person.

  I can’t believe I was sitting next to the love of my life, Minji.

  Just Having a Heart Attack, No Biggie

  If I thought it was chaos before, now it’s complete and utter panic. All it takes is for the girl at my feet to whisper Minji’s name and all the fangirls descend.

  Unfortunately, they descend right into me. Well, into Minji who is being squished against me.

  In any other situation I would be ecstatic. Right now, I’m worried about whether or not I’m going to live.

  So this is what it’s like to be celebrity. People crowding to the point where you can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t―is that Minji’s knee in my leg? Dang it hurts.

  This is not how I pictured meeting him. I was supposed to be dressed like Cinderella and he was going to take me to the ball.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers in my ear, just the hint of an accent in his voice. “I’m trying to move.”

  “It’s okay,” I say back. It’s not, but maybe when all of this is over I can brag about it online.

  “I’m afraid I have to apologize again,” he says.

  I twist my neck in an attempt to see him better and find myself nose-to-nose. Wow, he’s pretty. I thought maybe it was computer editing or filters or something that made his eyes look so penetrating, but it’s not. He really does look this amazing face to face.

  It’s so shocking, I can only think to utter one word. “Why?”

  He gives me a wink before twirling me around and throwing me into the crowd. I trip back, bowling over the closest fans.

  A pile of us end up on the floor, feet stomping all around us in an attempt to run after Minji. I get shoved off and trampled on. All I can do is curl up in a ball and not die.

  I don’t realize I’m crying until it’s quiet and the only sound is my sobs ripping through the mostly-empty restaurant.