#fangirlproblems Read online

  When I’m done with culinary school, I’m going to try and find a job in Korea. I’ve been dying to learn how to make kimchi.

  We’re almost all set up when Sherry taps me on the shoulder. “Hey Talitha, Bryce’s called in sick tonight.”

  Thank goodness, I didn’t want to fight him off again. “Okay?”

  “I think we’re covered in the kitchen. Do you mind serving instead?”

  “Sure,” I say, ‘cause it’s what I do.

  Hi, I’m Talitha. People ask me to help and I do it. I’m everyone’s go-to man. Geez, I really love being walked all over.

  I set down the platter of cheesecake I was working on and wipe my hands.

  “Here’s a uniform,” Sherry says, handing me a pressed white shirt, vest, and a black bowtie. Whoopie! I get to look like a penguin.

  My first task is to set the tables. It’s a major pain, but the work dulls the emotions.

  I kick open the swinging door from the kitchen, balancing the chilled salad plates in my hands. This section of the ballroom is amazing, all wood floors and velvety curtains, and there’s even a stained-glass window.

  I flex my fingers a few times after setting down the last plate, hoping it will warm my hands. It’s my job to be as invisible as possible, but that doesn’t stop me from taking a glimpse of the people we’re serving. I’m halfway back to the kitchen when I slow my pace. I didn’t notice at first―probably because I always think I’m seeing things related to Kpop―but this is no fluke.

  My foot catches on a rug, and I stumble forward a little but don’t fall. Walking is not good right now. In fact, it’s downright dangerous. Because the people I’m serving aren’t just executives from another country. Tonight, I’m feeding dinner to X-O.

  #fangirlproblem4

  Always crossing the line from casual to awkward.

  I spot Chansol first. He’s taller than most people in the room and he’s leaning against a wall, talking with Taehyun. Dangit, I’m not supposed to know their names. I’m not supposed to know their faces. I’m not supposed to fangirl in the middle of my job.

  Still, I can’t stop staring. My bias―the guy I love―is right here, in the room with me. It’s so much better than I thought it would be. Maybe at the end of the night I can ask for one tiny signature. You know, in exchange for feeding them so well.

  Chansol turns his head my way. I bet he felt me staring, and it’s freaking embarrassing. My face flames up and I try to run out of the room, but my feet catch on the stupid rug again. This time I fall on my butt. Why do I have to be klutz right now? Bad timing.

  Maybe Chansol’s not looking. I don’t dare glance to find out. All I can do is get up as fast as humanly possible and run from the room like a frightened mouse.

  I can’t go back to the kitchen. Not like this. I fan my face, pacing the halls.

  Someone else can serve for me―there’s no way I can be on top of my game. Not with Chansol here. But if someone else serves, I won’t get the chance to see my bias up close.

  I’ll just have to suck it up and find some way to be professional. Holy crap, I need a minute.

  I press my fists to my lips to keep the scream inside. Who cares if I’m missing their concert? I get to serve them dinner! I do a little hopping happy dance that causes my hair to fall out of my ponytail.

  Shoot. I bet I look like crap right now. The law requires that I have my hair up, no choice there. Why didn’t I think to bring my makeup with me, either? I really need to hide the dark circles under my eyes; my glasses only magnify them.

  I run to the bathroom and try to fix what I can. It’s no use, I look like a zombie. I give my hands another thorough scrub before heading back to the kitchen.

  One breath in through the nose and out the mouth. Calm. Collected. Cool. Maybe not cool. I’m more of a derp than anything.

  Sherry shoves the cream sauce in my hands before I can get in the door. I have to put this on the buffet table, stat. I find myself skittering back to the room with X-O. Even thinking about it has got me all aflutter.

  Looks like I placed the last thing on the table. It’s my job to make sure they’re getting their food okay, so I step back as the manager and crew start to dig in. Chansol is still talking to Taehyun, and even though I’m not trying to look, I can see them glancing my way and whispering.

  Professional. That’s what I am, a total professional.

  The fangirl beast is clawing at my insides, dying to break free, but I keep her caged. For now.

  Chansol and Taehyun hang back, still whispering between their hands. What they don’t know is how hard I’ve worked at my Korean, so I can pick out their words. I’ve been studying every night and chatting with strangers to improve my skills.

  “Is it really that person?” Taehyun says.

  I don’t want to know who they’re talking about. It’ll only bring me heartache. I stand straighter, studying the wall behind their heads.

  Taehyun pushes Chansol toward me, and our eyes lock. I forget to breathe. His eyebrows shoot up, his signature grin transforming his face. The grin that made me fall for him in the first place.

  He looks like he wants to say something to me. I glance up and down the table, making sure we have plenty of food. I hope he’s not upset with what we’re serving.

  My focus goes back to his face. The fangirl monster is banging at her cage.

  “Have you ever heard of Kpop?” he says in English.

  O-MO. Can he get any more adorable? I’m not sure how to respond. The monster knocks at my ribcage, ready to gush everything about X-O. But the sane side of me still has control. I can do this.

  “Have you ever heard of water?” I say in Korean. “That’s what Kpop is to me.”

  Okay, so fangirl monster had a little bit of say in my words. Mostly, I just hope I got everything right in Korean.

  Chansol’s brown eyes go wide. “Oh. You speak Korean?”

  He actually seems impressed. Finally, my hard work is paying off. “Yes, I’ve been studying hard. Please accept me.”

  Taehyun leans around Chansol’s shoulder. “Daebak.”

  See, Kpop isn’t a total waste. Right now, it’s saving me face, and maybe even making me feel a little cool.

  “In fact,” I say, hesitant to ask but knowing I would kick myself if all I did after meeting Chansol was say hello. “Could I get your autograph?”

  “Stay here,” Chansol says, putting his hands up then running to the back of the room.

  Taehyun starts loading up his plate. Boy can eat.

  Chansol returns, huffing. He hands me a picture with both of his hands. “Here.”

  It’s a photo of him. All signed and everything. More than what I’ve asked for.

  Sometimes my body starts doing stuff I didn’t tell it to, because the feels attack tender places. I’m so touched he gave me this, so overwhelmed to be in the same room as him, so emotionally exhausted from everything today―I start crying.

  Not just a tiny little tear dripping out of the corner of my eye, all cute and glistening. No, the snot hangs from my nose first. I cover my mouth as the salt water starts dripping across my cheeks.

  The fangirl monster is free from her confines and has taken over my body. I’m a sodden, disgusting mess. There’s no way I can stay here and have Chansol watch me being such an idiot.

  #fangirlproblem5

  Sometimes I hate being a fangirl. It causes just as many problems as it does happiness.

  I run out the back door to the garden and lean against the fence, letting the cries rip from my throat. I hold the picture above my head, so it doesn’t get wet, and put my forearm across my eyes to try and quell the waterfall. It’s messing up my glasses, but I don’t care.

  “Are you okay?” someone says―in Korean.

  I sniff, looking up. Did Chansol follow me out here? Why would he do that? I dot at my face and my finger comes off with black flecks of mascara. Great. Now I bet I look like a raccoon.

  My hand holding the pictur
e slowly comes down. “I’m fine,” I say, even though I’m not.

  I’m starting to think I liked it better when Chansol had never seen me. Then he wouldn’t know what an embarrassing, emotional mess I am. Especially when it comes to him. It’s the most ridiculous thing. I should be excited. Shouting from the rooftops. Dancing in the street. But I really wanted my time with Chansol to be perfect.

  Being a perfectionist might make me a great chef, but it also gives me serious anxiety, which is now manifesting in the form of more tears.

  “I promise I’m not that awful,” he says, a hint of his beautiful smile raising the corners of his mouth.

  He doesn’t understand what he does to me. I don’t even know if I can put it into words. All I know is when I see him, something stirs inside me. It’s like hurricane-force ocean waves are crashing in my stomach, knocking me around and messing with my sense of judgment.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. I might as well be honest with him. I’ve already shown him just how insane I am. It’s not like I’ll ever see him again.

  If I get it all out, then I can move forward with my life and he can forget me. Heaven knows I’m totally unworthy of his attention.

  Now the problem is finding the right words. Korean is my third language—after English and Spanish—so it’s not as easy to express myself. “I’ve just...admired you for so long. It’s stupid, I know.”

  Why does he have to look at me like that? His round eyes are searching my face, his expression too serious. “That’s not stupid at all.”

  He rubs one finger under the collar of his shirt, like he’s uncomfortable. “Just...don’t cry over me. I’m human, same as you.”

  As if I don’t know that. His life is so public, I feel like I’ve seen all sides of him. There’s not much he can do to hide it.

  “That’s what I like about you,” I respond. “You’re human.”

  His hand drops. “Really?” The word comes out as a whisper. Like he doesn’t believe me.

  I can’t imagine that. He has to know how attractive he is. There are girls screaming his name on a daily basis. He does something as simple as eating and it drives everyone wild. How can he not know?

  My finger runs along the edge of the picture. “I actually like you the best when you’re making silly faces and cracking cheesy jokes.”

  There it is. That amazing smile girls line up to pay and see. I’m getting it for free. It almost doesn’t feel fair that I have a moment with him like this to always remember when so many others want to take my place. I can’t count the number of fans he has. It’s almost... Overdone.

  I snort at my own Kpop joke, the title of one of X-O’s songs. I have got to spend less time on the Internet.

  He takes a step closer, and I freeze. “What’s so funny?”

  Oh boy, I can’t even begin to explain my thought process to him. “It’s nothing.”

  Another step.

  I backpedal into the fence behind me. Why is he getting closer to me like that? It’s unnerving.

  “Tell me,” he says. “I like funny.”

  Don’t I know it. But my joke is so corny, no one should be forced to listen to it. Plus, I’m pretty sure Chansol doesn’t think in Kpop the same way I do.

  “No really, it’s stupid.”

  Another step. “Tell me.”

  Is this his form of torture? Because it’s working. “No. Just...let it go.”

  One more step. I have nowhere to run. He’s going to touch me in a little bit if I’m not careful. I want it, but I’m afraid of it, too. What if it’s not as good as I’ve been wishing it in my head?

  “You have me curious,” he says. “You can’t leave me hanging.”

  I need to deflect. Fast.

  “I was just...thinking about you,” I say, the first thing in my head plopping out of my mouth. Idiot. At least I didn’t mention I was thinking about his lips. I’m sure kissing is the furthest thing from his mind.

  He places a hand on the fence behind me, leaning in. “What about me?”

  I cannot handle how close he is right now. Holy crap, I can smell him. It’s sweet and spicy, like cinnamon sugar. I should’ve known he’d smell that way. It fits his personality. It’s also making my mouth water.

  “Um...” Quick—Brain, think of something clever. “You’re so beautiful when you smile.”

  Brain, you’ve betrayed me. I didn’t ask you to say whatever you were thinking, I asked you to be clever.

  “And that made you laugh?”

  Now he’s inching forward, breaking my personal bubble.

  “Not that, exactly,” I say, trying to backtrack. I can’t even remember what I laughed about now.

  His other hand lands on my other side, trapping me under him. “Then what?”

  Meltdown! Meltdown! Nuclear collapse to commence in three...two...

  “I don’t... I...You see...I—”

  My mouth snaps closed as a sudden racket sounds from the ballroom. I crane my neck to see shadows through the windows. At least twice as many people are inside as before.

  Bright lights are flashing, blinding even through the glass.

  “Paparazzi,” I say in English. I have no idea how to say that in Korean.

  His eyes narrow, head tilting to the side.

  I slip out from the box his arms created, so he’s forced to turn.

  It looks like an assault inside. My co-workers are in there. All of X-O is, too. I start toward the door, but Chansol catches my sleeve and spins me around.

  “We have to get out of here,” he says.

  We? We don’t even exist on the same plane. Besides, I’d hate for anyone to get hurt when I can help. My face is still toward the door. “But...what about them?”

  “This isn’t their first brawl with the media.” That’s true. Why didn’t I think of that? “It’s more dangerous for you if they see us together.”

  He has a point. As many fangirls as I’ve known and loved, there are a lot of crazies in the mix. All it would take is ten minutes on Twitter, and I can find a handful of girls who think their oppas belong to them—and they would go nuts if any other girl came near.

  “Come on,” I say. “I know a secret way out of the hotel.”

  #fangirlproblem6

  Not letting my fantasies overtake my truth.

  I had this dream once. Chansol and I were stuck on a deserted island, and he was in love with me. We lived happily ever after.

  Never have I woken up smiling, but that day, my cheeks hurt from stretching them so far. I have to keep reminding myself that this is not that dream. This is me trying to save my idol’s reputation. I wouldn’t want him ruined over someone as inconsequential as me.

  I feel bad I have to take him to the front of the hotel this way, but there’s nothing else to be done. We’re huddled side by side against the building, our arms touching, so we’re not exposed through the windows. It’s a blind spot, and no one can see us unless they came right upon us.

  His body heat seeps through my clothes, gooseflesh erupting on my skin. Not a dream, I keep reminding myself, so I don’t get caught up thinking this is anything more than an escape attempt.

  My hands wrap around the picture he gave me, holding it to my chest. I’m grateful that at least I have this, and the memory of him, because it’s time to let go.

  “Behind those bushes, there’s a fence,” I whisper, releasing one finger to point while turning my head to see him. “It’s a tight squeeze between the building and a brick wall. And there’s a tree in the way. But it will get you out front and to safety.”

  “You’re coming with me, right?” he says.

  I work to keep a straight face, but inside I’m freaking out. This is totally something Chansol would say in that dream where we’re together. Only, it would be because he wanted me romantically, not because I’m helping him escape.

  “I think it’ll be safer if you go alone.” I manage an even tone, despite all the wobbling happening in my stomach. “What if there’s mo
re paparazzi out front?”

  “That’s exactly why I need you,” he returns.

  I press his autographed photo even closer to my chest. Anything to keep my heart from leaping out of my ribcage.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, because I’m still living in that dream where Chansol needs me to be his girl. Even though I’m not.

  He’s still so uncomfortably close to me. Yes, we’re hiding, but that doesn’t change what he’s doing to my body. It’s hard to think with him next to me.

  “You know your way around this hotel,” he says. “If there’s more trouble, you can save me.”

  Right. I’m just the employee and he’s the celebrity. He needs my knowledge, not me.

  “Of course,” I say. “Yes, I’ll go with you.”

  I’m still surprised how easy the Korean is coming to me, and how much I understand him. I mean, I’ve done well in my practice with my Korean teacher, but I never thought I was this good.

  I feel his shoulders relax. “I’ll give you a boost over the fence,” he says. “Since I’m taller.”

  Yes, he’s six feet and I’m a lot shorter, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve scaled that fence.

  “Let me show you how it’s done,” I say. I need my hands free, but I’m not losing this picture. I tuck it into the back of my pants and under my shirt to protect it. Then, I run.

  The rocks scatter under my feet, but I find enough grip to propel myself forward and take a giant leap, clinging to the top of the fence.

  My arm scrapes on the tree bark, but I use the trunk to get a foothold strong enough to propel me over the fence and to the other side. My feet ache and I’m a little scratched, but I did it.

  “That was brilliant!” Chansol yells. I can picture his stupid giddy face. Goodness, he’s too much.

  “Shhh,” I say, finger to my mouth. “They’ll hear you.”

  “Right,” he says, lowering his tone. “I’ll be right over.”

  I turn around to get out of his way, but he’s faster than I expect him to be. He leaps over the fence with so much force, there’s nothing I can do to retreat.