Kidnapped Idol Page 3

My shoulders slump. “Oh.”

  I continue to scan the article, flipping the slick paper as I go. There’s a full-page spread of Woon with some girl putting her hands all over him. The girl’s face is either in shadow or cut off completely, but it’s obvious she’s beautiful. I hate the way she’s touching him. Especially with his soul-gazing expression. It makes no sense to be jealous over a guy I’ve only met once.

  “I’ll tell you this,” Blain says, still looking at her phone. “People in Korea are not happy.”

  I wish I could see Woon and ask him what’s going on, but the probability of finding him is pretty much zilch.

  Music starts, and Blain motions me to sit next to her. YouTube is open, and I read the title of the song just under the video. Most of it is in Korean, but Speeders is very clearly written in English. The song is catchy. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

  Of course I’ve heard of Kpop. I’m young and Asian, it’s impossible to avoid. But I’ve done everything I can not to get sucked into it. I have enough distractions from my studies.

  Within the first minute, I can tell I’m a goner. I’ve seen bits and pieces of other music videos, but I’ve never sat down and watched one all the way through. I count seven boys, all dancing in perfect sync. The song rocks, too.

  When the camera zooms in on Woon, I hold my breath. I thought he was good looking before, but all dressed up he’s on a totally different level.

  I stand, knocking Blain’s phone as I go. “I don’t want to watch anymore,” I say, panic rising in my throat. The dorm is already small, and now it feels like a box. “I’m going to get some air.”

  How did I get caught up in this? The last thing I want is to worry about a guy I don’t even know.

  Short of finding CSTAR headquarters and marching in there, there’s no way to find Woon, anyhow. Whatever’s going on with him shouldn’t matter to me. I’m here to study Mandarin and live in a foreign country for a year. Nothing more.

  I take the elevator down and slam open the gate to the outside. Because the school is next to a major thoroughfare, there’s nowhere to go here for peace and quiet. People are everywhere and the city constantly buzzes with life. It’s not like I can breathe fresh air either, not with all the smog. Some people wear masks over their faces on a daily basis.

  I knew all this going in, but right now I really miss the open Oklahoma skies. Eighteen years of my life were spent in a little country town filled with farms. I had one year at Oklahoma State, which is a pinprick compared to this city.

  At least at OSU, I could go home to my family on the weekends. Adult or not, I wish I had my mom here. I can call her, but that would mean going back upstairs to get my phone.

  I decide to walk instead. Even if it’s all hustle and bustle, at least I’ll fit into the streams of people.

  What would my mom say if she was here? She didn’t really want me leaving, but she couldn’t stop me so she supported me. She would probably tell me to not worry about boys and focus on what really mattered, and she would be right.

  The streets are huge, but not big enough to escape like I want. It’s beautiful in its own way, but nothing like what I’m used to.

  I pass a coffee shop—I swear there’s one on every corner—and decide to stop for a smoothie. I don’t have cash with me but luckily I’ve gotten into the habit of wearing my debit card on a necklace wallet all the time, but only because my mom told me to.

  “One Raspberry Blast,” I say to the cashier. It’s almost five U.S. dollars, but so worth it when it comes to thinking juice.

  The coffee shops aren’t that different from back home, thankfully. I can feel a bit of America with me when I come here.

  I take a seat by the window to wait. Outside, faces pass me by, drawn in their own thoughts, struggling with their own problems. Half of them are staring at their phones.

  This is how we live. The world is what it is. We have friends and family, but ultimately, we’re on our own. Woon is a huge pop star. Whatever’s going on with him doesn’t require me.

  “Raspberry Blast,” the cashier calls, and I rush to the front to get my drink.

  I take a sip, and my eyes are drawn to the television behind the counter. It’s hard to ignore the bright colors and flashing screen. Once again, I find myself faced with Woon in Speeder. It’s not the same video as before, but just as impressionable as the other.

  How do they dance so perfectly?

  “Speeder fan?” Someone says behind me in a mix between Mandarin and English. Mandrish?

  It’s a teen girl, still dressed in her school uniform. I shake my head, but say nothing more. She points at the screen during a close-up. “That’s my bias, V6.”

  I smile at her, even though I have no idea what a bias is.

  “Everyone likes Maximus,” she continues without prompting. “Just because he’s half Chinese. But V6 is the most handsome.”

  “I think I’ve seen Maximus before,” I say. I don’t know why I’m entertaining this conversation when I should just leave, but I’m curious all the same.

  “You have,” she responds matter-of-factly.

  She points out the window behind me, and sure enough, there’s a huge picture of Woon advertising a swanky watch. Weird. I have the sudden urge to buy one.

  “It’s such a joke about him leaving Speeder,” the girl continues. “He would never.”

  I furrow my brow. “Why is that?”

  “Look at him,” she says. “He loves his group.”

  She nods her head at the screen, and it’s a scene of all the boys rough-housing at the beach. They look close.

  The girl sighs. “I don’t get it. He would never leave his best friends.”

  Cashier lady hands the teen her drink. With a swoop of long black hair, I’m alone again.

  Even when the music video ends I still see it playing in my head. Close-ups of Woon looking amazing. Unreal. God like. He’s someone I can’t begin to understand or touch. My conversation with the girl has cemented how very little I know about him. So why can’t I get him out of my head.

  I slurp the last of my drink and crush my cup. This is the last straw. I’ll just have to try and forget all the things I’ve felt for him. If only I can get my heart to comply.

  Getting Out

  “Please,” Blain begs. “We’ve been stuck in this dorm for a week straight.”

  It’s true, but I still don’t have time to go out. The work load is heavier than I anticipated, and I have some catching up to do even though the semester’s just begun.

  I think of number four on my list, but push it aside. I will skip class, but not anytime soon. Not until I can get it all under control.

  “Maybe tomorrow,” I say, turning back to my books.

  “Jenica,” she chides, slamming her hand over the section I’m reading. “I’m all for studying, but we have to get out sometimes, too.”

  I try to shove her hand away, but she keeps it firm.

  “Just let me finish this,” I beg.

  Blain pushes my swivel chair around to face her. “You know why I was valedictorian? Because I knew when I needed a break. Jenica, you can’t keep burning yourself out.”

  I do get really intense when it comes to studying, but I’m also afraid of leaving. Every time I go outside I see Woon everywhere. He’s in a billion ads and his music videos are played in almost every shop I walk into. I even recognize some of the songs now and sing along with the English chorus. My plan to forget him has totally backfired.

  Woon has some serious pipes. Not that I’ve been paying attention to that. He’s too famous for me. I shouldn’t have to remind myself daily.

  Blain sighs. “I know we’re here for the next eight months, but what if our chances of getting out grow smaller as the school year goes on? Please.”

  She’s right. I shouldn’t keep her from having a good time because I’m afraid of seeing Woon somewhere.

  “Okay,” I say, realizing if I’m going to skip a class,
now is the time. I pull out my notebook and start to cross off number four—skip a class. “But can I pick the place?” If we’re lucky I can finish off number three as well—eat a crazy food from a street vendor.

  Blain grabs my hands and bounces, her blue eyes sparkling. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  “Whatever,” I say. “Let me grab my jacket.”

  It’s not terribly cold, but it’s been raining on and off a lot so I’ve been taking a raincoat everywhere I go. I don’t want a repeat of what happened on the Great Wall. This coat is big enough to pull over my camera which I’ve hung around my neck. I laugh as I glance down. Black jacket, black polo, black camera, at least my jeans are blue. I slip on my comfiest sneakers and pull my long dark hair into a ponytail. Not hip, but me.

  The street market is in the middle of Beijing, about an hour away by metro. There’s not much to see on the train as it’s underground, but I don’t mind the trip because there’s plenty of people to watch. Never in my life did I picture myself here. Sure, I was the one who made this happen, but it still feels dream like.

  When we arrive, I start to bounce with excitement. This is probably the thing I’ve been looking forward to most.

  I gasp as we emerge from the underground and take in the view. Lights from the palace glimmer in the distance, the Tongzi River reflecting the city. It’s like stepping into a Chinese fairytale, only with more people.

  It’s a short walk from the stop to the market, and I can already tell it’s a busy Friday night. Crowded as the city is, it’s not usually this insane. I don’t mind, though, it’s great to see so many people out.

  This isn’t like the rest of the city so far. The crowd here is a lot more diverse. There are at least five different languages spoken as we near the market, and many more when we get there.

  “Should we try some bug on a stick?” Blain says, in all seriousness.

  I snap a picture of the rows of skewers—everything from beetle to spider—before I look up.

  “Yes!” I answer, putting the camera down and pulling out my notebook. “As long as we follow it with something edible.”

  Blain gets in line ahead of me—she’s always willing to be adventurous. I pick something that doesn’t look too bad but still fits my crazy criteria: starfish.

  It tastes like the sea, really salty and a little fishy. Since it’s been deep fried, it has that familiar American grease too. It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.

  As we walk, we spot everything from fresh veggies to silkworms, but Blain doesn’t stop until we see some steamed buns.

  I order pork and Blain gets red bean. We take our time strolling as we eat. This how I imagined city life. Neon lights, hanging lanterns, and a crowd of locals and tourists alike.

  Add to that the perfect weather, and the place is packed.

  Blain and I try some fruit-on-a-stick that’s covered in a hard sugar glaze. It’s pretty amazing, even with the overwhelming ocean smell dominating the marketplace.

  Without meaning to, Blain and I drift to the sound of pumping bass. If I thought the throng was bad before, it was nothing like the mob standing around the stage. Flooded by hot stage lights are three girls wearing tiny skirts and dancing cutesy.

  I’m about to drag Blain away when I spot the logo on the backdrop of the stage. CSTAR in all its glory. It even has a giant shooting star under the letters, as if it wasn’t cheesy enough.

  “Isn’t that—?” Blain says, and I nod before she can finish.

  There’s no reason for me to wish Woon here. He doesn’t even like girls. But...I can’t seem to escape him. It’s been a week, and I notice him in everything. It doesn’t help that his face is plastered everywhere, but it’s more than that.

  As hard as I work to bury my mind in school, I find myself daydreaming about that day on the Great Wall. Okay, so maybe in my dreams we do a little more than put our arms around each other, but that’s why it’s not reality.

  But if he is here...

  “What’s going through your head, Jenica?” Blain asks, her words hard.

  She’s never this brisk with me and it snaps me out of my thoughts. “I’m sorry,” I say, even though I haven’t done anything.

  Blain shakes her head, eyes wide. “Woon is a celebrity.”

  She doesn’t have to point that out. “I know.”

  Blain gestures at the stage. “You can’t get involved in his life. From what I read online, he chose CSTAR. You have to let him live with that choice.”

  “I know!” I snap back, because I do.

  She’s not the only one who’s searched his name since that day. I’ve read everything about how his Chinese heritage separated him from the other members, and all the conjecture about him abandoning Speeders because of fights. Some people say he dodged a bullet leaving his Korean company, that there will be more opportunity here. Others say he’s a traitor to his group. I don’t believe either.

  I think there’s more to the story.

  But—and I hate that there’s a but—it’s not my place. I’m just a girl. A week ago, I knew next to nothing about Kpop or Mpop or anything. There’s no power I hold that can change anything that’s happened to Woon, and getting involved would complicate my life and interfere with my studies.

  Truth is, I’m helpless. And a bit of a coward.

  “I can’t stay here,” I tell Blain. “Let’s go back to the dorm.”

  Blain holds her lips together for a moment, unmoving. “I knew it,” she says. “Are you really going to let him ruin something you’ve been dying to do?”

  I bite down the urge to scream yes. “No,” I say instead. “I already did the thing I wanted to. We came here, didn’t we? I already crossed it out. It’s finished.”

  Blain releases a breath through puffed cheeks. “Fine. You need time. I get it.”

  Hard as Blain is on me, she does understand. She also lets me win when I need to. That’s one of the reasons why I keep her around.

  “Can we try one more thing on our way home?” she asks, pointing at a line of rickshaws, the drivers holding onto their bike handles and offering cheap rides. It would be a short jaunt to the metro, but totally fun.

  The rickshaws only hold one person per seat, but the two drivers we hire promise us they’ll stay together.

  It’s a totally different perspective of the city. Wind in my hair, brisk air in my nose, and brightly lit buildings rushing past in a bumpy blur. It’s exciting, terrifying, thrilling―everything you could ask for in a rush.

  I’m transported to another world. One where I can slip the night and be someone who isn’t so anxious. A person that’s adored by the general population. A girl who’s not afraid of herself.

  We’ve stopped for traffic, something I wasn’t sure would happen with the way my driver’s been squeezing through the cars. Mopeds buzz by in the dozens, too. Trying to get a leg up on the congested streets.

  It’s already loud in the city, so when I hear a noise booming above the din I turn my head.

  Market stands topple over, flyers bursting in the air. Someone’s being chased, and there’s a chorus of screams and bangs as a group of burly security guards follow their culprit, or victim, I’m not sure which.

  “Quickly,” I shout at the driver, not wanting to be caught in the chaos. The driver gets the hint and takes off into the river of traffic, but the mopeds ahead of us are moving slow with no cracks to get through.

  I can’t see Blain anymore, and I’m aware of being a lone girl in a big city at night. Not to mention, the people causing the commotion are probably gangsters.

  The rickshaw driver sees a hole and takes it. I’m relived only long enough to see the reason for the gap. The person being chased is headed straight towards us.

  “Faster!” I cry, but a bike can’t out-do the cars, and the hole doesn’t last long. Everyone is trying to avoid the fight, and in the process, they’re pushing the bad guy next to us.

  I’ve already made up a whole story a
bout the situation in my head. The boy running towards me is a gambler in a hat. The men after him are looking to get their debts repaid. They’re going to give anyone in their way a beating, too.

  Should I flee or brace for impact? With how fast the guy is running my chances are probably better in my seat. I start bouncing my knee anyway in an attempt to relieve the tension. Finally, an alley opens up and the rickshaw driver dives for the space.

  “Wait,” the boy calls as we start to pass him.

  I lean forward in my seat, turning around so I can catch a glimpse of the perpetrator. At first it’s just because I want to keep his face in my mind as a reminder not to be like him. But what I see freezes me to my chair.

  “Stop,” I yell, trying to tap the rickshaw driver. I keep turning my head, trying to make sure my eyes aren’t deceiving me.

  “Stop!” I yell again, but it’s not working.

  This has to be the craziest thing I’ve ever done, but I can’t just roll by, not now that I know what’s happening.

  I half stand in the rickshaw, causing it to tilt precariously. I lean my head out the side and scream. “Woon!”

  My hand reaches for him as his eyes meet mine. It takes a second, but I know the instant recognition dawns. He pumps his legs harder, but the rickshaw is speeding up.

  I feel so inadequate with my short arms, a wish for height pounding hard in my skull.

  Woon’s hand reaches too, but we don’t touch. A moped screeches between us and the rickshaw driver pedals on, leaving Woon in the dust.

  Dodging Danger

  “Stop!” I yell for a third and final time, now in English.

  The rickshaw driver must be used to foreigners riding in his cart because he listens.

  Woon does a half jump/spin thingy to avoid the moped. One of the security guards is clipping at his heels.

  I start to step out of the rickshaw thinking Woon is going to hop in my place, but the rickshaw driver has gotten off his bike and is yelling at me and asking for payment. I turn my attention away from Woon, reaching for the Yuan in my necklace wallet. Before I can pull it out, the rickshaw starts to move, throwing me into the back of the carriage.