#fangirlproblems Page 8

  Sam’s mouth is a thin line, her big eyes glossed over. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I’m not sure I want to see this side of you again.”

  “Look,” I say, “either you come with me or I go by myself, but I’m going. I’ve made up my mind.”

  Sam tightens her jaw but doesn’t say anything.

  “We can go shopping,” I say, my voice rising in pitch at the end of the sentence. Sam loves shopping. Nothing gets her out of the house like the thought of new clothes.

  She pouts. “Will you let me pick your outfit?”

  As much as I hate to admit it, Sam has better taste than I do. I normally look amazing in whatever she chooses. “Sure.”

  “And do your makeup at Sephora?”

  That’s pushing it. She normally likes to do this dark dramatic stuff on me, which is not my style. But I’ll admit it makes me look sexy. I really need Sam to support me, so I’m not going to let a little vanity get in my way.

  If Chansol really likes me, he’ll like me for who I am. He already saw me at my worst. “Fine.”

  Sam squeals and pulls me out of the kitchen chair. After I shower, she asks to do my hair, too. If it’s fun for her, then I don’t have a problem with it.

  My hair is about shoulder length, and most of the time it’s pulled back since I’m in the kitchen. I also find it totally unmanageable. Sam uses some weird products then spends forever with a hot curling iron to my head, but when I turn around, I gasp.

  My brown hair is in perfect glossy curls. I didn’t even know it could do that.

  We hit the mall next. Sam picks out this super tight red dress, but it looks amazing on me. She offers to pay for everything since I still don’t have my purse back. I’m starting to feel worthy of a Kpop star.

  The only thing I refuse to let her do to me is wear heels. I consent to strappy sandals, but I’m planning on being on my feet for a long time. Heels are just crazy.

  By the time we leave the mall—Sephora bags in our hands—I actually have guys turning their heads to look at me. Can’t say that’s ever happened before. Sorry, boys, I’m taken. At least I hope I’m taken.

  We arrive at the venue before the concert starts. People are cramming their way inside, wearing X-O shirts and blaring songs from their phones. I don’t know why I wanted to be here so early. I’m hoping for a miracle...someone to give me their ticket or something.

  I should know better. If any of these fans are like me―and I’m guessing most of them are―they wouldn’t give up their ticket unless someone murdered them.

  “Let’s go wait by the stage door,” I say to Sam once the doors are closed and the music has started.

  Sam groans. “Let’s get something to eat instead. I’m starved.”

  No way, I’m not giving up now that I’m here. I’m on a hunger strike until the night is over. Food is my favorite thing in the world, but it can’t compare to Chansol.

  Some big burly dudes are standing around the back door and not letting anyone come near. We’re not the only girls trying to get in.

  I look around and spot an apartment building across from us. If we could just get to the top, we could watch from the big screens since the building’s roof is open.

  “No,” Sam says when I suggest the idea. “I’m hungry.”

  “I let you dress me up,” I say, stomping.

  Her lower lip juts out. “You didn’t let me buy you those fabulous heels.”

  Is she still hung up on that?

  “How about this: you grab something at the convenience store across the street and meet me at the roof of the apartment.”

  She brightens. “Okay! Anything you want?”

  “I don’t care,” I say. I just want to see the concert.

  Sam skips off, and I’m faced with the mission of getting inside.

  I wait, one foot pressed to the wall, head down, until someone comes out.

  People have done this in movies a hundred times, looking all smooth and walking up to the door like it’s not a big deal, but I’m shaking. I squeak out a nervous “hi” to the person leaving. They look at me funny but leave without a word.

  I stride inside, trying to act like I own the place in case someone is watching. Then I run back to the door and shove some paper from the trashcan under the doorjamb so it doesn’t shut all the way, but it’s not noticeable.

  My feet aren’t moving to the top floor as quickly as I need them to. All right, so I take the elevator, but it still seems like for-ev-er. I end up going around the top hall a few hundred times before I spot the exit to the roof.

  I have to pull down some stairs to get there, and they creak loudly as I do so. I leave them open so Sam can find me easier.

  Just as I’ve hoped, the view is perfect. The giant screens show all the boys’ faces. Every time the cameras pan to Chansol, I let out a scream. It’s not like anyone can hear me with the amount of wind blowing up here, but I can’t help myself.

  This dress was a dumb idea because I’m freezing.

  The pounding that comes from the stadium can barely be heard over the howling wind. I don’t care. It’s worth it. And at the end of the night, I’ll get to see Chansol again. Then I can fix everything. I’m going to tell him I’m crazy about him. I’m going to let him hold me, and I’m going to figure out a way to be with him. Even if we’re separated by thousands of miles.

  I hear someone coming up the stairs and I’m actually glad, because I’m hungrier than I first let on.

  “Sam!” I say, turning my head.

  But it’s not Sam. It’s not anyone I know. Scratch that―it’s someone I know. Someone I know very well.

  It’s that witch of a reporter, Nana.

  I have no idea how she found me, but I can’t really think about it. My attention is glued to the big screen. Not because of Chansol, but because I can see my own face staring back at me.

  #fangirlproblem20

  A true fangirl never gives up.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” Nana asks, trying to block my view of the stadium.

  I ignore her, shoving around her to get a better look. Some video is playing of me. A video I’ve never seen before. Since I’m in the video, I remember all the occasions. There was a week a few months back when Sam was filming me on her phone each opportunity she could get. I didn’t understand then, and I don’t understand now. Why is it playing on the stadium screen?

  “You know,” Nana says, “I can call the police if you’d like, or you can talk to me.”

  I still don’t know how she found me, or why she cares. So what if I was with Chansol? It’s not her business. Besides, that’s all over now.

  Except...except...why am I on that screen? I have to know. I have to find Chansol again, I just don’t know how.

  “What do you want from me?” I ask, finding my voice.

  Nana gives a brisk, bark-like laugh, smoothing down one of her stray black hairs. “I think you know. Either you can tell me what happened, or I can make up my own story.”

  I wouldn’t put it past her. She can’t know the truth, not until I can talk to Chansol again. If he wants to tell, fine, but it’s not my story to give

  “How did you find me, anyway?” I say, trying to talk around the subject.

  Nana’s perfect pink lips pinch together. “Do you think bringing down those stairs, then stomping and yelling on the roof went unnoticed? Someone called the police, and I happened to be in the area. I’m saving you from imprisonment, so you better fess up. What’s your connection to Chansol Park?”

  It was an accident. The whole thing. Our escape. Us, alone in my apartment. His heavy lips on mine. Me letting go of his hand. None of it should’ve happened. It was almost like...fate.

  I take a deep breath, the reality of the situation twisting my stomach in knots. I have to get to Chansol, now more than ever. If I can see his face and tell him how sorry I am, maybe it could be more. If I try again, it won’t be our circumstance that brought us together. If I find him and tell hi
m how I feel, maybe he’ll take me back.

  Do I dare hope? It’s not like I have a choice. Either I go for it now, or forever ask myself what if?

  “All right,” I say, formulating a plan to get off this roof. I don’t know what I’ll do after that, but I need to do something. “I’ll tell you everything. Just...can we go someplace warmer? And quieter?”

  Nana pulls her smartphone from her pocket and hits a button. She was trying to record our conversation. I knew it.

  “Works for me. The studio van should be nice and cozy.”

  Great, now I just have to figure out how to get away from her.

  I charge ahead, but she stops me.

  “Not so fast,” she says, hooking my elbow until our arms are connected. “We should walk like this. You know, so I can trust you.”

  Riigght. Or keep me from getting away.

  “Now tell me,” she says once we’re in the quiet elevator. “How did you kidnap Chansol Park?”

  Kidnapped? She saw him drive over to get me, not the other way around. But I know she’ll use my words against me, so it’s better not to talk. “Cranberries,” I say, hedging.

  Nana startles. “What?”

  “You had cranberries for dinner, I can smell it all over your breath. I think I have some gum in my purse if you’d like a stick.” I hold up my clutch so she can see. She’d have to let go of me if I were to open it and search inside.

  “Uh,” she says, covering her mouth as she speaks. “No thanks. I think I have some mints in the van.”

  Dang. It was worth a shot, anyway.

  She pushes the button again, even though the elevator is already moving. I guess she wants to get to the bottom soon.

  We exit arm in arm as I keep calculating. She’s in heels, and I’m in flats, so I have a decent chance of outrunning her. But if I shove her to the ground, what will she say on the news?

  The situation worsens after we open the apartment doors. All of the vans that were in front of the hotel are back, a whole crowd of people waiting to see what I have to say.

  My eyes scan the area, looking for any escape. Just when I’m about to lose hope, salvation comes into my line of sight. Dark hair, killer body, and two gas-station sandwiches in her hands.

  Sam.

  I’m not sure how she got around the reporters, but she can be surprisingly sneaky when she wants to be.

  The words “Help me!” are screaming inside my head, but I’m not sure Sam can see me well enough to understand my expression.

  “I want to make a statement right here,” I tell Nana, planting my feet.

  She balks for a moment but settles when I keep my mouth a straight line. Her phone comes out of her pocket again, and she holds the microphone part to my mouth.

  “What would you like to tell us...uh...what’s your name?”

  “My name is Talitha,” I say loudly. “And I have a confession to make.”

  Nana looks like she has me cornered now, a smirk twisting her perfectly powdered features. “Go on, I’m listening.”

  I take one look at the place Sam was standing, but she’s not there anymore. I hope she got the hint.

  “My name is Talitha,” I say again. “And I’m a fangirl.”

  Nana looks confused for a second, so I continue on.

  “Yes, I love Chansol. Not just like, but love. Really, really love him.” My voice cracks on the words, and Nana looks pleased with herself. “But,” I add in near whisper, “so do the thousands of other fans in that stadium. I love Chansol all on my own, and I’ll keep loving him, even if he never loves me back. That’s what it means to be a fangirl.”

  Nana’s grip on my arm loosens, her mouth hanging open, her eyebrows raised. I can see it all in that one look. She knows. She’s been a fangirl, and she understands. I wonder if that’s the reason she so aggressively pursued the story in the first place.

  “Excuse me,” Sam says, appearing behind Nana, still holding the sandwiches in her hands.

  Nana, who now has tears in her eyes, turns around. I guess my speech was that moving.

  Sam gives her a small smile. “Sorry, but I’m gonna need you to hold these.”

  For half a second, I’m just as surprised as Nana. Reflexively, Nana drops my arm to hold the sandwiches, and Sam jerks my wrist—trailing me away.

  I don’t know if it’s my imagination, or simply the wind playing tricks in my ears. But I swear I hear Nana wishing me good luck.

  It doesn’t take long for my reflexes to kick in, and I start running with Sam at my toes. Now’s the time. I have to get to Chansol or I may never see him again.

  We play Frogger across the busy road, and I pass Sam up as we get close to the back entrance of the stadium. I look for an opening and see a few girls distracting a guard. Perfect for me.

  I finally have my chance to make something of myself, and I’m going for it.

  In my head, I can see everything behind me. No doubt those cops noticed us jaywalking, and now I’m about to take on breaking and entering for the second time tonight. This should be fun.

  I run straight past the first guard, but the second one makes a grab at me. Sam is right there, throwing her shoe at the back of the guard’s head.

  “Run, Talitha, run!” Sam screams. She’s going to stay behind and wrestle my demons for me.

  There’s one more burly guy in black standing right at the stage entrance. For once, I’m glad I’m short. I fake left then dodge right, slipping under his arms. The backstage staff scream and move out of the way as I pump my legs.

  Sprinting is the wrong word for it. I’m flat out flying.

  I make it to the stage, heart pumping. Chansol is in the middle of rapping to Overdone. All the members are around him, keeping me from getting in.

  I bowl them over, anyway. A few of them take hold of my dress. I push forward with all my strength. Security guards converge, the screens going black. The music cuts off and the fans roar. Chansol’s name screeches from my throat.

  “I’m sorry!!” I’m yelling, my cries getting drowned out by the crowd. “Chansol!!”

  There are too many hands. It’s too dark. It’s too loud. It’s too much. I made one stupid mistake and now I’ll never see him again.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper again, my eyes welling. “And I love you.”

  It’s a cry only I can hear. A song for myself, the person who’ll always be alone. Because there’s only one man for me and I’ll never be able to touch him.

  #fangirlproblem21

  Not knowing when to quit.

  The lights flick back on as I’m getting carried off the stage. I lean forward with all my might, staring at Chansol―willing him to see me.

  He’s almost out of my vision when I hear him yell, “Wait!”

  Could it be?

  The hands are still dragging me away, but I start screaming again. “Chansol!”

  Fans are shouting, but this time it’s with cheers of joy. “Talitha!” My name rings out over the dome, a microphone turned on to blare the noise from Chansol’s mouth over the crowd.

  All my fight rushes to me, the monster breaking free of its cage. It’s not a fangirl monster anymore, but one who would fight to keep someone she loves in her life.

  With a single primal roar, I break away from the hands, and back toward Chansol. He’s running for me as well, his face breaking into the biggest smile I’ve seen.

  I don’t care how many people are watching, he’s all mine.

  We collide―space, time, people...none of them matter. It’s just me and him, spinning in our own axis.

  He doesn’t waste time, and neither do I. As we embrace, my lips smash into his. Both his arms grip my middle and he spins me around as I hold his face. Confetti rains down on us, and I catch our giant forms on the big screen. To heck with fame, to heck with prying eyes. I’m never letting Chansol go.

  ***

  As if X-O singing to me wasn’t enough, as if Chansol getting on one knee during the rap didn’t make me whole, I
get to wait for them backstage. Me and Sam.

  The boys made an agreement with the reporters so the story is staying quiet. Now the only thing I’m doing is staying close to my boyfriend.

  I get a little giddy thinking of the word boyfriend, knowing what it means. It means Chansol and I are together, for real, and nothing can stop that unless we choose to stop it. Which I won’t. Lesson learned.

  “Your boyfriend is pretty hot,” Sam says, watching the concert from backstage.

  I’m munching on a pretzel, swinging my legs because I’m so happy. Happy’s not even a strong enough word. Nothing is.

  The encore ends, and all the members join us in the greenroom.

  Chansol puts his arms around me and I lean into his chest. I don’t care how sweaty he is, that’s my sweat.

  He nuzzles my neck and I giggle. “I’m so glad you’re back,” he whispers in my ear. “They wouldn’t let me see you again, and I didn’t have your phone number.”

  “I’m sorry I left,” I say, rubbing my hands down his arms.

  “Hey, I went to great lengths to stay with you. I even pretended I didn’t have money for a hotel.”

  I swat at him, not believing he just made that confession

  He ignores my attempt to punish him and pulls me close again. “What matters is that we’re together.”

  I turn around to face him, and get lost in his eyes, taking in every detail—not so I can save it for later, but so I can cherish it now.

  He kisses me, the deep cinnamon scent filling my nose.

  “Get a room!” someone yells.

  Popcorn hits my side, but we don’t stop. We’re together again, and they need to give us a moment.

  “Well, that’s disgusting,” Sam says.

  All right, now it’s ruined. I’m laughing as I pull away, Chansol still holding onto my waist.

  “Did you see the video?” he says. “Is that why you came?”

  I’m not sure what the deal was with that. “Yeah, but I didn’t hear anything. I was on the roof across the street.”

  Chansol looks at my roommate. “Sam. Samantha. Sam.”

  I raise an eyebrow at her. “You made that video, didn’t you?”