The End of The First Day of The Rest Of My Life in Korea 

“So,” I say when I get into the car with Sunbae. “You’re making her wait by herself?”

“Hey,” he says, “didn’t you have to wait, too?”

I think for a moment. Yeah, I did. Worst half hour of my life. “Poor thing. How old is she? Wait—what’s her name?”

He laughs. “Her name is Ella. She’s sixteen.”

“I’m twenty one,” I say. Well, in Korean years I am. “Don’t you think that’s a bit of a gap?”

For a moment I think he gets irritated. “You know how young all idols start out as. Who knows how long it will be before you’re ready to debut. You’re starting training at twenty-one, but you don’t see anyone questioning if you’re too old. Hush.”

I duck my head, stare out the window. He’s right. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he concedes. “Besides, there are aspects in which you’ll be taking lessons from her.”

“Like…?”

“She dances like nothing I’ve ever seen,” Rain-Sunbae admits, stunning me if only for a moment. He does not give out compliments like that. This girl must be amazing.

He must sense something now, because he makes a ‘tsk’ sound at me. “You don’t know what I said about you to others.”

I smile, “What’d you say?”

“Nothing you’ll ever hear,” he says easily as he switches lanes. We’re almost there.

“Okay,” I concede. “What else do I need to know about her?”

He sighs. “She doesn’t speak any Korean. The day I met her was the first time she ever heard a KPOP song, and she danced it freestyle. She’s rough around the edges, and you’re really going to have to take care of her. She’s young, alone, in a foreign environment, and all she wants to do is dance.”

For a moment I’m irritated. “What was I—a vegetable?”

“You have been a KPOP fan for years, you understand Korean cultures, titles for people, stories, you’ve seen tons of dramas and movies and you understand the differences between America and Korea. She knows none of that.”

“Then why’d she even audition?”

Again, with the sighing. “Her mom owned a dance studio in the ghetto, where she learned every kind of dance—as well as a language; she speaks Spanish. Anyway, last year her mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and died within thirty days. She teaches and pretty much runs the studio. However, her mom’s friend took over the studio and forced her to audition.”

I laugh. “You have a thing for picking chicks with mommy issues, hmm?”

He rolls his eyes, “We’ll see if we can go for a father next time.”

“Right,” I say as we pull into the parking garage. “How many girls are we planning to have?”

“Three or four,” he says solidly.

I quirk an eyebrow, “That’s kind of small. Are we going for B.E.G. or 2NE1 style?”

To which he snorts, “How about we just get the group together before we get into image.”

I give him a flat expression, “No image.”

He laughs as he parks, “Don't start.”

With a fakely-haughty expression, I say, “Oh whatever do you mean?.”

We both begin getting out, and just as he’s about to shut the door (he gets out of cars really fast, it’s not normal) he laughs and says, “The only image you're going to have with that attitude and that hickey, is Lee Joon of MBLAQ's Mistress.”

Damnit, Lee Joon!