Image

“Get ready,” Lucy says before I can even say anything into the receiver of my phone.

“For what?” I ask around a spoonful of cereal. SHINee left about an hour ago for their schedule; I still haven’t gone to sleep, though the fatigue hasn’t caught up with me yet.

“Meeting,” Lucy’s voice is short, chopped—annoyed.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, taking a final bite before heading to my room. I’ve left all the lights off, and the 8AM light sets a pretty feel to my plain room.

She sighs. “I just know today’s not going to go over well.”

“Why not?” I ask, opening my closet door and staring at my clothes.

“Today we’ll start looking into management, image, and all that crap. And I don’t want us to have an image.”

“Well everyone has an image,” I reason, “even American celebrities.”

“I know,” she replies, “but in Korea it’s like…extreme images. I don’t want us to have that. We should be able to be ourselves. I don’t even want to do variety shows because they’re scripted. Screw scripts, what’s wrong with improv?”

I worry my lip, grabbing a black skirt that ends just before my knees and a tank top, slipping a half-zipped jacket on over it and then yanking a series of colorful bracelets onto my arm. If the meeting is as important as she’s making it sound, I want to look nice.

“I don’t know,” I mumble. “When will you be here?”

“I’m parking now,” she tells me, and I can hear the engine cut.

“Be down in a second,” I say, snapping my phone shut.

It takes about thirty minutes to get to the meeting, but Lucy and I don’t talk at all; when she stresses she plays music, and MBLAQ’s BLAQ Style was on full blast the entire ride there. Or, at least, that’s what her iPod said.

As we walk around through the halls of the building, I rest my arm across Lucy’s tense shoulders, trying to be of some comfort though I’m sure I fail miserably.

We find the room and enter, bowing politely, though not reaching a ninety degree bow. There are men sitting at a table with Rain, all of them with tired yet satisfied expressions.

“Hello,” Lucy says in Korean. “I am Lucy.” I follow her lead, also greeting in Korean.

She snorts, and I look at her, worried. She laughs, “Nothing, it’s just that your accent is really bad.”

I blush, mentally gluing my lips together.

“Unnecessary,” Rain reprimands. Normally I know she would’ve retorted, but something about the air around us keeps us both quiet. “Now,” he continues, “I’ve called you to let you know that we’ve decided on a company.”

Lucy rests against the wall, and I already recognize her body language as one ready for war. I, however, decide to evaluate the men sitting at the table. None of them look very mean, and only seem to be wearing evaluating expression.

“So what’s the verdict?” I ask, satisfied.

“Starship Entertainment,” he says firmly.

I hear Lucy deflate. “Why Starship?”

“Because,” he says, now standing and sitting Lucy and I down in the chairs closest to him. “Starship is a good company, and there will be no favorites played because none of the members will be studying under any groups from their company.”

“So somebody’s goin’ to train with someone from YG?” Lucy asks, eyebrow raised.

His reply is easy, as though he expected Lucy’s question, “If we debut you under YG you’ll never make it—2NE1 produces nothing but number ones.”

“Sistar’s pretty well known,” she retorts.

“Not as well as you will be,” his expression dares her to say more, and obviously she doesn’t feel like playing, because she flicks my wrist.

“Jump on those acting classes, twerp.”

“Actually,” Rain says, “I’ve spoken with them about your feelings on an ‘image.’ They’ve not denied nor accepted what you want. It’s become more of something that will be dealt with when necessary.”

Then he started talking to all of us in Korean, and I stopped listening. In the cold room, I find crevices of warmth in my clothes, and soon I find myself huddling like a turtle, slowly becoming wrapped into the throes of sleep. Until finally I feel my exhaustion overcome me, and I stop hearing words I don’t understand.

Be our guest! Be our guest!

Put our service to the test

Tie your napkin 'round your neck, cherie

And we'll provide the rest

Items are dancing and singing around me: remotes, water bottles, arm weights, CDs, boom boxes, full length mirrors, a spatula. They sing without mouths and dance without legs, the music around me loud and familiar but unable to be placed.

Then suddenly it changes, and the objects drop. It begins raining the objects, piling at an outrageous speed. The song changes, as well. So loud I’m sure my eardrums will pop:

I could be brown!

I could be blue!

I could be violet sky!

I could be hurtful!

I could be purple!

I could be anything you like!

Gotta be green!

Gotta be mean!

Gotta be everything more!

Why don't you like me?

Why don't you like me?

Why don't you walk out the door!

Faster and faster until there are objects up to my hips, and I can’t move. Everything is too much: too loud too bright happening too fast—

“Hey!” Lucy thwacks my head with a rolled magazine. “Get up, twerp. We’ve got to translate all the stuff you missed.”

I jerk up, looking around to see an empty room, with an annoyed Lucy and a concerned looking Rain. “Sorry,” I mumble, clearing my throat. “How long was I asleep?”

Rain doesn’t even blink, “Two hours.”

That would explain why it felt like that dream lasted for years.

I stand, stretching out tense muscles, happy that I was jerked out of that horrible world.