Idol Star School Page 2

  Domin promised to keep in touch with me, and he tried his best. However, we soon learned that the life of a trainee came with many restrictions.

  First of all, he wasn’t allowed to own a phone—or any other digital device, for that matter. Whenever he got in touch with me, it was through a payphone. Really. A payphone in this day and age!

  The other difficulty was that he had a strict after-school schedule to follow, including dance and voice classes, as well as lessons in behavioral and media skills. Once a month, he was allowed to meet up with outsiders—meaning family and friends—for an hour. That was when I’d go see him at a café down the road from the Pluto Entertainment headquarters.

  While he always greeted me with a smile, he bore the telltale signs of exhaustion. He looked awfully gaunt, his lips were pale, and he sank into his chair like every bone in his body had melted. Although he joked that Executive Song, the CEO and founder of Pluto Entertainment, was the devil incarnate, he assured me he was doing okay regardless. When he squeezed my hand and expressed his excitement for the future, I couldn’t help but think of the good old days, back in the television room. So for two years, I believed him.

  Then one morning, Ms. Leaf, the oldest housemother, took me aside with a grave look on her face.

  “Honey, I need to talk to you about Domin,” she said.

  “Okay,” I replied, not knowing what to expect.

  “I just got a call from his manager. Last night, he made an unfortunate, regrettable decision, and he’s currently in the hospital.”

  “For what?”

  When she turned her head away, I gathered this wasn’t food poisoning or a broken bone and gasped.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Which hospital is he in? I need to go see him right now!” I barked.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. The doctors will be examining him throughout the day. Besides, you have to go to school.”

  “School? Do you honestly expect me to give a damn about the functions of the human respiratory system when I don’t even know whether my own brother’s still alive and breathing?”

  Ms. Leaf made sure I was sent straight to school, but that weekend, she took me to the hospital with her. There were so many things I wanted to tell Domin, except he never got to hear those words, because he was in a comatose state. Apparently, this was the outcome of a failed suicide attempt.

  I’d never seen it coming, not in a million years. Though he and I occasionally vented to each other about how we’d been dealt a bad hand in life, he’d always conclude the conversation by telling me we should make the most of the opportunities that do eventually come our way. One of his favorite sayings was “hope costs nothing.”

  After Ms. Leaf told me she had to visit Pluto Entertainment’s apartment for trainees to clear out his belongings, I insisted on coming along with her. I wanted to see the place that had sucked the life out of my brilliant brother with my own eyes.

  Once I got there, I discovered that the house was no jail cell. The bedroom he’d shared with three other guys was far more spacious than the eight-bed dorm rooms at South Devil’s. Since he didn’t own a lot, the packing process was fairly quick. Aside from a wooden crate of old CDs he’d been collecting since he was a kid, all of his possessions fit into a single duffle bag.

  Here’s where it gets weird. When I lifted the wooden crate, a small white envelope fell out. After I saw Executive Song’s name printed on the envelope, curiosity got the better of me, and I opened it to see what was inside.

  Chapter 3

  Honey

  Dear Executive Song,

  Had I known you were going to steal two years of my life—two of the most precious years for my career, no less—I would never have auditioned at your rotten entertainment agency. When I first started out as a trainee, I was an honest person who devoted every bit of my energy to becoming the perfect idol. That was all I ever cared about. I didn’t want to get caught up in your mess, and it makes me sick when I think of what you’ve turned me into.

  The truth is, as much as I’m afraid of you, I refuse to remain silent. I might be a penniless orphan who comes from nothing, but I’m not helpless. Everything I know about Pluto Entertainment I’m no longer going to keep to myself.

  Domin

  The letter was enough to convince me that my brother didn’t try to commit suicide. Once I read it a few more times, I assigned myself a mission. Clearly, there were things Domin knew about Executive Song that he never got to expose. I was determined to find out what had gone on behind closed doors and make sure that when Domin woke up from his coma, he would receive the justice he deserved.

  As a naïve fifteen-year-old, my first course of action was to chase down Executive Song and confront him about everything I knew—which, at the time, was not a lot. All I had was a short letter to wave in his face. Although Domin had regularly mentioned how frustrated he was because of Executive Song, whenever I asked for details, he sidestepped the question by shaking his head and saying how power-hungry adults seemed to be the root of all evil.

  The problem was, Executive Song was impossible to track down. Outside of Pluto Entertainment, very few people knew of his whereabouts. Because it had been years since he last did a press interview, there were many rumors surrounding the mystery of his current state.

  Funnily enough, when I did my research, I discovered he’d been somewhat of a celebrity in his youth. Although he’d never been the nation’s number-one heartthrob, he did appear on music programs and perform at concert arenas. Back in the day, Executive Song was a back dancer for Grit Gabe, an iconic pop star who was now also the CEO of an entertainment agency—Zirco Entertainment.

  However, unlike Grit, who everyone and their grandma had known on a first-name basis since his teenage years, Executive Song hadn’t gained any recognition until he was older. After working as Grit’s back dancer for much of his twenties, he released a solo album as a singer and rapper, which failed to gain much traction.

  So he became a record producer. Yup. He was a dancer turned singer-rapper turned producer. Although his path seemed to follow the story of somebody who jumped from one gig to another without getting anywhere, this was an incredible change, as his career finally took off. Over the next few years, he produced numerous hits, though never for Grit, then went on to create his own entertainment agency, specializing in male talents and artists.

  Since it would’ve been ridiculous for me to wait around for the real-life Willy Wonka, I decided to shift my focus to Rye, the second most important man behind the scenes at Pluto.

  Rye was currently the main producer for the artists at the entertainment agency. Unlike Executive Song, who was presumed to be a recluse, Rye had a reputation for spending big bucks at the hottest nightclubs around the globe. I didn’t have to search him up to find out what he looked like since I’d seen countless tabloid photos of him with his stupid handlebar mustache and his arm around young, aspiring celebrities. The dude had a type. These girls were always barely legal. They would appear in the music videos for the artists at Pluto—but never more than once. While some of them made the list of up-and-coming celebrities shared by media outlets, they descended into obscurity soon after, and Rye would move onto the next one.

  In hindsight, I shouldn’t have wasted my time with him either. The issue here was that I did end up meeting him. God, just the sheer thought of our encounter makes my stomach churn. I won’t get into the details, but for weeks afterward, I had nightmares where he called me “Pigtails” in that slimy voice of his. It was more than enough to put me off ever sporting pigtails again—I knew I had a round baby face; I didn’t need to look even more childish and meek.

  Upon waking up from yet another dreadful dream, I gave myself a haircut. Not just any old hairdo though; I wasn’t interested in having a cute bob or pixie cut. I went for a full-on buzz cut. Since I already had a dumpy figure and plain features—neither of which I’d ever been complimented on—my new hairstyle left me looking like a dorky prepubescent boy. Not a day went by that my classmates didn’t remind me of how hideous I was. Some of the girls squealed and shoved me out of the way when they saw me go to the women’s bathroom, but I didn’t give a damn. There was only one thing I cared about: taking down Pluto Entertainment. To exact my revenge, I was going to become powerful.

  I never meant to go down a dishonest path. That’s probably what every crook in the world claims—it’s no secret that us delinquents tend to tamper with the truth. But I swear to God, I tried my best to stay in school and work hard. Hell, I have proof of it. My high school transcript shows how for two semesters I was ranked eighth in my entire grade. Sure, Veritas High was a shithole, but I had better test scores than 227 of my peers. I was the second-best student in my class, while a snotty rich girl called Amy was the top student.

  My initial plan was to get into a prestigious university. I was going to receive one of those scholarships for disadvantaged students and get a part-time job to pay for extra expenses. Once I became a college student, I believed I’d be able to score an internship at Pluto—or at least another company in the entertainment industry, perhaps a rival agency.

  Had I never gone to the staff bathroom during study hall one fateful evening, I probably wouldn’t have strayed away from that path. What happened was, when I went to the student bathroom, every toilet was clogged, so I ended up walking up a floor to the staff one by the vice-principal’s office. As I washed my hands, I overheard someone utter Amy’s name in the next room and pressed my ear against the paper-thin walls.

  Turns out that Amy’s mother was having a confidential conversation with the vice-principal. From the first day of high school, Amy had made it clear to our classmates that the reason she was attending t
he worst school in South Duvil—despite living in the poshest part of the area a twenty-minute drive away—was to benefit from reduced competition.

  Although I thought she was an arrogant bitch who annoyingly won first place for every award that I received second place for, it wasn’t until I heard Amy’s mother hand the vice-principal money under the table that I realized the real advantage of attending our school was how easy it was to pay off the faculty members. While I had stupidly reassured myself I could always do better next time, Amy’s mother had been giving the vice-principal bribes on a monthly basis.

  Discovering the truth crushed my soul. I absolutely loathed them. When Amy’s mother grumbled about the uncouth orphanage kids not staying in their lane and the vice-principal tittered in agreement, I wanted to storm out of the bathroom, knock down the office door, and claw at their faces until their appearance was as heinous as their souls. However, a voice in my head reminded me I would never be able to get away with it. At the end of the day, my punishment would harm me far more than I could ever hurt either of them.

  So what did I do? I gave up. Mind you, I was still hell-bent on taking down Pluto Entertainment; it was just that I quit trying to work honestly for my achievements. At the end of that week, I stepped into that same office to submit a student withdrawal form. That’s right, I dropped out of Veritas High. When I returned to South Devil’s I ripped up my schoolbooks too. I was not going to waste my time hitting the books.

  Obviously, as a high school dropout, I had limited job prospects. But that didn’t matter to me. I had zero intention of slaving away for men like Executive Song and Amy’s father just so that their families could use the money I earned them to snatch every opportunity out of the hands of people like me. Why enslave yourself to greedy, selfish motherfuckers when you can take what you want from the wealth they hoarded?

  I began shoplifting for money. Never from mom-and-pop stores—I stuck to hypermarkets and department stores. It was the last bit of conscience I clung onto.

  Although I didn’t enjoy being called a boy by my classmates after I cut my hair short, I had to admit, when I wore oversized clothes, I was shaped like a brick. On top of that, I’d always had a rather low voice for a girl. Hence, I decided to make the most out of my androgynous appearance. Sometimes, I disguised myself as a man; other times, I tried to look as feminine as possible by putting on a wig and a dress. This meant I could shoplift as a man and ask for a refund as a woman. When seeking a refund without a receipt became difficult, I sold the items to luxury consignment stores and pawnshops.

  Even after I became a legal adult and moved out of South Devil’s, I didn’t have a concrete plan. Still, not a day went by when I didn’t think of Domin. I lived at an old dormitory facility that was merely a ten-minute walk away from his hospital. While I worked night shifts at the reception desk for a measly sum of money and free accommodation, I visited him several times a week. I didn’t know whether he was listening, but I had nobody else to confide in anyway.

  I scrimped and saved every dirty penny. Then I set myself the goal of moving Domin to a nicer hospital than the overcrowded government-funded one he was in. By the time I was nineteen, I’d set up an emergency fund and was prepared to foot the bill every month. Alas, there was one major issue. Only family members could make decisions on matters pertaining to his hospitalization. While he meant far more to me than anyone I was related to by blood, according to official documents, we were no closer than complete strangers.

  Upon doing some research, I discovered that since Domin seemed to have no living relatives, Ms. Leaf had been appointed as his legal guardian. In an ideal world, I would’ve talked to her calmly, and she’d have happily helped me out. However, in reality, I’d hardly spoken to her since the day I informed her I’d be dropping out of Veritas High. Stunned by my decision, especially as I’d shattered her hopes of me becoming one of the rare orphan kids with an inspirational success story, she called me a crazy, impulsive bitch who was destined to become a whore. She retired the next month.

  After a few days of deliberation, I swallowed back my pride and reached out to her. Unfortunately, she’d lost most of her eyesight and turned senile. She straight up refused to cooperate, and when I pressed her for reasons, she babbled on about how I shouldn’t mess with his destiny. No matter what I told her, she didn’t budge. It was like trying to talk sense into a mosquito.

  At that point, I’d already become somewhat of a seasoned lawbreaker. Someone who had numerous close calls but was lucky enough to have not gotten into any serious trouble. And for Domin, I was willing to stretch my luck. I was going to create a false identity as Ms. Leaf’s husband. Since she was a spinster, I decided to get fake papers, including a marriage certificate, in order to pose as a gold-digging young man.

  How did I plan to obtain false documents? Well, I’m sure everyone would agree with me when I say that there are not many advantages to growing up in a notoriously chaotic orphanage. Many of the kids I grew up around joined gangs or became indebted to gang members. Though I’d avoided crossing paths with people from South Devil’s as soon as I left the place, the silver lining to having spent most of my childhood there was that it would be a piece of cake for me to find someone who went on to make money off document forgery.

  Once I figured out who might be able to handle the job, I went to a subway station near my dormitory. I had to get to a street occupied by loan sharks and pawnbrokers in North Duvil. With mixed parts anxiety and excitement, I made my way toward the platform, reading the advertisements on the pillars to calm my nerves. There was one ad in particular that made me stop in my tracks.

  We Want You.

  Love music? Ever dreamed of being famous? Pluto Entertainment is seeking contestants for the upcoming Idol High School television series. Visit our website for the full list of audition dates.

  A smirk crept onto my face. Idol High School, huh? They couldn’t have made it sound campier if they’d tried. Had the advertisement been for any other entertainment agency, I would’ve resumed walking and not thought twice about what I’d come across. However, the fact that this was an audition call from Pluto Entertainment changed everything. Oh, yes, I was going to buy myself a fake identity, but not as Ms. Leaf’s husband.

  Chapter 4

  Honey

  “Hamin Han?”

  I slipped my phone into my pocket and looked up at the bearded casting assistant holding a clipboard. A shiver ran through me. I wasn’t sure who the judges would be, and I was praying that Rye wouldn’t be there.

  “You’re up next, son,” he muttered before letting out a slow yawn.

  This was it. I’d prepared a fake identity for myself, signed up for the audition, and passed the background check. Now, all I had to do was convince the judges to pick me. Too bad this was easier said than done. Out of the thousands of teenagers auditioning for Idol High School this week—specifically, boys aged fifteen to seventeen—only fifty students were going to be selected. Somehow, I had to stand out from the crowd. Not just any crowd, but one consisting of talented, fame-hungry guys who grew up taking vocal and dance lessons, attended performing arts schools, and had been to plenty of auditions before.

  Yet I couldn’t stand out too much either. From this point on, I had to convince everybody that I was a seventeen-year-old boy who desperately wanted to become a pop star. In order to play the part, I knew I had to grow out my awful buzz cut and ditch my glasses. During the weeks before the audition, I got laser eye surgery at the cheapest hospital I could find and dyed my hair bright red once it was long enough. Fortunately, my eye surgery went smoothly. However, the same could not be said about my new hair color. I’d made the mistake of bleaching my dark hair and dyeing it all on my own, despite having no prior experience, which left me with uneven streaks in the back.

  Whatever. The judges weren’t here to inspect my hairstyle. On the morning of the audition, I put on a baseball cap, gold hammer pants, and the baggiest hoodie I owned. Although a few of the boys in the waiting area raised their brows at my pants, I didn’t look suspiciously covered up since it was winter anyway.