Chapter 1

WHITE OUT? Is your television racist? Maybe. Shows like ‘Family Style’ brag about a multicultural cast, but you’ll only see non-whites in the background. And now, a new study from UCLA backs up what we already know. It claims that even though Asians make up 5% of the U.S. population, they play just 2.7% of the regular characters we see on the tube. Shape up, Hollywood!

—The New York Post Go ahead. Try to name Madison Dahl’s greatest achievement. You can guess, but I guarantee you’ll get it wrong. It’s not some external thing you can see or touch, like an Emmy or a mansion in the Hollywood Hills. It’s the creation of Madison Dahl, Superstar.

Okay. It’s not like Madison is entirely fake (even if her name totally is). But seriously, who could be as perfect as the girl she is in her interviews? Purring into a reporter’s microphone, Madison is cotton-candy sweet, a regular teen who loves her fans and dreams of doing charity work in Ghana or wherever the hell.

It’s not like none of the dumb stuff Madison’s done hasn’t gotten splattered all over the tabloids. But by some little miracle, Madison has managed to spin her screw ups into part of her charm. Everyone only liked her better after she talked to People about her “heartbreaking battle” with anorexia. And then, there was that other unfortunate incident, the one that made even me wonder if she’d gone completely off the deep end into Kanye West-Mel Gibson-Tom Cruise territory, but let’s not get into that right now.

Anyway, with a little public relations muscle and a whole lot of charisma, Madison somehow created this adorable, forgivably imperfect girl-next-door image. I mean, she didn’t know who she really was yet, but she at least had a public persona nailed down. Pretty crafty when you’re just seventeen-years-old, right?

I’ll confess: it made me a little jealous. Because around the same time Madison the Celebrity was coming into focus, I was going all blurry around the edges.

So many things in my life seemed great. I had a college hottie for a boyfriend, a kick-ass internship, and I was the best friend to one of the biggest stars on the A-list. But I was about to find out that of that really mattered.

Not.

At.

All.

***

My favorite month used to be October, and not just because my birthday is smack in the middle of it. October was (for my family at least) sort of the beginning of the holiday season. Not that we didn’t get all fired up about Thanksgiving like everybody else, but in October, we not only had Halloween (and, hello, my birthday—I can’t say that too many times), but we also usually had Chuseok. It’s the Korean harvest festival. Some people call it Korean Thanksgiving, which isn’t totally off base.

Of course, Chuseok doesn’t always fall in October. Sometimes, it’s in September because it all depends on the lunar calendar that they follow in Korea. But whenever it happened, it was always fun. Sometimes, distant cousins of ours would come down from San Francisco, or my parents would invite people over from work, and my Mom would make this humongous meal. Like, the dining room table would actually bend a little in the middle, there was so much food.

After dinner, we’d play Korean card games, and then, once the adults had drowned themselves in soju (Korean vodka) and gotten all nostalgic for the old country, my dad would pull out this cheesy karaoke machine, and we’d take a stab at these crappy pop songs, like the super cheesy stuff by Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston. I think there’s a flaw in the Park genetic make-up that has rendered every single one of us tone-deaf. I swear, one year, I heard cats screaming in the back yard while Victoria was singing “I Will Always Love You.”

Part of what made Chuseok worthwhile was that we didn’t have to celebrate the bummer part of it. Charye is the part of Chuseok that’s all about honoring your ancestors by presenting food to them at their gravesites. You get to eat it after, so it’s not a total waste. But still, picnicking at the cemetery? Ew. Fortunately, all of our dead relatives were in Korea, so there were no graves for us to visit. Now, of course, there is a grave. Just one.

Anyway, Chuseok probably sounds like a really lame holiday to you, but I always looked forward to it. My mom was guaranteed to be in a good mood, the house smelled like pine needles from steaming the song pyon (rice cakes, but nothing like those gross, cracker-like things at the grocery store), and for a few days before and after the holiday, my parents were completely laid back. No griping about my not doing my homework or nagging me to practice the cello. For me, Chuseok was pretty great all around. Emphasis on was great. Because one year, when I wasn’t even paying attention, it kind of ruined my life.

After my mom died, we stopped celebrating Chuseok for a while. We also pretty much abandoned Thanksgiving, and Christmas was so pathetic, we’d have been better off if we’d forgotten it altogether. I think the year my mom died, my dad bought Victoria and me toothbrushes for Christmas. Yeah, toothbrushes. I just smiled, said thank you, and stuck mine in a drawer. I don’t even remember what I got my dad, but it couldn’t have been much better. That was the extent of Christmas, and I didn’t even mind. It wasn’t like I wanted to celebrate, anyway.

So I didn’t even notice Chuseok slip by when I was in the thick of helping my boss with the Charity Action fundraiser. I vaguely remember my dad moping around the house one weekend and that Victoria called me up at one point to bitch. Apparently, our old man was griping about how much better life was back in Korea. I knew that was a bad sign, but I couldn’t worry about it. I was just too busy.

Ozzie, my boss at BRRB Productions, had pulled together this amazing benefit, and the fact that it had started as kind of a favor to me only made it that much more impressive. Seriously sick kids had come to the studio lot to play at this faux carnival he’d slapped up on one of the soundstages, and it had been surprisingly fun.

But, along with putting a smile on the faces of a bunch of kids who really needed it, the point of it all had been to convince Cassie, the president of Charity Action and kinda-sorta a friend of mine, to stop using the money we were raising to fund keggers at her house. Even though it had worked (which I considered sort of a miracle, knowing Cassie), it wasn’t the real big event of the evening. At least, not for me.

As the party was winding up, I’d found myself alone with Jeremy. Jeremy, the college hottie who interned at BRRB with me. Jeremy, the green-eyed monster who’d lied when he told me he couldn’t break up with his girlfriend because her dad was in the hospital. Jeremy, the heartbreaker I couldn’t, shouldn’t trust. The one guy I couldn’t resist.

Somehow, we’d ended up kissing, this incredible, soul-shaking kiss I can’t even begin to describe. Even now, just thinking about it gives me chills. When I opened my eyes at the end of it, Jeremy smiled at me and stepped back, gently taking my hand in his. “I’ll walk you to your car,” he said. His voice was scratchy, as if that one kiss had knocked the air out of his lungs.

We hardly said a word to each other as we walked, hand in hand, across the lot. We didn’t need to. At my car, he kissed me on the forehead, lingering for a moment. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he whispered. “And the next day, and the day after that. Every day. Always.”

“I’m glad,” I sighed. I didn’t want to get in the car. But I only had half an hour until curfew, and I was feeling a little like Cinderella on the brink of pumpkin time.

Driving home, I couldn’t stop thinking. Not just about Jeremy, but also about Madison. She’d dumped Todd, the skater boy who’d completely rocked her world, before the Charity Action party ended (and on the phone, no less). It wasn’t a bad thing, considering that Todd had pretty much admitted the only committed relationship he could handle was with his skateboard.

But the problem was that part of the reason Madison had found the guts to toss Todd to the curb was because she didn’t want him to treat her the way Jeremy had treated me. She didn’t know that Jeremy wasn’t the lying jerk we thought he was. Honestly, that one perfect kiss I had almost erased from my memory all the lies he told me about his ex-girlfriend. Okay, not completely, but I knew Jeremy was going to work like hell to win back my trust.

Still, I knew that when I told Madison I had no intention of dumping Jeremy, it wasn’t going to be pretty. She’s either groan with disappointment and try to shake some sense into me or lecture me for hours until I promised to break up with Jeremy simply to make the nagging stop. The mere thought of that conversation made it hard for me to sleep. So, when my dad started banging on my bedroom door at 8 a.m., let’s just say I wasn’t happy about it.

“Get up!” he yelled through the door. “Now! Hurry, hurry!”

I had no idea what was going on. And if my dad hadn’t made it sound like a matter of life or death, I would have just jammed a pillow over my head and gone back to sleep. Instead, I threw on a T-shirt and shorts and stumbled into the hallway.

My dad was standing there in a suit, staring at me like I was stupid. “You dress like that for church? Go change, right now!”

What was he talking about? “I don’t get it,” I mumbled.

Victoria had just staggered into the hallway, too, wrapping a terrycloth robe around her pajamas. “Church? We haven’t been to church since I was, like, ten.”

My dad turned and stared at her. “We start today. Go, church clothes!”

I stood in front of my closet and stared. I could barely focus, much less put an appropriate church outfit together. I finally fished out a long black skirt and a plain white shirt I hadn’t worn in forever, along with some black pumps that made my feet hurt. I hoped the Monochrome Secretary from Hell look was okay with Presbyterians.

Victoria and I piled into the backseat of the Kia, still half asleep. My sister wasn’t any better dressed than I was, wearing a baggy blue and white flowered outfit that looked vaguely familiar. “Wait, is that Mom’s?” I screeched, tugging on her sleeve.

Victoria yanked her arm away from me. “Nothing else fit, okay? Jesus!”

My dad’s head spun around like an owl’s. “Do not use that language, not today!”

“What’s his problem?” Victoria muttered under her breath. I shrugged. Personally, I was thinking our dad had gone completely psycho.

When we got to Korean First Presbyterian Church, my dad seemed to know a lot of people, bowing and smiling as we wandered through the crowd gathered outside. One old lady hustled towards my dad. She looked like any of the other tiny grandma types in the room, but something about her grin seemed a little scary to me.

“Mr. Park, so glad you came!” she chirped, her creaky voice surprisingly shrill. “And these are your two girls?”

She smiled at Victoria and me, as if she was waiting for something. Just behind her shoulder, I could see my dad smiling and nodding his head at us. Oh yeah, we were supposed to bow a little to the old lady. I know, you probably shake hands with adults, but in Korea, that’s considered really bad taste. And apparently, we weren’t playing by L.A. rules anymore.

Victoria and I both nodded and mumbled hello. “Annyonghashimnikka.” I glared at my dad. It was bad enough we had to go to church. I really wasn’t in the mood for chatting up geezer grannies I wasn’t even related to.

“Your father say Chuseok this year was like lightbulb in his head,” the old lady said, tapping her skull. “Time to remember Korean ways.”

Oh, great. I looked at my dad, who beamed at the old lady. Did this mean church every Sunday? My weekends were officially ruined.

“Mrs. Chong is very helpful to your father,” Dad said through his big, forced grin. “She find an ajumma for us. From Korea. You thank Mrs. Chong now.”

I must have said ‘thank you’ to scary little Mrs. Chong, but I don’t remember it. An ajumma? That’s what you call an older lady who’s not related to you in Korean. And in this case, I knew what it really meant: a maid shipped over from the old country. An ajumma isn’t usually just someone who comes over to your house, scrubs the floor, and splits. If this ajumma was coming all the way from Korea, I bet she was going to be living with us.

After saying goodbye to Mrs. Chong, Dad led us to a pew. “Why are we getting a maid?” I whispered in his ear.

“You are too much work,” Dad whispered back. “She will help us. It is a good thing.” I knew Dad wasn’t trying to be mean, but still, that hurt. I didn’t think I was too much work. I mean, I was barely home at all. And with some weird lady living in our house, I suspected I was going to be home a lot less.

At least thinking about the ajumma gave me a distraction during the service, which was painfully long and almost entirely in Korean. I kept watching my dad, who seemed entirely absorbed in the God-a-thon. Who was this freak? My dad had never seemed to care about church before. I saw Victoria staring at him with the same confused look I must have had on my face. Whatever this was all about, I didn’t like it, and neither did she. I never thought I’d say it, but for once, I really, really wanted to talk to my sister.

Lucky for me, Victoria must have picked up my psychic e-mail. The minute we got home, she came up with some imaginary research project she had to help me with at the library and practically pushed me into my Tesla. “Hurry up and drive before he baptizes us,” she hissed as I turned the key in the ignition.

Instead of the library, we ended up at the Urth Café in West Hollywood, this really cute restaurant on Melrose where sometimes, you can spot a Beckham or Reese Witherspoon if you’re lucky. But Victoria and I weren’t looking for star sightings. We were too busy plowing through enormous pieces of blueberry pie in a misguided attempt to make ourselves feel better. “Who is that guy, and when will the aliens who stole our dad bring him back?” I moaned, dribbling crumbs all over my lap.

“This is all about that fit he had during Chuseok,” Victoria said, not even trying to cover her mouth as she spoke. “All that crap about how things were better in Korea. I didn’t even tell you what he said about us.”

“Oh my God, what?” Now I was officially freaked out.

“Oh yeah, bad stuff. How we weren’t being raised Christian and how if Mom was still alive, she’d be horrified at how we dress and behave and stuff.”

“You can’t be serious! I thought Dad was loosening up.” I’d been wearing sleeveless shirts and even leaving the house in make-up, and he’d never complained. Hell, he’d gone with us to Las Vegas, the city of sin with a capital S. He must have sensed we had gotten into at least a little trouble there, but he’d never said a peep.

Victoria waved a blueberry-stained fork at me. “You know what? I think after Chuseok, he must have started going to church. I swear I heard him humming ‘Amazing Grace’ the other day. Haven’t you noticed how happy he’s been around the house lately?”

It was true. Dad had been whistling and humming to himself like some bozo out of a Disney movie, but, like I said, I hadn’t had a lot of time to think about it. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was in denial. But now, I totally get it. He still hasn’t gotten over Mom’s death, he’s flipping out, and now, he’s found God. I totally read about a case like this in my psych class.”

“What did they do to cure that guy?” I envisioned holding my dad down and force-feeding him Prozac or lithium or something.

Victoria winced. “Well, that case didn’t go so well. The guy became delusional and started eating paint chips, so he died of lead poisoning.”

“Okay, not helpful,” I sighed. “I don’t want a Korean maid to come live with us, Victoria. I don’t care if I have to scrub the floor all weekend every weekend, no joke.”

Victoria shook her head. “It’s not about cleaning, stupid. You heard Dad. We’re too much work, not the house. He wants someone to keep an eye on us. To spy.”

I almost dropped my fork. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. And no way am I sticking around for this, either. I’m totally moving back to the dorm, even if I have to get a second job.” To help out around the house after Madison moved out, my sister had started working at the UCLA bookstore. And that only made Dad’s decision to get an ajumma weirder. She was hardly ever home, and neither was I. Who was there to spy on?

“So what am I going to do?” I whined. I couldn’t imagine living all by myself with just my dad and some weird foreign maid. I couldn’t believe I wanted Victoria to stay at home, but there you go.

Victoria stared at me for a minute. “Well, you could always run away.”

I tried to laugh, but I couldn’t quite manage it. Nothing horrible, other than a really boring sermon in Korean, had happened, but I had a funny feeling. And I had no idea exactly how unfunny my situation was about to get.

***

Victoria and I glumly trudged towards the house, only to see Madison open the front door. “Where were you guys?” she hollered, waving us in.

Crap. I’d totally forgotten about inviting Madison over for dinner. Of course, that was before the party, back when my life seemed sorta normal. I looked at Madison as I walked through the door. “What are you doing here?” I asked. I wasn’t expecting her for at least a few more hours, even if I had totally spaced on expecting her at all.

“I went with your dad to the Korean grocery store,” Madison replied, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “Nothing was in English. It was like we’d gone on vacation overseas or something. I had no idea.”

“Maybe Madison’s our ajumma,” Victoria joked as we walked into the kitchen. At least, I think it was our kitchen. It was kind of hard to tell with all the clutter.

Every cabinet door was flung open as if wild monkeys had been in the midst of a snack attack. Jars and plastic bags and cans littered the countertop. There must have been five hundred dollars-worth of food sitting there, and I hadn’t even seen if anything was tucked away in the refrigerator.

“Your dad was talking about how much he missed all these dishes they made back in Korea,” Madison said. “And the way he described them sounded so good, we just bought a ton of stuff. Do you guys know how to make something called goop chang jingle?”

“You mean gopchang-jeongol?” I asked, trying not to giggle.

“Sure,” Madison said with a shrug. “That sounds better.”

“Not really. That’s cow guts,” Victoria spat. “Tell me you did not buy intestines at the store.”

Madison’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think so.”

My dad was sitting at the dining room table reading a Korean newspaper, so I guessed that, despite his encyclopedic knowledge of Korean food, he hadn’t actually offered to cook any of it. Of course not. That would have been something Cool Dad would have done. And he’d been replaced by Old School Dad, who wanted life to be just like it was in Korea. And in Korea, men didn’t cook or clean. “I’ll make dinner, I guess,” Victoria grumbled. “There’s gotta be something here we can eat.”

I started sorting the cans and looking for places to store them. Madison stood next to me, trying to read the labels. “You know the best part? Nobody recognized me at the market,” she gushed. “Nobody! It was so great.”

“Well, all you white girls look alike to us Asians,” Victoria snapped, totally deadpan.

Dad shook his newspaper, peering at us over the page he was reading. “Your friend, very interested in Korean culture,” he said. “Not like you two.”

I rolled my eyes and turned back to Madison. “When did you get here?”

Madison shrugged. “I don’t know. A few hours ago. I was bored.”

Suddenly, the whole shopping adventure made sense. Usually, Madison was busy texting Todd or calling Todd or talking about Todd. And now, without Todd, she had no idea what to do with herself. Except, apparently, hang out with my dad.

I gestured for Madison to start handing me cans, having carved out a little storage space in a bottom cabinet. “Well, I’m glad you had fun,” I said hesitantly. “I’m sure my dad appreciated it.”

“He had a lot of really interesting stories,” Madison said eagerly. “There is so much I don’t know about where you’re from.”

“I’m from California,” I snarled.

Madison didn’t even flinch. “You know what I mean. You’re really lucky. I mean, you have a rich cultural heritage. And I’m like Wonder Bread. Just a big, boring blank.”

Being a big, boring blank with blonde hair and blue eyes seemed to be working out pretty well for Madison, if you asked me. “Well, with my rich cultural heritage, I get the bonus of kids making fun of my ‘slanty’ eyes all through grade school. Yay, me,” I said sarcastically.

“Don’t forget that time your little school chums said we kept jars of pickled roots all over the house like witches,” Victoria chimed in. “And Madison? You wouldn’t be such a big celebrity if you were Korean-American, so don’t get jealous.”

Madison looked shocked, and I think I did, too. It was true that there weren’t many Asian faces on TV, not unless you counted Awkwafina, Randall Park, the guy on “Saturday Night Live,” and the girl in that one “Star Wars” movie. Still, I don’t think I’d ever felt that Korean-Americans couldn’t become big stars. It just hadn’t happened yet.

But Madison nodded, as if Victoria had pointed out something insanely obvious. “I guess you’re right,” she sighed. “Sorry, Victoria.”

I grabbed Madison’s arm. “Wait, both of you think that’s true? That an Asian girl will never be a major, A-list star?”

Madison’s eyes went wide with embarrassment. “I mean, sure, someday. Definitely. I don’t know.” But from the look on Madison’s face, I could tell she didn’t really mean it. She was just saying what she thought I wanted to hear so I wouldn’t bitch at her.

Victoria smirked. “Get real. We’re a minority, and everyone thinks we’re good at math. That’s about as appealing to Hollywood as an actress with cellulite.”

“I don’t believe you,” I hissed.

“We should appreciate our Korean heritage, sis,” Victoria shot back. “Because no one else is going to. At least, not at the movies.”

After that, the conversation pretty much stalled. I couldn’t stop wondering what Hollywood, this place that had seemed so welcoming, would be like for me without Madison. Maybe it was just another junior high school full of bullies calling me Twinkie (yellow on the outside, white on the inside, ha ha ha) behind my back. Maybe I’d never really belonged at all.

I was shaken out of my trance when I saw Victoria toss the pot of water she’d started boiling into the kitchen sink. “You know, Madison, I’m glad you’re all excited about Korea and everything,” she said with a smirk. “But I’m feeling Italian myself. Pizza it is!”

***

After dinner (which was a not-very-Italian pineapple and ham pizza, much to my dad’s horror), Madison flipped on the TV in the living room, channel surfing so fast, the blurring images started to hurt my eyes. “Give me that,” I yelled, grabbing the remote.

“Hey, what happened to you last night?” Madison asked, crossing her arms. “You disappeared.”

I suddenly wished I’d let Madison keep the remote. “Yeah, that. Um, I went outside and bumped into Jeremy.”

“Oh,” Madison said, raising an eyebrow.

“And we talked. A little.”

Madison rolled her eyes. “And made out. A lot.”

I felt a blush creeping across my face. “Madison, he’s not who you think he is.”

“So, he didn’t lie to you and his girlfriend? And cheat on her? With you?”

Okay, obviously, it did sound bad when she put it like that. “Everyone makes mistakes, Madison. And that’s all it was. A bad situation that’s in the past.”

Madison stared at me for a while, saying nothing. “Are you afraid to be alone, Erin? Be honest.”

Oh, please. I wasn’t the one hanging out with my dad so I didn’t have to go solo in my fabulous house in the Encino Hills. But I didn’t say that. I wanted to be civil. And honest. “I think I’m falling in love with him.”

“Seriously?” Madison looked skeptical.

“Seriously.”

Madison’s mouth settled into a perfectly straight line, and she snatched the remote out of my hand. She flipped through the stations, staring at the screen as if I wasn’t there. “What’s wrong?” I asked, dreading the answer.

Madison sighed. “I don’t know.” She suddenly turned off the TV and tossed the remote onto the floor. “Wait, I do know. I can’t understand this, Erin. Everything you’ve said about this guy screams jerk. Even Todd wasn’t this big of a jerk.”

Madison didn’t say it, but the implication was clear. In her mind, Todd wasn’t as big of a jerk as Jeremy, and yet she dumped him anyway. It was if I’d persuaded Madison to go skydiving, then chickened out when it was my turn to leap. I think Madison had been counting on me to dump Jeremy so we could be single together. That way, she’d have a convenient sidekick to drag along to events or talk to her when she was lonely (which was, seemingly, all the time). I had ruined the whole plan without even knowing it.

“I didn’t tell you to break up with Todd, you know.” The words sounded whiny, almost childish, as they come out of my mouth.

“I know,” Madison sighed. “I just expected you to make a better choice.”

I picked up the remote and turned on the TV. I didn’t appreciate Madison’s tone, but I was also hoping some mindless television might drown out the guilt I was feeling. “Don’t you have a home to go to?” I sneered.

Some doofus show on The Weather Channel was on. I couldn’t have cared less, but I kept my eyes glued to the screen as if it was the best thing ever broadcast in the history of TV. And I kept watching in rapt, stubborn silence as Madison got up and walked out of the room.

Only after I head the click of the front door shutting behind Madison did I realize what I was watching. It was a special on forest fires. For a minute, I watched trees scorch and houses collapse, then turned it off. I was starting to suspect my relationship with Jeremy might burn some innocent people. I could do without the universal hint.