The next day is… different.
I and the boys are woken up at 3am and forced down to the dance hall. My body isn't up yet, but our instructor shouts so much I wouldn't be able to sleep. He tells us to do the splits. I can't, and watch in awe as Jisung (who's beside me) slides easily into the position with a look of pure pain on his face. Instructor Kim then shouts at me and calls me "fatty Japanese kid". He makes me sit on the floor, then he and Jisung pull my legs from either side. I close my eyes and breathe through my nose, attempting to block out the pain. My thighs feel like they'll split while beads of sweat are already dripping down my face. I let out an unintended squeal , but that soon becomes tears and then screaming. I have to stand with my legs apart and instructor Kim lowers me to my furthest point- then sits on my back so I'm forced into the splits. I scream and scream, unable to handle the pain and sounding suffocated under his weight. After what feels like decades, Kim finally gets up and I slowly drag my legs back together- any sudden movement really hurts me. The next flexibility stretches aren't much better. Then endurance, where we do pull ups and press ups with weights on our legs and backs. Then we learn some choreography Instructor Kim made for us to "Sorry" (Justin Bieber). After that he shouts at us to leave, and we scuttle upstairs to take showers. As I shower, I feel disgusted because
1. I already have 1,000 bruises
2. There's hair in the bath
3. The bath is TOO SMALL
4. The toilet smells
5. The whole bathroom smells
6. The water's cold
7. There's only ONE bar of soap and an old sponge in a pool of brown water at the back of the bath.
I shudder over and over, imagining where the hair stuck to the soap bar could be from. There aren't t any towels, so I put my exercise joggings back on, and my huge T-shirt. They smell bad, of sweat and armpits already - on my wet skin…. I'm never saying I want to K-pop train again. As I leave the bathroom, Yewang is already barging in. The dorm is tiny and stuffed with two giant bunk beds, so I don't know where to dress up from. My school uniform is draped on the railing of my bunk - but I don't have any underwear. I search frantically on the verge of going without, when Yewang emerges from the bathroom with his T-shirt round his waist and nothing else. As if that wasn't bad enough, he goes to the cabinet stuffed by the door and starts pulling underwear out of it, sorting what's dirty and disappearing with an armful. The boys follow and naturally access the drawer, shameless. I decide there's no other way and copy them despite the off white and off yellow colours- is there a choice? After dressing up I feel a little better, and am glad with the silence rather than the giggling kids used to do in the model groups. Yewang is standing by the door, a boy who might be Japanese behind him and Jisung looking very miniature at the end of the line. He looks around nine or ten, in these living conditions for a dream many and few have achieved. I decide to do a kind act and help him organise his uniform and brush his hair.
'How old are you?' I ask.
'14.'
I could've jumped back in surprise.
'Jinjja?!' (Really)
'Ne. Everyone thinks I'm small, I'm not.'
'Does that mean I can't look after you?' I hint.
'No, ' Jisung says. 'But you wouldn't.'
'Why not?'
'Because no one does.'
'Would you mind if I did? It doesn't really matter,' I sigh.
'Would you want to?'Jisung asks. 'I w-'
The bell sounds and Yewang pulls the door open, leading us out.