Pop Singer: A Dark BWAM / AMBW Romance Read Online Free PDF Page A

still sitting on my bed, about to get ready for work. I had on my uniform, all the while Latasha was herself changing into her own clothes—a nice lace-up A-line skirt and a blouse. She was far more prestigious being a bank manager in my father’s eyes than me.
     
    “I’m just saying,” he said, his voice breaking over the phone. “I just want you to be safe is all.”
     
    “I understand, dad. But if anything bad happens at all, I can just come back home. I said that already. Besides, I’m going to South Korea, not North Korea. I hope you know the difference.”
     
    “Yeah, I do,” he said. “That doesn’t mean I don’t think they’re not any less racist!”
     
    I rolled my eyes. They couldn’t possibly have been any more regressive than the people I had met in the United States.
     
    Besides, there were ignorant people no matter where you went. Black or white, Asian or Hispanic. There were tons of people who didn’t know other cultures or ethnicities or races or sexualities or whatever it might be.
     
    “Everyone needs to trust me and let me put in my two weeks’ notice. Only once I’m on the plane will I have my regrets. And they’re going to be small regrets. Like, not bringing along my favorite haircare products or something. I promise you,” I said, ready to hang up, “I’m not going to regret going to Korea. I’m so ready to begin a new life someplace else. Be happy that I won.”
     
    I could feel the joy creeping back into my voice again.
     
    “I’m always going to be looking out for you,” dad said. “Because you’re always my baby girl.”
     
    “Aw, that’s sweet dad. But seriously, we don’t live in a dangerous world anymore. Trust in me this one time.”
     
    “I will,” he said, “but the last time I trusted you, you ended up at a daycare center.”
     
    I sighed. There really wasn’t any way to get my father to see the light. We said our goodbyes, saying sweet nothings into the phone. Then I hung up, placing my cell phone down into my pocket. I spruced up my hair—I was going all natural that particular day, yes honey—and turned to face Latasha, who finished dressing. Sometimes, girl, she could take forever to get her clothes on. And she was itty-bitty.
     
    But she had always liked dressing business professional. I couldn’t blame her, considering she looked great, especially when she got on her red pumps. Divine mama!
     
    “Are you off the phone now?” Latasha said, coming over to me. She started stabbing at her ears, pushing in two earrings. She looked over herself in the mirror. Her apartment was right next door, but we often liked to prepare together in the mornings. It made everything seem less lonely, and it made our lives feel as if we were one with each other. Like we were sisters or something.
     
    Or at least, I felt like that.
     
    Even if I knew Latasha didn’t exactly treat me like a sister all the time.
     
    I’m not going to lie, a part of me wanted to escape from the United States because I felt a sense of loneliness. Because going abroad would mean not facing people like Latasha anymore. People who were very invested in themselves, and could only spare a chance to worry about others in little pieces, fragments of their lives.
     
    No more frenemies, only foreigners.
     
    I had a fantasy that in Korea I would discover a family. I would find a community of other artists and we would all live in harmony or something. Like communally. Everything would be shared. And I would have no more worries. And maybe no more taxes.
     
    Okay, don’t blame me for sounding a little bit like a hippie-anarchist. But I was young back then and wanting more out of my life. Seeking meaning and all that. When you’re young, that’s what everything feels like.
    Important.
     
    “I told him everything,” I said. “I really got down and deep into my feelings. I think he respects me now. Or at least, I want to believe that he does.”
     
    I fixed a piece of my hair