The senior put me in the front row because, she said, I had the face for it. I smiled and stepped on my own foot.
At our high school in Busan, we practiced in a classroom after the desks had been pushed against the walls. Our uniform jackets hung from the backs of chairs. Someone had brought a cassette player; its music came through one speaker, bright and tinny. In the window, our reflections moved over the darkening schoolyard. I was half a beat behind the other girls and had the unpleasant feeling that I was also half a beat behind myself.
Shim was beside me. She knew the steps, though she made no show of knowing them. Sooyoung, in the back row, caught my eye in the glass and pressed her lips together. This made me laugh at precisely the wrong moment. The senior stopped the tape.
She asked whether I wanted to be there. She was only a year older than I was. That made it worse.
I did want to be there. I liked that I'd been chosen. I liked the idea of walking into the room and having people look up. I just hadn't expected to want the floor to open beneath me once they did.
During the break, Shim stood behind me and put her hands lightly on my shoulders. “You're turning before your feet are ready,” she said. She counted under her breath while we tried it without music. Sooyoung joined us, and the three of us turned in a lopsided little circle until Shim was laughing too hard to count.
When the tape began again, the senior moved Shim to the front. I went back beside Sooyoung. I was relieved to be out of sight, then stung that Shim had taken my place. I wanted the front even after I'd made a mess of it.
Sooyoung grinned at Shim, then looked at me as if checking whether she was allowed to. I pretended not to see.
On the next eight count, I raised my arms. In the window, Shim glanced over her shoulder before the turn, looking for me in the row behind her. The third time, I was ready for her.