Skylar and the K-Pop Principal

"A spirited children’s debut and an empathetic take on finding one’s passion and growing up." —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

K-pop fandom and Freaky Friday collide in a hilarious body-swap story that celebrates the fans who drive one of the biggest musical sensations in the world.

Skylar is convinced that life for her as an eleven-year-old is way harder than for any adult, including her cranky principal, Ms. Callus. The only good part about being eleven is being a massive K-pop fan, even if her parents do ban her from all things AZ8, the best K-pop boy band in the world. When a freak accident causes Skylar and Ms. Callus to switch bodies, Skylar finds herself trying to convince the world of AZ8’s supremacy, going viral in a K-pop dance video, and somehow running her school, all while stuck in a seventy-one-year-old’s body. And then she gets the chance to meet AZ8 in real life. With the help of her bestie, Dana, and her own wits and passion, Skylar must decide whether her K-pop dream come true is worth risking being stuck as an old lady forever. A feel-good tale singing with laugh-out-loud moments, Skylar and the K-Pop Principal is a joyful and uplifting story of friendship, fandom, and chasing your dreams.In this body-switching romp à la Freaky Friday, Goldie deploys all the high-octane energy and devotion inherent to fandom communities and stan culture to present an earnest homage to K-pop. It’s a spirited children’s debut and an empathetic take on finding one’s passion and growing up.
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)

This comical, lighthearted story is an ode to K-pop fandom, but the hilarious jokes and situations will entertain readers unfamiliar with that world. . . A funny, feel-good tale.
—Kirkus Reviews

This novel illustrates that every decision has both positive and negative consequences—and that the impacts can be far-reaching. In the course of the story, Skylar and Ms. Callus' roles reverse, challenging Skylar to really dig deep and appreciate her life and the opportunity to chase her dreams.
—BooklistLuan Goldie is the author of Nightingale Point, which was long-listed for the Women’s Prize for Fiction (UK) and was chosen as one of the titles for World Book Night 2023. She is also the author of Homecoming and These Streets. In 2018 she won the UK’s prestigious Costa Short Story Award, and her short stories have appeared in newspapers and magazines. Skylar and the K-Pop Principal is her debut book for young readers. A former teacher with more than a decade of experience, Luan Goldie lives in London.1
Appropriately Obsessed
My eyes ping open as Kookie scratches at my bedroom door and lets out her weird meow, which sounds nothing like a meow but more like an airplane tumbling from the sky.
 “Neeowww.”
   “Ugh,” I moan as I roll over to grab my phone off the charger. It takes a few minutes to turn on as it’s old. So old. It belonged to Dad, then Mom, then my brother, Jesse. It even belonged to Nana at one point, but she was too embarrassed to be seen in public with it, so it was agreed that before it was sent to the Museum of Historical Objects, I could have it.
   When it finally comes to life, I’m greeted by Woojin’s megawatt smile.
   “Good morning,” I mumble as I kiss the screen. Now, of course I love all eight members of AZ8, the best boy band on the planet, equally. But Woojin is my favorite because he has the best hair and loves small animals.
   I have four new messages, all from Dana, my best friend and fellow fangirl. First message:

Morning!!! Happy Monday.
Are you awake? Are you excited? I’m SO excited!

   AZ8 is making a video comeback this evening, and while this is very exciting, Dana is generally an excited kind of person. Second message:

I LITERALLY can’t eat breakfast.

   Third message:

So EXCITED I just buttered a tea bag.

   Fourth message:

Michyeosseo!
 
  Michyeosseo? While I listen to around a hundred hours a week of K-pop, also known as Korean pop music, I still rely on online translators for even the most basic of words. Hmm, let’s see: michyeosseo means crazy. I text back:

Annyeonghaseyo!

   Which means hello and is the longest Korean word I know how to spell. I really struggle with languages and have recently concluded that, like soccer and breaststroke, languages are something I’m incapable of learning. Along with piano, singing in tune, ice-skating, boiling eggs, and 99.9 per cent of mathematical concepts. Hmm, it’s actually a really long list . . .
   Kookie scratches at the bedroom door. “Neeeeowwww.”
   “Skylar,” Dad shouts, “your cat is crying.”
   I stick out my arm from under the duvet and pull open the door handle, which I can easily reach from my bed because I have the tiniest box room ever made. That’s not a complaint, because my room is perfect. I have a big bed covered with the plushies I’ve dedicated the last two years of my life to collecting, a shelf where I safely store my 160-page ring binder of AZ8 photocards, a window that overlooks a bakery—can you imagine the smells?!—and every inch of wall space is covered with beautiful photos and posters of AZ8.
   Kookie bounds in, climbs on my chest and pads right up to my face.
   “Morning, Kookie.”
   “I’m not happy!” Dad shouts from the doorway. He’s got his bright red running shoes on, which means either he’s going for a run, or he’ll spend the whole day talking about going for a run. “That beast,” he says, pointing at Kookie, who is now covering my face with fishy licks, “has done her business in my yucca plant.”
   Yikes.
   Dad loves his plants. Sometimes, when I watch him stroke the leaves one by one with a damp cloth and tell them about his day, I think he loves them more than he loves Mom.
   “My poor yucca. It’s never going to grow if that feline keeps using it as her toilet.”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I forgot to let her out last night. I fell asleep watching Go Go AZ8! It was a really funny episode. Tae and Jungwon had a challenge to make spicy Korean seafood soup while being sprayed with water guns and—”
   “It’s your animal, Skylar,” Dad grumbles, cutting me off before I can tell him how hysterical it was seeing
   Jungwon add sugar instead of salt to the soup. “And shouldn’t you be at school by now?”
   I shake my head. “It’s seven o’clock, so no.”
   Dad rubs his belly and looks confused. “Seven? No wonder I’m so hungry. I’d better be getting lunch ready.”
   Lunch at seven in the morning? Yeah, that’s not unusual in this house. I live with a bunch of adults who have no concept of time. Dad drives night buses, so for him anything that happens after six a.m. is classified as late. Then there’s my older brother, Jesse. He stays out most nights and returns home at odd times of the day saying things like “Is it Wednesday?” Nana is also questionable, because in the five years since she came to live with us, I’ve never seen her go to bed. She just stays up all night reading cookbooks and watching reality shows where rich women shout at each other. Finally, there’s Mom. I have no clue what time she wakes up. Though I once got up at half past five in the morning and she was already fully dressed and on her second cup of coffee.
   I put on my disgusting school uniform—a tan pleated skirt, a boxy brown blazer, a mucus-colored shirt, and, the most unforgivable part, mustard socks—and head into the living room, also known as Mom’s textile HQ. After losing her job with the city last year, Mom became a mompreneur and set up her own company, Cushy Cushions, which is great except for when she has a big order and I have to help out.
   She’s sitting at her sewing machine with her headphones on, and, judging by the way she’s got a hand on her forehead, she’s listening to one of her romantic audiobooks.
   “Valentino’s a scoundrel,” she mutters. “Don’t trust him.”
   Mom jumps as I tap her on the shoulder.
   “Skylar.” She stops to pull off her headphones. “You’re still here?”
   I resist the urge to sigh. “Yep.”
   “Darling, it’s so late. Shouldn’t you be at Bright and Brainy Breakfast Club?”
   I shake my head, because it’s now only seven fifteen and Bright and Brainy Breakfast Club stopped having me in for Nutella on toast when they realized I wasn’t bright or brainy.
   “If I’d known you were still here, you could have helped me. Your tiny hands are perfect for stitching on sequins.” She looks at her teetering pile of sewing and tuts. “Never mind, you can help after school.”
   I shake my head quickly. “I can’t. I’m going to Dana’s after school.”
   “Anyone seen Jesse recently?” Dad asks as he comes in.
   “Not since Saturday night,” Mom says. “He was going to a festival, I think.”
   Dad looks out of the window at the heavy rain. “Hardly the weather for it.”
   “Mom, AZ8 is launching their video comeback in less than twelve hours. Dana and I have the whole evening planned.”
   She shrugs. “You can watch your three-minute music video while helping me sew.”
   What is she talking about? It’s so much more than a three-minute video. For us AZ8 fans, known as Glows, a video comeback is a whole experience—an experience that consists of:

1. 
Learning the dance routine. AZ8’s brilliant dance routines take hours of dedicated practice to learn, but I usually pick up most moves on the first day. I’ve been dancing since before I could walk. I literally stood up at six months old, went “Goo-goo-gah!” and did the running man.
2. 
Working with Glows all over the world to break records. The last AZ8 video had one hundred million views in one day. Mom
said the majority of those were probably me and Dana.
3. 
Learning the words. AZ8 songs are mostly in Korean but you can just mumble “hmm-hmm-hmm” until the English chorus kicks in.
4. 
Arguing about which member looks the best and who your bias is: this means your favorite. Mine is obviously Woojin.
5. 
Talking online with other Glows about all of the above.

   You do all this repeatedly until a non-Glow, usually a parent, shouts something like “My ears are bleeding. Make it stop!”
   I live for video comebacks. How can Mom suggest I miss one to help her sew cushion covers? It’s bad enough that despite being AZ8’s number one fan I’m not going to their concert this Saturday. The reality of this hurts, but Dad said one ticket costs as much as our electricity bill, plus our city tax (whatever that is), plus a year’s worth of vet bills. Also, the tickets sold out in four minutes and six seconds.
   I sigh, making sure it’s long enough and dramatic enough to get both of my parents’ attention.
   “It’s just a band, Skylar,” Dad says while spritzing his bonsai. A bonsai, in case you don’t know, is a tiny Barbie-size tree. “Don’t you ever get bored of watching those boys sing, dance, and eat noodles?”
   What a ridiculous question. “Don’t you ever get bored of watching that tiny tree not grow?” I snap back.
   Mom laughs. “When I was your age, liking a pop star never took up this much time. We watched their videos once a week on TV if we were lucky. There wasn’t all this extra stuff to do.”
   “I can help you sew another day,” I offer. “Just any day that’s not this week.”
   “And according to this, you have a math test on Friday,” Dad says, tapping the Saint Margaret’s academic wall calendar.
   Hmm, he’s right, I do have a math test, but it’s not an important one or anything. Plus, I’m already in the bottom rankng for math—what’s another bad mark going to do? Send me back to elementary school?
   Mom unrolls some sparkly fabric. “You can come straight home today. Help me, do some math, and then spend a bit of quality time with Nana.”
   Nana loves “quality time,” which basically involves me chopping onions, unwrapping a ton of seasoning cubes, and listening to her tell stories about her childhood.
   “You’ll need to be home to repot my yucca plant too,” Dad adds while doing some very deep lunges.
   “Sorry,” I say. “I really can’t do cushions or cooking or math or replanting yuccas this evening. This evening is all about AZ8.”
   “Enough,” Mom snaps, now getting angry. “You’re wasting too much time on those boys.”
   “Mom, AZ8’s literally the only thing I care about.”
   She shakes her head. “That’s the problem, Skylar. You’re too obsessed.”
   “Yes, but appropriately obsessed,” I clarify.
   “It’s time to take a break.”
   Dad nods. “I agree. Also, I’m not ready to hear another K-pop song on repeat for months.”
   “What are you saying?” I shout. And quickly realize my mistake, because raised voices are not tolerated in this house.
   Mom looks at Dad and they do this weird thing where it’s like they’re speaking to each other without saying any words. Eventually they both nod, turn to me, and say at the same time, “AZ8 is banned.”