Twenty-One
TWENTY-ONE
THE CHEEK PAIN IS WORTH IT
As soon as we step off stage, Cheddar and Emily are there, Emily talking a mile a minute. I haven’t had time to catch my breath and they’re already hustling us backstage.
“You were supposed to do twenty minutes but you only did fifteen. What happened?”
“It was good, right?” I ask Kick, dabbing the sweat from my face with a towel the guitar tech hands me. Kick’s scrubbing his face and neck with his own towel. When he pulls it away, he’s red-cheeked and radiant.
“That was incredible,” he roars. “Wasn’t it incredible?” He grabs me by my waist and lifts me into the air to spin me in a circle. “We just did that!”
When he sets me down I’m dizzy, but not from the spinning. Every second of our set was like riding on a rocket ship made of unicorns straight into a rainbow. We went beyond playing songs together. We transformed, became something new. Mixing our styles, our voices, each giving our best to compliment the other—it was magic.
Emily’s still grumbling about our incomplete set and saying something about a meet and greet and photos and something else I can’t hear over the roar of the crowd waiting for Sparrow. Cheddar’s happy-shouting stats at us—livestream numbers, Instagram likes, follows, TikToks—drowning us in numbers.
“You guys are on fire,” he says. “Except for a couple of people who keep insisting Mari is related to LOVEJOY. Can you imagine?”
I pull away from Kick and freeze, unsure what to say.
“Don’t worry,” Cheddar says, “we’re deleting them.”
“I’ve got eight-by-tens,” Emily says. “We’re not going to make an announcement. We’ll just head out there after the show. See how things go on the fly.”
My heart starts beating again. The way Cheddar breezed right past the LOVEJOY comment, maybe it will be a non-issue?
“Wait,” I say, my brain going in too many directions at once. “Out where?”
I just played the show of my life. People are commenting about me and my sister. And something’s happening after the show? I need a minute to process.
Emily crosses her arms, all business. “We’re going to have you both out by the exit to sign autographs for fans, take photos. We want to gage interest.”
“Interest for what?”
“Interest for you.” She’s smiling like it’s adorable I’m so clueless.
“According to socials, interest is off the charts,” Cheddar says, glowing.
“Do I,” I look at Kick who looks as shell-shocked as I feel, “should we change clothes?”
I’m sweaty and sticky and my heart’s still pounding in my ears.
“No, keep these clothes on. We want people to recognize you from the set. Be in your dressing room at eleven and someone will escort you out.”
Cheddar and Emily hurry off in opposite directions, Cheddar scanning his phone for more data, more numbers, leaving Kick and I to absorb the fact we’re now meeting fans after the show .
“Is this happening?”
Kick scratches at the back of his neck. “I don’t know anything about this meet and greet situation but what I do know is,” his eyes find mine, “I’ve never had that much fun on stage. Ever.”
I want to say yes, me too. Want to lunge at him, throw my arms around him, scream in his ear that we were incredible. We were incredible! But that would cross the invisible line we’ve drawn, would leave me vulnerable. I can’t, especially now, give in to my basest desires and risk messing up our onstage chemistry.
A playful smile tugs at his lips. “Still worried about me stealing your spotlight, Goldie?”
I throw my chin in the air and return his smile. “I guess we can share.”
“For now.”
“Yeah, for now.”
Emily guides us through the crush of people exiting the venue, lines of wide-eyed fans at the massive Sparrow merch displays buying shirts and posters and hats. A huge backdrop of me and Kick, probably nine feet high and just as wide, is set up near the main exit. It’s one of the photos from the audition, the other contestants cropped out. The way Kick and I are standing together, angled towards each other, we look like a couple. Emily planned everything perfectly, down to the exact photo needed for a huge backdrop .
“Listen,” Emily says as she hustles us over to the line, “if people ask if you’re a couple, don’t deny it. Keep ‘em guessing.”
My mouth drops open and I’m overly aware of hundreds of pairs of eyes watching me, watching Kick, watching every move we make. “Why would we do that?”
She gives me that look again, like I’m a clueless, adorable idiot. “To sell tickets, obviously. And livestream access. And t-shirts. And meet-and-greet passes.”
Kick and I exchange a worried look as we get to the backdrop. Emily pushes us forward like a stage mom hungry for a crown. A line of people roped-off next to the backdrop clap and cheer as soon as we come into view. Kick’s hand goes to my back, reaches to grip my waist. I look up at him and he’s smiling at the crowd but there’s a tightness in his eyes.
He leans in and whispers, “Let’s just get through this. We’ll figure it out later.”
Figure what out? The overwhelming fish-out-of-water sensation of people lined up to meet us? That Emily wants us to pretend to be a couple? That all these people probably think we are a couple?
Emily positions us in the middle of the backdrop and turns her focus to the line.
“You get one photo and one signed eight-by-ten. Please don’t linger, we need to keep the line moving. Thank you.”
She motions for the first person to approach, a short woman wearing a Sparrow t-shirt and practically bouncing up and down with excitement. She hands her phone to Emily to have the photo taken and bounds over to us, grabbing our hands in hers.
“You guys are so ridiculously cute together, I mean, those songs? The sparks were flying on that stage tonight. Please tell me you’re together.” She’s breathless when she says it, her face so hopeful. “I mean, if you’re not then please give me your number. ”
I can’t tell if she’s asking for my number or for Kick’s. I’m suspicious it’s both.
“We do love performing together,” Kick says. “We’re...”
His voice drops off and my brain struggles to fill in the blank.
Just a duo?
Two people who perform together on stage because we were forced to?
Competitors?
Rivals?
…Friends?
“Well,” the woman says, filling in the gap left hanging wide open, “it won’t be long.” She gives us an exaggerated wink and shimmies in between us for the photo.
Kick shoots me a quick look before we smile for the camera, like he’s acknowledging an inside joke we have. Emily hands us Sharpies and we each sign an eight-by-ten photo of ourselves, the same photo Emily took at the audition, and thank the woman for coming.
The next person in line is pretty much the same. Wants to know if we’re dating, thinks it’s only a matter of time, thinks we’re adorable together, wants to know when our version of “Don’t You Want Me” and what are now known as The Alcove Songs will be available to stream.
The line goes on and on, which is equal parts thrilling and exhausting and shocking. All these people, here to see me, see us, when we’ve barely started the tour.
We’re half-way through the line when a twenty-something wearing a micro-mini and a sheer tank top walks seductively up to Kick.
“Hi,” she says while her body says ten times more.
“Hey there,” he says. Friendly. Worried.
“Loved your set tonight,” she says, angling her body so she’s between me and Kick, her back to me. “I’m Bree. How long will you be in town? ”
“Leaving right away I’m afraid,” Kick says, reaching over to pull me closer. “Let’s take this photo, yeah?”
She pulls a hotel key from her bra and pushes it into Kick’s hand. “If there’s time, I’ll be waiting.”
We take the photo, the girl never even noticing I’m there.
“ If there’s time, I’ll be waiting,” I mimic, slinging my arm across my eyes.
“You wish,” Kick jokes.
The next guy in line heads straight for me when it’s his turn. “What time were you born?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“And your birthday? I was trying to do your birth chart and couldn’t find any information about your birthday online. I found all your info,” he says to Kick, thrusting a folded piece of paper into his hand, “but Mari here is a mystery.”
“She was born right on time,” Kick says, pulling the guy between us and facing him forward. “Say cheese!”