Thirty-Six
THIRTY-SIX
ZERO OUT OF TEN
“You okay?” Kick shouts over the noise of the crowd.
We’re side stage, about to go on, and I can’t stand still, can’t stop walking in circles and rubbing my hands up and down my arms. Emily’s words keep running through my mind. Kick’s got everything we’re looking for, plus he’s easy to work with. Mari’s expendable.
“Hey,” Kick says, reaching out for me.
I shake him off and bite back, “I’m fine.”
He recoils, confused, but I can’t care. Because Kick is the one who’s fine. Kick is the one getting a record deal. Kick’s the star. Kick has everything they’re looking for. I’m just the empty-headed side piece here to sell tickets until my charm runs out.
Deacon Sparrow comes over to tell us to have a good show but immediately senses something’s off. “You kids okay?”
Kick stares at me, the same question in his eyes. I have nothing to say. They win. I lose.
“You guys ready?” Don says, coming up behind us. “Full house tonight.”
I turn away from him, unable to look any of them in the eye after what I overheard. Are Deacon and Don in on the whole label deal? Have they known this entire time that I’m just a pawn? Emily said they insisted on me winning. But why? Do they know I’m a Lovejoy and let me win as some sort of peace offering for the past? Is that why Don offered to record our songs?
Don squeezes my shoulder before he and Deacon run up on stage to do their nightly intro. Kick and I and the guys follow them and get into our spots. I plug in my guitar and look out into the audience. I feel sick, drained of all my energy. I need to focus, need to think of the show, the crowd, all the people watching the livestream. I can’t fall apart on stage.
Not that it would matter.
I could leave the tour. Let Kick have his spotlight. Run back to California and let my mother manage me, broker me a record deal as the new and improved LOVEJOY. That would make everyone happy, for me to be in my proper place.
I’m frozen on stage, aware of nothing and no one but Emily’s voice in my head. Kick’s got everything we’re looking for, plus he’s easy to work with. Mari’s expendable.
Kick and the band launch into “I Kissed Her In An Alcove.” Kick sings lead and I do my best to fade into the shadows.
By the time the song’s over, it’s obvious we’re off. The whole set’s off. I know it. Kick knows it. Miguel and Mateo know it. Even the audience knows it. But I can’t fake it, can’t play the role of the doe-eyed songstress enamored with her handsome musical partner. Because we aren’t partners. He’s been competing with me this entire time, setting me up to be something he knew I never wanted to be. He played the unaffected cool guy, not in it for the acclaim, only here to fulfill the wish of his brother. But he’s been strategizing, moving the pieces, playing me.
We stumble through the next song, my heart no longer in it. I’m going through the motions, singing the notes I’m supposed to sing and playing the chords I’m supposed to play, but it’s empty. All the magic’s been snuffed out like a blown candle.
It’s our last song, “Don’t You Want Me.” My stomach twists into a knot. I don’t know how I’m going to get through it. My voice barely works and now I’m expected to sing and flirt and dance around the stage with someone who lied to me, whose every word has most likely been a lie.
Maybe my mother was right. I can’t do this on my own. One hiccup and I’m falling flat on my face like a first timer. I’ve been running around this tour acting like I belong here when really I have no idea what I’m doing, no idea how to be this person I’ve convinced everyone I am.
The microphone shakes in my trembling hand and I’m waiting for the track to start, to force myself to smile and shimmy.
Kick motions to the sound engineer to hold the track. He gives me an indiscernible look before smiling into the audience. He’s still wearing his guitar.
“Dallas, you’ve been such a great crowd tonight, I was wondering if I could change things up a bit.”
Cheers rise from the crowd, but they don’t mean anything. They’d be captivated by anything he said. His sexy grin reaches all the way to the back of the arena.
“I wrote a new song today.” A loud whoop from the lower section on the left, probably full of Kick fans. He looks over at me, nervous. “It’s about this sizzler of a girl over here. Y’all give it up for Mari Gold.”
My body goes numb. He wrote a song? Kick doesn’t write songs. Even if he did, he would never play something he’d just written in front of this many people. Something’s off.
“You already know how talented she is, what an amazing singer she is. But if you’d be so kind, I’d like to share a song with you about who she is behind the scenes.”
I glance at Miguel and Mateo. They’re clearly in on whatever is about to happen.
The guitar tech comes out on stage, hands Kick an acoustic guitar and takes his electric. Kick pulls the acoustic strap over his head and plugs in. A hush falls over the crowd, everyone waiting to hear what he’ll say, especially me.
“Truth is, I never expected to meet someone like her, someone who’s made me better just by standing next to her on this stage every night. It wasn’t easy trying to put her brilliance into a song, but I gave it my best shot. This is ‘She’s A Ten.’”
Oh my God. Oh my God .
He strums something melodic and lilting before he starts to sing.
Met her, liked her, kissed her
Then I got to know her
Found out she’s so much more
More than funny, more than cool
Made my wounded heart unspool
For her
Just her
This complicated, dedicated, understated girl
He’s singing to me, but I can’t hear the words. This isn’t what I want, being manipulated in front of a packed arena. Did he even write this song? Or did Emily and Cheddar put him up to it, give him a swoony ballad to sing the night their investor is in the audience so he could show off?
Bile climbs up my throat, twenty-two thousand pairs of eyes waiting to see what I’ll do.
He gets to the chorus, his voice filled with emotion. He should really go into acting. His dopey, hopelessly-in-love expression is very convincing.
I may be a star
But she’s a constellation
I may be the moon
But she’s the one I orbit
If I’m five out of fiv e
She’s a ten
I have to get out of here. Right now.
Even though it won’t look good for Sparrow, even though Emily and Cheddar will screech about responsibility and following orders, even though I might be blowing up my future career on the spot, I walk off stage in the middle of Kick’s song.
I walk right past Nic, who calls my name, past the crew, past Rod, past the crowd of random All Access pass holders who gather side stage at every show, and head out to the loading dock. Once I’m outside, the stifling heat seers into me but I don’t care. I can’t be inside anymore. I can’t listen to Kick’s swoony love song full of meaningless words.
Every experience from my sister’s career should have prepared me for this moment. I’ve seen with my own eyes how it’s all a con, artists doing anything they have to do to make the audience fall in love with them. And spend money. I should have seen this coming a mile away. I’ve been so caught up in the Kick swirl I completely lost sight of why I’m here in the first place.
Pausing between the buses, I bang my shoulders and head back against the side of our bus and will myself not to cry. Because if I start, I may never stop.
My phone rings in my boot and I ignore it. As soon it stops ringing, it buzzes with a text. I pull it out and see it’s Cass.
Cass: What just happened?
Cass: I’m doing highlights and watching the livestream and you just walked off stage.
Cass: Are you okay?
Cass: Answer your phone.
I can’t talk to her right now, can’t admit my humiliating failure in out loud words.
Me: I’m okay. Will call soon.
Cass: I will fly to Texas so help me. Just say the word.