Chapter 12
L ola pushed her voice for the last bar of “Part of Me” as her guitar reverberated with the final chord.
She was perched on a stool, one heel on the crossbar.
As she let her voice soar through the song’s end, she set her guitar down in a waiting stand and grabbed the bedazzled mic.
She reminded herself not to break eye contact with the audience, to keep that connection.
Her backing band shifted into a different key for the opening of “Wish I Never Met You” as Lola strutted over to the piano.
She began the first verse on time, but shoving the mic into the stand took a fraction of a second too long.
By the time her fingers were on the keys, she missed her cue.
She cut the song off. The band went quiet.
“I was late. I’m sorry,” she called out. Lola balled her hands into fists, then released the tension before shoving herself off the piano bench.
“ Barely ,” called Simone, Lola’s performance coach, from the middle of the soundstage where they’d been rehearsing for the Denver Corkscrew Fest. “Come take a look at the video.”
“Late is late,” Lola said flatly, adjusting the white patent go-go boots she’d wear for the performance. On top, she wore shorts and a crop top. “This transition has to be right or we’re cutting it.”
“We’re not cutting it; the fans are going to love it,” Simone said. “They go crazy for ‘Wish.’”
Lola settled her guitar over her shoulder again. “That’s why it has to be perfect. Let’s take it from the last chorus.”
As the drummer counted them in, Lola’s focus narrowed to this song, this performance.
For now, her audience was small: Simone, plus Gloriana, who’d stopped by unexpectedly, Cassidy, Micah, and Renee with the crew.
But in a few days, it would be thousands of fans at the festival.
Lo-Lites paid hundreds of dollars to see her live, some of them driving for hours to get there.
She wasn’t going to disappoint them with shoddy transitions.
This set was shorter than what Lola had played on her last tour, which ended more than a year and a half ago.
They’d done seventy-five dates on four continents, over five months.
She’d booked the headlining slot at Corkscrew around the same time, when “Just Between Us,” a song about the thrill of a secret relationship, was shooting up the charts and Album 5 was still on schedule.
She was meant to be playing that album at the festival.
Now, she was hacking apart her old tour set and hoping her fans would stay interested.
It took three more attempts to get the transition smooth enough to look effortless, and tight enough that the key change between the songs felt like a ratcheting up of energy, not an accident.
Then Lola had them run it twice more, to lock it in.
As usual with rehearsals, everyone else was satisfied long before Lola.
She hadn’t loved the idea of getting this rehearsal on film.
Or she hadn’t until Renee had greeted her that morning by playfully shoving her shoulder and saying, “Okay, Miss Teen Queen, ready to show me what you got?” It was uncharacteristically goofy, as if they were at some kind of basketball scrimmage, not an eight-hour rehearsal.
Lola had asked what she was talking about, but Renee had puffed up her chest and said, “See you out there,” before going to check the cameras.
For hours, Lola had been giving this rehearsal her all.
More often than not, she found herself spotting Renee from the stage.
She hadn’t intended to keep locking eyes with her, but she had to look somewhere .
Besides, Renee was always staring right back at her from behind the camera, her lip curled halfway to a smile.
Lola found herself trying to coax that smile out fully, tossing her hair or arching an eyebrow at a clever lyric or letting her voice really go.
Rehearsals could be such a slog, but with Renee watching, this one was flying by.
Lola took her place center stage, her lavender guitar over her shoulder, for the first song of the encore.
“Star Sign” was a fan favorite from Seventeen Candles .
Lola picked out the opening notes, her head bowed.
The opening of “Star Sign” had always been a major moment for the fans: she whispered the first line into the mic like a secret, then raised her head as fans joined in for the second.
It always gave her chills to hear thousands of them singing it with her.
I want to be closer to you.
But what else is new?
This time, she lifted her eyes and saw Renee.
It was only muscle memory that kept her from fumbling the chords.
When she had written this song, she’d never imagined that she’d sing it for Renee.
It was about Renee, after all, the night they’d stayed up to watch a meteor shower together for an extra credit assignment.
It had been a kind of torture to spend those hours with Renee—the comforting familiarity of Renee’s living room, where Lola had always felt safe, and the aching romance of watching the sky together amid the bright white snow.
Lola had wanted nothing more than to kiss her.
But she couldn’t. She wasn’t brave enough.
She was terrified that Renee would reject her, or, somehow worse, that her love would add to Renee’s pain, instead of making it better.
In the end, they’d just watched the stars fall together in silence and Lola had channeled her feelings into another song about what could have been.
Lola let her voice swell.
You were watching the stars, but I was watching you.
But Renee was here now, and she was listening.
The story in “Star Sign” ended differently than it had in real life.
Lola sang that if she was lucky enough to see falling stars, she might be lucky enough for her crush to kiss her—and her crush does.
But the song could be a little melancholy: Lola spent the first two verses about to give up the torch she’d been carrying for an unrequited love.
But singing it now, for Renee, it didn’t feel that way.
It felt like a promise.
As the final note faded, the audience broke into applause.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Simone cried.
“Wow, Lola, just wow!” Gloriana said.
They paused for a break. Lola sat on the edge of the stage, a little breathless, and accepted a mug of tea from Cassidy. She felt alive, sharpened in the way that only a good performance could do.
Renee approached with her camera, Alejandro and his mic in tow.
Lola smirked down at Renee from the stage. She had a perfect view of Renee’s shoulder muscles tensing under the weight of the camera.
“So did I bring it?” Lola asked, one eyebrow arched.
Renee sucked on her lip, considering. “Oh yeah, it’s been broughten. I can’t wait to see the actual show.”
“Look who’s becoming a Lo-Lite,” Lola said, pleased with herself. “What was your favorite song?”
Renee wasn’t even pretending to look at the camera. The gold in her green eyes caught the light. Lola liked Renee looking up at her like this. She wanted to slide her fingers into Renee’s messy bleached hair.
“That one at the end. ‘Star Sign.’ It’s my favorite of all your songs.”
“It is?”
My favorite of all your songs.
Renee’s head bobbed. “It sounded different than it does on the album.”
“I tried something new,” Lola said, the corners of her mouth lifting, pleased that Renee heard the difference.
Alejandro cleared his throat. “Guys?”
“Right!” Renee checked the viewfinder. “Okay, Lo. Can you explain what you’re rehearsing for?”
Lola still had a faint grin on her lips when she answered, “The set at Corkscrew Fest is going to be the very last show for Wild Heart .”
“So this is a goodbye,” Renee said.
“Or a good riddance,” Lola said without thinking. Shoot . She shouldn’t have said that on camera. “What I meant was, I love the songs on Wild Heart , and I’m so grateful my fans love them too. But when you have a big album like that, you can’t let yourself get stuck. I’m ready to move on.”
Lola paused. In her mind, Wild Heart had become just as associated with the tragedy of Ava as the canceled album: if she’d gotten to release that, no one would be talking about Wild Heart anymore. That was what she’d actually meant by good riddance .
“Move on to what?” Renee asked.
For once, this question didn’t trigger an avalanche of anxiety. Lola just said, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
They started another run-through. As Lola waited offstage for her cue, she felt good. Maybe if this kept up, she could ride the feeling into a productive writing session. What she’d said to Renee had given her hope: maybe the next big thing for her was already there, waiting for her to uncover it.
Lola strutted onstage. The first number went perfectly, but they were halfway through the second when something went wrong.
Someone pushed in through the side door, letting in a wide beam of sunlight that silhouetted the figure.
Lola kept singing, but when she heard someone ask about security, she faltered.
Lola couldn’t make out who the stranger was, but no one was stopping him from heading confidently toward the stage—not even the camera tracking him.
Lola’s pulse ratcheted higher until it throbbed in her ears.
The intruder had to be someone she knew, to be allowed into her rehearsal—but obsessive fans sometimes managed impossible things.
Just as she was about to panic, the man came into focus, and though her heart was still racing, Lola knew what she had to do.
“Nash!” she cried.