I tugged on my hoodie as I made my way down the hallway to my locker. I could feel the burning gaze of the student body, boring though my skin like sunlight to a vampire, the constant whispering echoing in my ears everywhere I turned and it was driving me bonkers. Lucky for me, I had theatre right now meaning I could settle in the very back and ignore the judgmental, withering gazes of the everybody. I ducked into the room and closed the door behind me. I spotted a few familiar faces from my previous classes but all they did was wave and smile at me. I relaxed a little.
The theatre was a flurry of activity. Busier than usual with the theatre teacher talking to some guys in the front. Five or six of them. Miss Leroux looked to be holding her own. She was talking to them in turn answering a few questions. The theatre doors werre flanked with big guys clad in black which made me want to raise a few questions. I refrained knowing I probably wouldn't like the answer.
From my vantage position, I could see a few people peeking from the wings of the stage from time to time and then ducking back behind the curtains. What was going on here?
Kye and Trish waved me over. I adjusted the bag on my shoulder before I settled in the seat next to them. Trish squirmed in her uncomfortably in her seat. She fiddled with her fingers making my brow shoot up involuntarily as I looked to Kye for answers.
"Might as well tell her Trish," she resigned.
"The WES guys are here." she blurted out.
"The...what?"
"Okay, so I was talking with Marty and Belinda from the cheerleading squad, and Marty told Belinda that she'd seen Caleb in the band room and oh, Caleb looked so hot in his Jersey after working out and I was like what colour jersey since I was allergic to beige since I was like five. Still am by the way. Gives me more goosebumps than Goosebumps and socks and sandals. And she was like it was blue and gold like our school colours idiot, what planet are you from? And I was like earth duh. And I'm so not an idiot! You're the one dressed like a carrot! Green and orange so don't go together and then she pulled my hair and I pulled her hair and then we got into this huge fight-"
Kye placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Whoa, babe, get to the point."
"I'm building up to it." she said. She sighed and parted her bangs a little. Then she turned to me with a smile.
"So we got sent to Mrs. Maldova's office for fighting and guess who we saw there."
"...I'm literally dealing with a lot in my head right now so if you could wrap this up?"
"The WES guys, some stuffy looking producers from Hollywood!" she said. "Unfortunately, the one stuffy producer I wanted to see was in New York handling more important stuff than his own daughter." she slumped into her seat her face falling.
"Wait you mean the With Every Song producers have already started casting? And they're starting here?" I swallowed hard.
My eyes went to the stage where one tall, lanky guy in specs was pacing back and forth yelling into his phone. I couldn't help but pity whoever was on the other end. It was tempting to want to audition. The grand prize was a hundred thousand dollars and it would go a long way in paying for dad's bills. He could fully recover. But unfortunately, I had stage fright. So that was out. I'd have to rough it out at the restaurant. I sank into my seat and lazily watched as Miss Leroux ascend the stage with dainty steps.
She clapped her hands to get everyone's attention.
"Excusez-moi tout le monde! Eyes up front!" she bellowed.
Everyone sat up.
"As you know, we have the privilege of being the first school to provide five of this year's participants in the reality TV show: With Every Song." she said. "It is an honor. Now, most of you signed up last night immediately after the announcement and I thank you for your enthusiasm but remember only five will represent our school this year. If you are not selected...I won't tell you there's a next time but for niceties' sake, 'there will be a next time.' Bonne chance to all of you, any questions?"
Someone in front of us raised a hand.
"So, what, we're like beta testers for the eighth season or something?"
Miss Leroux frowned.
"Any good questions?" she rephrased.
Kye raised a hand.
"Yes Kyla?"
"So, say five people are actually picked from this school. What'll happen to their academic progress? We still have to sit our SATs you know and actually graduate." she asked.
"Good question and the answer is, all being done is auditions, casting and orientation. Filming begins in the summer. Which as luck would have it is two weeks from now. Es-vous compris?" she asked.
When there were no more questions, she invited the producers to introduce themselves. The first was a woman in a Daisy-White, Strapless Jumpsuit; rim rod straight hair held back in a high ponytail, minimal make up save for her deep red lipstick, she looked like she was in her mid-thirties. Elizabeth Hartfield, a senior producer at Ginger and Stone Studios. She may have been loaded but the one thing she couldn't afford was a smile. She gave a brief speech on how much she expected from us and she was looking forward to working with only the best of the best, and how much she was hoping we would not disappoint.
The second was a woman in red checkered capris and a black tank top, her silver-white hair in Dutch braids. I recognized her immediately. Midnight from the rock band Crimson Thunder. She was famous for smashing the lead singer's Fender Stratocaster mid-concert a few years back after she found him cheating. It seemed a bit much but you can't put a price on love. And she made her point by destroying a 1500$ guitar.
The third was a man in a pink suit and a white dress shirt, and he emphasized the importance of having fun. If we saw the whole thing as nothing but a competition, then it would be just a popularity contest that would eventually make it harder for those who couldn't make the cut. Lazlo Wilde. He had this talk show, Wilde Dreams, where the guest stars were teenagers who'd either realised their dreams while young or those who had been booted off WES. I think it was a way of shining the spotlight on fallen stars so that even if they didn't win in the end, they could still walk away with the satisfaction on having been on national television twice. And that was more than some people could say. It was generous of him.
The fourth was a guy in a simple black tee and blue jeans, and a tawny, cattleman cowboy hat. It brought back memories of when I used to play cowboy with dad in our country house in Vermont. I think his name was Wyatt Shane.
The fifth was a gruff-looking guy in a crisp, dull, grey suit. I didn't even catch his name because my focus was on the last one who's feet were on the table as he scrolled through something on his phone. A few silver piercings on his left ear glinted in the lights, and I caught sight of a bit of stubble on his chin. He seemed a bit young to be a producer and my thoughts were confirmed when he introduced himself.
He swung his feet off the table and dug his hands in his pockets, making his way up the stage. His dark hair was slightly parted and hung over his right hair. He was either doing this begrudgingly, or he was just having one of those bad days.
"Hi, I'm Lance. Going to skip all the niceties. My dad owns Peroxide Sounds and he's too busy to fill the sixth seat so I have the displeasure of dealing with the lot of you. I'm not going to be as easily impressed as the rest of these folks here so you better get your hankies girlies, because I'm going to make you cry." he said in a British accent and with that he gave a fake smile and descended the stairs.
I knew who he was alright. I'd seen him a couple of times at the restaurant but each time he was with a different girl. And each girl looked as naive as the last, thinking that he would stay with her. I'd seen how he'd lie to them. Placing a hand over hers and whispering sweet nothings to her. I knew his type and I hated his type. He once called me out because he asked for red wine and I brought him Cabernet Sauvignon. He snapped at me and asked I bring Pinot noir or he would leave and give the restaurant a bad review. Not that it would matter, our town was so small that one measly review wouldn't taint our name. But I was already on thin ice with the manager so I had to comply. He made me search through at least four wineries to get a bottle and worse still, my boss took it out of my paycheck for tardiness!
My phone buzzed and I fished it out of my pocket. A new message from...Allison? For curiosity's sake, I opened it.
-You better not think of auditioning. I already signed up and I'm going to be picked. Don't ruin this for me.
I muffled a laugh and tucked the phone away into my bag.
"I'm sorry, is there something funny about what I just said?" came a voice and I looked up to see Lance looking right at me from just below the stage.
I froze for a moment.
"No."
"So what is?" he asked.
"Definitely not you that's for sure," I muttered.
He eyed me for a second and I turned back to my phone. Why would Ally audition for this? She couldn't sing a chord even if an entire MP3 player was jammed into her tiny brain. So how did she want to play this? Since we were kids, she'd tried to sabotage me at beauty pageants. We'd both compete but she usually won because she'd either stuck a toad in my dress or she'd laced my lemon tea with lime soda. I was five so I didn't realize the difference until when I actually caught her.
"I knew girls here were dumb and easily sidetracked but this is just ridiculous." It was no more than a mumbled under his breath but I caught it. My head shot up and I felt my hands fold into fists.
"That's what you'd call what you just said? A speech?" I scoffed. "The Gettysburg Address was a speech. What you just did was introduce yourself as someone to be intimidated by because you're a judge. If I was interested in auditioning, I would but I'm not so anything else is a welcome distraction if it means I can save my ears from the screeching and whining that you call a speech."
I stood up and though I caught the surprise on not only his but also the others' faces, I did not bother to apologized. I stormed out into the deserted hallway. At the time, I didn't really know what was wrong with me. Maybe I was just angry that a golden opportunity had been brought to me on a silver platter and I was too much of a coward to take it. That and Lance Launceston was an asshole if I had ever seen one. I saw him at the restaurant a couple of times. He yelled at the waitresses there if they so much as spilled a drop of wine on the tablecloth and he had forced the manager to fire one of my closest coworkers Sally Cartwright.
He really dimmed my opinion about the glitterati of Hollywood. Though it wasn't untrue that at least 90% of them were presumptuous. I sighed and made my way down to the hallway to the one place I could feel at peace.