A&b

by J. C. Lillis

  I get this sick swoopy feeling like when you trip onstage and almost fall. And then it happens.

  A crack in my shell.

  No. I pull my jacket tight around my throat. I am Evil Barrie, First of Her Name, Queen of Green, Empress of Envy. Evil B has no use for romantic gestures, especially not of the twist-tie variety.

  Oh Lord, and then Jaz asks her What’s your favorite memory from the competition, and Ava rattles off some BS answer about pizza night but she’s touching my twist-tie heart the whole time, tracing it over and over like she’s trying to conjure our night again. Everything roars back. Everything we said and did, everything she made me feel. I go weak with the memory of her lips on my neck and her hands in places no one ever touched and her smile when I pressed the heart into her palm.

  The crack spiders and deepens. I feel Evil B fall away from me in pieces, like ice on a warming-up windshield. I’m stunned at how easy she shatters. She wasn’t the real me. She wasn’t after all. She was a hard thin shell begging for someone to break her.

  I flip my phone facedown on the table and step away. I flex my fingers. They look different. New and pink and uncertain.

  Now what?

  There’s no room to panic, no time to think. Because when I turn around, Tera Rivera is standing in the doorway of the Church of Abandon, glowing in white against the gold tinsel curtain like a goddess, a disco queen, an instrument of Destini.

  Chapter Thirty

  Her time is short and it’s play or die. I sit behind Rosalinda on my empty stage, the ruins of last night around me, and I sing my heart out for my hero.

  I put on Evil B the best I can—summoning all my focus, I pound out my strongest Sour Grapes songs, “Wicked Sister” and “Ill Will” and “Everyone’s in Love But Me.” But after three songs, I’m burned out on bitter. So I mix in some happy stuff, songs I honed years ago but mothballed when I started the cabaret. ”Top Down.” “Take It Home.” I even throw in “Forget What I Said”: a rare ballad of anger-free heartbreak, the first song I wrote after Chelsie broke things off. I’ve never played it for anyone before. Only me, and I didn’t think I counted.

  Ava shows up while I’m singing. Not in person. In choices I make. I change the words to “Ill Will” on the spot, adding bonus alliteration in verse one. I tighten up “Take It Home,” dropping the third verse with the corny mountain metaphor. In the chorus of “Forget What I Said,” I do that thing Ava does where she tilts her head back and closes her eyes, like the words are bubbling up from her soul and she’s carefully delivering them into the world. Everything she taught me, everything I taught myself—it all braids together. And no matter what Tera says, I know: it’s the best set I’ve played in my life.

  I guess Tera agrees, because when I’m done she stands up in her flawless white jumpsuit, clapping so hard her gold bracelets jingle. I get what Ava meant then, when she said it’s okay to crave success because it feels good. I’ll always want my music to stretch beyond personal pride, but right now, with Tera beaming standing-O approval at me, pride feels pretty darn good.

  “Come sit with me, baby.” Tera’s voice is a cold drink of water after two hours on a dance floor. “We have things to talk about.”

  I float to the table and take the chair she offers, my head swarming with possibilities. What if she signs me to her label right now? What if she wants me to be her personal protégé? What if she says—

  “Sign this first.” She pushes a form across the table. “It’s a confidentiality agreement.”

  Not what I expected, but okay.

  “It’s no big deal. It means anything we discuss today doesn’t leave this room.”

  “Of course. Yes.” I sign the sheet. Secrets with Tera. What could be cooler?

  “Rob Holtzer.” She folds the form and tucks it in her white leather purse. “Any chance you remember him?”

  “From Season 2. Went up against Jessie Lynne in Sudden Death and lost.”

  “Woo! Look at you, trivia queen.” She sips the drink Don brought her, a hot-pink Atomic Lemonade that matches her hair.

  “You said he was great at imitating the greats, but didn’t have the life experience to sing about heartbreak.”

  “Yep.” She raps her golden fingernails on the table. “I took care of that.”

  “You…?”

  She takes a deep breath. “Right after the show I hired this fantastic mystery girl to reach out to him on Instagram, wreak havoc on his heart for six months, and then cut off all contact.” Guilt flashes across her face and then winks out. “One year later he was—well, not a new man, but a better songwriter for sure. He got signed to Grizzlypaw, had a song on the Threadmaker’s Daughter soundtrack. You, though?” She tilts her head, grinning. “I gotta say, no one’s been quite like you.”

  I…am not getting this. I’m not sure I want to.

  Tera taps out something on her phone and holds it up to her ear. “Matt?” she says. “Send her up, please.”

  Send who up? My mind whirls as Tera fills in more details: Each season, she selects the two Sudden Deathers a week before the televised semis, based on their musical portfolios. “I have a soft spot for underdogs. I’d never leave a loser with nothing. So every year, I create two customized Uplift Plans for the Sudden Deathers. That means whoever loses gets a boost. An intervention designed to target their weaknesses.” She plucks the pink umbrella from her lemonade and twirls it with her fingers. “I’d say your Uplift Plan was pretty damn good at uplifting.”

  I blink at her. Over Tera’s shoulder I see a woman slip into the Church of Abandon. Navy suit and tie, blue shirt, walkie-talkie on her belt. She hooks her thumbs in her pockets and stays in the shadows.

  “I’m not making sense, sorry. I’ll spell it out.” Tera digs for something in her purse. “See, in your Pop U application essay, you talked about that sun pendant you used to have, the one that was a copy of mine? You believed it had special powers…ah, yeah, here.” She pulls out my essay, which I recognize right away because I wrote it on twelve sheets of gold-embossed parchment that cost nine dollars of my savings. “You said ‘this may sound strange, but I rubbed it for luck and it ignited my creative power.’ So I knew with your history of superstition, the magic-charm idea was the way to go.”

  I don’t want this conversation to continue. I want to go back on my stage, sing her more songs, see her proud smile and clapping hands forever.

  “You’re…the one who sent Viv?” I say.

  “I did.” Tera nods. “She’s a trusted associate of mine. Been on my security detail for years.” She turns to the woman in the shadows. “Right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “C’mon, you can join us.”

  The woman steps up to our table and oh man—it’s her. The rainbow twists are now a low short ponytail at the nape of her neck, but I recognize her greenish-yellow eyes, her tiny gold eyebrow ring.

  “I knew Viv made jewelry on the side—every year I’d get a gorgeous ring or necklace for Christmas. So I commissioned a special bracelet for you. And asked her to do a little acting job.” Tera flashes a dimpled grin. “She really got into it! Yeah?”

  Tera pats Viv’s arm. Viv stiffens. She glances at me, then casts her eyes down.

  “Sorry, hon,” she murmurs.

  “It’s okay,” I say to Viv. Then I turn back to Tera: “Why a bracelet like this? I don’t get it.”

  “Sure, sure. On page…” She flips through my essay. “…page eight, you said I helped you ‘defeat your tragic flaw of envy,’ which, come on. Tragic flaws? Essential for artistic inspiration. So I thought this would help you embrace your dark side, in like a mystical Chosen-One kind of way.” She taps a grimacing face on my bracelet. “Viv was supposed to be a little clearer about that. You made the connection all by yourself, though.”

  I’m not as flattered as Tera’s smile indicates I should be. Viv looks uneasy, too. She discreetly steps away and resumes her place at the back w
all.

  “This could not have gone better,” Tera’s saying. “I mean, the second that thing went on, you felt like you had permission, right? Like all those nasty feelings were a vocation or something. When Bryan showed me the rehearsal-room footage of you and that PIG song…” She shakes her head. “I knew we had to make it public.”

  Wait. “You leaked the song?”

  “Okay, hold up! Reserve judgment! I know it seems cruel. But I knew it would shake you up. I didn’t want you to stuff that song in your closet and call it a fluke. I wanted everyone to see what the real you was capable of.” She drops her voice low. “I knew there were people who needed what you were selling. And then this week, when I found out about your cabaret, I was—”

  “You just found out about the cabaret this week?”

  She sips her Atomic Lemonade. “Does that upset you?”

  “Well, I…” I take a deep breath because I think I’m about to confront Tera Rivera, and I might as well be telling God that heaven could use some jazzing up. “I mean, it feels like…you dropped my song out there like a bomb. And didn’t even check to see how I was doing after.”

  “Fair enough. But I’m busy as hell when a season starts. I pour my entire self into Pop U. And once I deploy an Uplift Plan, I gotta give them time to marinate, you know? Then when the season’s over I check in, assess progress.” Her lips curve into a smile I can’t read. “This time, something unusual happened.”

  “Okay…?”

  “Ava Alvarez and I had an interesting talk this morning.”

  A chill shoots through me. Oh Lord. Does she know? I keep my face perfectly still, which is a heroic feat for me, and speak the most neutral word I can think of: “Really.”

  “Seems you have an unlikely fan.”

  Do not blush. Do not smile. “I do?”

  “That or the girl’s burned out, which is also a possibility.” Tera folds her hands. “Either way? She wants to drop out. Specifically to give you her spot.”

  It’s a good thing I have X-tra Hold adhesive now because if anything would’ve blown my wig clear across the room, it’s that. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. She requested a morning meeting with me. She built a rock-solid case. Showed me your cabaret videos. Your website. Your Twitter followers. She told me you’d be the winner I really deserve, and then she said—hang on, I wrote this down because it was so poetic.” She grabs her phone and taps to her notes. “No one will be a more dedicated soldier for your Army of Awesome than Barrie.”

  My nose prickles. I swallow a lump in my throat.

  “After seeing what you’ve built, how far you’ve come in three months?” Tera leans in and takes my hand. “I think I’m in agreement.”

  “You are?” She’s holding my hand. My brain is sort of hurt and mad, but my heart still turns to her like a flower toward the sun. “…Wait, though. She can’t drop out. Tell her she can’t! She’s worked too hard.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I—don’t, but—”

  “She’s a letdown,” Tera says sharply. “Stopped listening to us. Stopped growing. She took a nosedive after Top 7 week—have you been watching?”

  I nod, guilt pinching my insides.

  “The final challenge is an empowerment anthem. I can tell you, that’s completely outside her capabilities right now. Ava Alvarez is done.”

  The word wakes me up. Done makes no sense next to Ava and Alvarez. Maybe she’s shaken, but I can’t imagine her giving up. Not now, not when victory’s so close.

  Which means she would give up the thing she wants most.

  For me.

  “As a businesswoman,” Tera says, “I’d suggest you think of this as your opportunity, not her misfortune.”

  “I can’t,” I say.

  “And why not?”

  “Ah…” Don’t say a thing. Don’t give it away. “People would think it’s unfair. Like, me showing up again?”

  “Not if we spin it the right way.”

  “How would we—”

  “Barrie, listen, okay? I’ll be straight with you. Ratings for last week’s show hit an all-time low. If numbers for the finale aren’t decent, Pop U might not come back next year.” She grips the base of her lemonade glass. Her knuckles go white. “I need a big twist. A shocker they can tease in the promos and on social media tomorrow. We’d show footage of your cabaret in the finale—trust me, people will go bananas for your redemption story.”

  She stares into me with the eyes I’ve loved for half my life. I stare back. She’s issued the battle call now. She’s resting Pop U’s survival squarely on my shoulders, and part of me’s already pulling on my armor, saddling up my white horse.

  “Look, this offer expires in minutes,” Tera says. “Ava’s made it clear that she’ll only drop out if you agree to take her place. She’s in the Golden Underground right now, prepping to write. If you turn me down, she’ll go ahead and compete—but I promise you, she won’t win. Her star’s already faded. Yours is just starting to shine.” She holds the pink mini-umbrella out to me like a lady bestowing a rose on a knight. “Can I tell you a secret?”

  I’ve loved you since the day your wig flew off on national TV.

  “First prize is an opening slot on my comeback tour.”

  She leans back like she’s dropped a bombshell, and as far as she knows she has, so I whip up some shock and awe.

  “You’d affect so many lives. Make thousands of new fans. Duet with me on ‘Queen of the World’ every night…”

  I twirl the umbrella. I imagine twirling Tera under my arm onstage, her bright pink chiffon skirt billowing out like a parachute.

  Then I think of Ava hugging her legs in the dark Golden Underground, waiting for my verdict to reach her.

  “It’s 5:04,” says Tera. “We need to decide fast.”

  “Okay.”

  “Trust me, you want this,” she says. “We could be a great team. But first you have to win.”

  Ma says: Ava hurt you. Fuck her, right? Look out for you, kiddo.

  Dad says: It’s down to the wire, campers. Are we champs or are we chumps?

  Nine-year-old me says: OMG OMGGGGGG TERA THINKS YOU’D MAKE A GREAT TEAMMMMM

  I close the mini-umbrella and set it on the table between us. I glance up at Tera’s face, the face of a beautiful stranger. My Tera was someone I made up to protect me and love me and cheer me on. This Tera is different. She’s shaded, strong and sweet and sneaky and hard all at once, and there’s a fleck of pink lipstick on her right front tooth.

  She’s a person.

  Nine-year-old me: OF COURSE SHE IS WHO CARES WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR?!

  “I need to use the restroom.” I get up from the table in a daze. “Can I have five minutes to think it over?”

  “Four.” Tera smiles.

  I exit the Church of Abandon, nodding to Viv as I go. The tinsel curtain shudders as I slip through it. Downstairs, Brandon’s at the bar with Abel, opening a 24-pack of some fruitlike beverage with his keys. “Woohoo, look. Passionfruit Fever,” he says to Abel, right before they notice me.

  “How’s it going?” Abel stage-whispers.

  “Great,” I say, hoping they don’t notice the tremble in my voice. “She was…actually hoping to talk to you guys.”

  “Really?” Abel’s hands cross his heart.

  “No way.” Brandon tosses the keys on the counter.

  “Yeah, she’s fascinated by the cabaret. She had some tech questions I thought you could answer.”

  I am going to hell, I think, as they bound up the steps and I grab a sack of peanuts and a six-pack of Whoosh from behind the bar. Another tour stop in my rampage of wrongdoing. Greater good, I remind myself. I can’t risk the chance they’ll talk me out of this.

  I duck around the corner to the restroom hallway, snitching a black scarf and sunglasses from the lost and found on the way. I pass unisex bathrooms one and two. I keep going, right th
rough the red door that leads to the back parking lot. The whole time I’m squeezing the stolen keys in my pocket, thanking heaven that Brandon drove to St. C’s instead of walking today, and hoping that once I explain everything and apologize from the bottom of my reckless heart, he’ll forgive me for committing grand theft auto.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  My heart pounds as the Honda roars down the 101. I pretend I’m riding a dragon like Tera did in her “Comeback” video except a real dragon, not a bad CGI one. “Head Like a Hole” is on Brandon’s radio and I shout-sing along even though it’s a Ma song and I hate it.

  What have I done?

  Right now, they’re probably checking the restroom. Brandon’s finding his keys missing, and—

  BING BING

  I glance at my phone on the seat beside me.

  Abel: WHERE ARE YOU???? Did you take Bran’s car???

  I can’t respond because I never ever text and drive and I can’t pull over, not when time is of the essence. I pour out a river of silent apologies and plan a dozen ways to make it up to them.

  BING BING

  Abel: Tera just left and man, she wasn’t happy.

  My knuckles go white on the wheel. I let her go. I let the woman I’ve loved forever walk right out of my life, the day I got my chance to be close to her. For months. In a private tour bus.

  But she isn’t the woman I love. Not in real life. And there’s power and salvation in what I’m about to do.

  Namely: help Ava Mariposa Alvarez win the ninth and possibly final season of Pop University.

  I flick around stations till I find a decent empowerment anthem: Janet Jackson’s “Control.” I hum along to hush the worry, but it hisses at me anyway. What if I chose the wrong strategy? Maybe I should’ve come back with Tera and then tried to sneak in to help Ava. But the odds of discovery would be sky-high—there’d probably be a guard at my door, plus another one at the inside entrance to the Golden Underground. If I had some tranquilizer darts or cookies laced with sleeping powder, there might have been a chance to get around them.