He didn’t look especially overjoyed that I was there.
In fact, I’d go as far as to say that I was the person he least wanted to see in the entire universe.
“Yes, me.”
“Get out.”
“Um…”
“Go!”
I didn’t—couldn’t—move, and that just made him shout louder.
“I supported you from the beginning. Right back when you did your first single and stupid Tony wouldn’t release it, I defended you. And I let you put out a song where you basically accused my music, my art, of being worthless.”
I crumpled as the words hit me.
“I was nice to you. I respected you, even after you dragged me into the stupid Karamel versus Katie fight, which I never wanted because I liked your music. I liked you. And you still thought I’d sell you out to Pop Trash, and not only that, you went public and told everyone?! What does that make me look like?” He spun in a small, angry circle. “And why are you still here?”
“Because…I came to take it all back. Okay? I’m a complete idiot, and you don’t have to forgive me.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
Once again, I was realizing the importance of making a plan before you get into the room with someone important.
Only, really, what else could I say? Other than:
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of it. For the song, the stupid, pathetic excuse for a song, which I only wrote to get back at my best friend for ignoring me on my birthday.”
He didn’t look any happier. He certainly didn’t look like the apology was helping. But he didn’t throw me out. So:
“And the chart battle, which was low. And pointless. Who cares if some people like one thing and some people like something else? There’s room in the world for all of us. More than that, though, I should never have let it continue, after the concert, when I realized you were good.”
“No. You shouldn’t have.”
I managed to look up and meet his eyes, his huge, beautiful eyes the color of new chestnuts, and saw that he hated me so much.
“I did everything wrong.”
“You did.”
“And it turns out it was my dad who sold the story about me, if you can imagine how that feels, and Adrian committed to spending a fortune on Savannah to get me in here, so you don’t have to listen to my apology, but I do at least have to stand in front of you and say it.”
“What the…?”
“I know! But I promised her a Gucci bag. I maybe should have checked the price first, but there we go.”
“I meant, the story came from your dad?”
“Um. Yeah.” I’d promised myself I wouldn’t cry, and I almost kept it.
“That’s awful.”
“He didn’t know what he was doing,” I said quickly. Then I added, “Which, really, is just as bad as if he did.”
“I narrowed it down to either being a teacher or someone your mom works with. Or a friend. Well, a so-called friend.”
“He’s a so-called dad,” I said. “I should’ve known. I’ve been so stupid.”
I caught a glimpse of myself in that big mirror and looked away. I’m sure that mirror has seen lots of interesting things, being situated in the main dressing room at Wembley Arena. Still, I bet it has never seen anyone produce such a spectacular quantity of snot as me.
Neither, by his expression, had Kurt. Even so, he came and sat next to me, and I saw that something in what I’d said had pierced him somehow. “It’s not stupid to love someone. It’s not stupid to trust your father.”
“No?”
“It’s not stupid to have faith in people. Even if they let you down. You keep having faith in them. Maybe they’ll live up to it.” He smiled that amazing smile. “That’s what I tell myself about my dad. It hasn’t worked so far. But you never know.”
I looked at my feet. “I don’t think I have much faith in me anymore.”
“Um, quick question—because I do want to talk about this, but we’re supposed to be onstage pretty soon—where is Kolin?”
“Oh. Yes. Um, Kolin’s with Savannah. They’re getting back together.” I thought about exactly what this might entail. “You might want to text him.”
He did, and I watched his face frowning over his phone.
Not in a weird, stalkery way or anything.
Okay, in a slightly stalkery way. But I don’t think it counts as stalking if the person finishes texting and looks up at you and grins.
Which made me blush so much that I looked away and made myself stare very hard at a piece of paper stuck to the bulletin board.
The order of appearances. Which went like this:
TEEN TIME AWARDS
Olly Murs
Ed Sheeran
Tinie Tempah
Little Mix
Bruno Mars
Katie Cox
Rita Ora
Karamel
“What’s my name doing up there?”
“I thought you won something,” said Kurt.
“I did. But they took it away.”
“That can’t happen.”
“No. Except maybe…” My mind rewound to that conversation with Tony on an afternoon where everything had still seemed possible. “I did win something. But that was before…everything…”
“You could still sing, you know,” said Kurt in this light voice that completely went against the enormous weight of what he was suggesting.
“Um, ha ha—I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“You want reasons? Okay. For one thing, literally the entire stadium wants me to be erased from the face of the earth. So there’s that. Also, I don’t have my guitar with me. Also, I’m done with music.”
“Katie, you can’t give up music.”
“Watch me.” Not that there was anything to actually watch, but you know.
“You’re never going to play again?”
“I made some rules, if you must know. I can’t play or sing anything unless I hum something without realizing it, and I’m allowed to sing if it would be weird not to, like, for instance, if I’m at a party and someone brings in a birthday cake. And—”
“You’re happy with this? As a decision? For the rest of your life?”
And I wanted to scream at him. That, no, of course I wasn’t happy with it. That I was basically trapping myself in a gray, soulless universe of nothingness, as though all the flavor had been drained from everything that mattered, like when you eat a strawberry in February, only multiplied by everything, for always and ever.
“I just…don’t want to make things any worse.”
“I guess.” He nodded. “Yeah. It’s sad, but…it makes sense.”
“Yeah.”
So that was it then. I’d made my apology.
Everything was finished. I should go home.
Maybe start looking for a Gucci flash sale or something. Then a voice made me look up. A sweet, tender voice.
Singing a familiar tune.
Quite like guitar girl
And I do have a tattoo
Kurt was strumming on his guitar.
Quite like guitar girl
Thinking she should get one, too
Then he stopped. “Mine’s not Chinese, FYI.” He rolled up a sleeve to reveal golden skin and something complicated going on just above his elbow. “It’s Celtic. I had it done on tour. In Latvia of all places.”
“Cool.”
“Not really. My mom went berserk. Technically, I think I’m still grounded.”
I found myself smiling. Just a little. “Okay, I’ll update it.” I lifted the guitar across and into my arms.
The tattooed Celtic symbol
On skin that’s nicely tanned
“Better?”
&nbs
p; “Better,” said Kurt. “Anything else you want to change?”
We were very close as I sang.
Quite like the boy band
Their upbeat melodies
Quite like the boy band
Kinda pop-py kinda cheese
It’s cool they love their grannies
And their devoted fans
I quite like the boy band
“Only quite?” said Kurt.
“More than quite,” I said, looking away.
I like the boy band
It’s a different way to be
I like the boy band
Their vibe is so happy
And if there’s a chance they’ll take it
Then I’ll offer them my hand
Yes, I like the boy band
I finished, and he took my hand from the strings and held it in his.
It was an amazing moment. Which I ruined, by blurting out, “Look. I said my thing. I should let you get going. With singing to all of Wembley.”
“Ed just came off stage. We still have time,” said Kurt. Then, seeing my confusion, he added, “Ed Sheeran. He’s really nice.”
“Oh good,” I said. “I’d hate it if he wasn’t.”
We both looked at the wall and at my name crossed out.
And…it’s hard to explain how I could feel so sure of it, but I knew, I just knew, that we had both had the same thought.
“You should—”
“I can’t—”
It was so big and so terrible that I couldn’t even begin to put it into words.
“Kurt, I can’t.”
“Katie, you can.”
“But…I’m giving up music.” He didn’t say anything. “Everyone hates me.”
He still didn’t say anything. The messages from Tony’s computer screen scrolled invisibly between us. So much hate. Out there. So close. And all of it for me.
“Kurt, it’s not… I can’t.”
His eyes were so gentle, this luscious, delicious brown. Like chocolate mousse. Only then, they frosted over. Like chocolate mousse that’s been stuck right at the back of the fridge.
“All right. I thought you were truly sorry. But…”
“I am!”
“Then show me.”
“You want me to sing.”
“I do.”
“You want me to sing ‘Can’t Stand the Boy Band’? To all of Wembley?”
“I do. I’ll even lend you my guitar.”
“Wow. Wait. No. Maybe. I mean, I could sing ‘Cake Boyfriend.’ Or ‘Spaghetti Hoops’—no, not that—but I could definitely do ‘Leftover Chinese Takeout Blues.’ It has a real swing to it…”
Even as I said it, I knew. If I was going to get up there, I had to sing “Can’t Stand the Boy Band.” Anything else would be a gigantic cop-out.
“I can’t do it.”
Which is when Jaz came bursting through the door and went: “Ha ha ha, you’re Kurt from Karamel, ha ha ha.”
“Jaz!”
She was followed by Savannah and Kolin, whose face was covered in Savanna’s lip gloss, and Kristian, Adrian, and Lacey, who twiddled her hair and said, “Hi, I love your music. Sorry, just ignore me.”
“Please,” said Jaz, as my BF stared at the floor. “Hold it together.”
“This is Kurt from Karamel!” wailed Lacey.
“And you’re Lacey from Harltree.” She looked up, and I was just thinking that maybe this was the moment when they might actually become friends, when Jaz followed it up with, “Lacey Daniels, you are slightly less pathetic than you think you are.”
Lace made a face.
Jaz made a face. Kurt was laughing.
And I thought, This is okay actually. Just, everyone together, they don’t have to be besties or anything. They can mock each other, if they have to. Just…
Oh. My. God. Oh my God.
“I know how to do this,” I said. “I’m going to do it. I’m going to sing.”
“There we go,” said Kurt.
“Why?” said Kolin, who was still looking at Savannah.
“You are going to get shredded to pieces,” said Lacey.
So there I was, standing in the wings, ready to do my first major concert. I mean, seriously major, with tons of people watching and goodness knows how many more online.
Even though I’d practiced, I was shaking so badly I could barely hold the guitar. My hands were dripping sweat, and there was a good chance that when I opened my mouth, I’d barf all over the stage.
It was no use telling myself that everyone gets nervous. Because this was no ordinary concert.
I was about to sing live to twelve and a half thousand people.
And each and every one of them wanted to kill me.
• • •
In fact, it’s less complicated than you’d think, getting on the lineup of the Teen Time Awards at Wembley Arena. I mean, it helps if you were on it originally before you got yourself taken off by being dropped from your record label.
Plus, it’s an advantage if you have the lead singer of a monstrously famous boy band to talk to the high-up people and convince them that it’s a good idea. Backed by your amazing manager, Adrian.
Also, Bruno Mars was stuck in America because his flight had been canceled, and the show was going to be way too short.
So, in the space of approximately ten minutes, I went from being a slightly carsick nobody, wearing my sloppiest sweatpants, with my hair completely everywhere and a breakout so bad that I looked like I was having some kind of allergic reaction to…entirely the same person, only holding Kurt’s guitar.
“She cannot go onstage like that,” Savannah was saying. “It’s like, if you’re going to die, you should at least be a beautiful corpse.”
“Thanks, Savannah, that’s really helpful.”
“I…I have some concealer. It’s not much. And it’s the wrong shade. But…”
The words came from a very unexpected source. “Lace…are you sure?”
“You know you can catch pimples from sharing makeup, don’t you?” said Savannah.
“I know,” said Lacey.
“You don’t have to,” I said.
She leaned in to dot and then smear concealer onto my forehead, and I got a close-up of the inside of her mouth as she said, “What you said. In the car. You were a bad friend to me. But I wasn’t there for you. On your birthday. And…you’re going to get torn apart out there. If this is the last time I see you, I’d rather we said good-bye as friends.”
“So…” I didn’t know what to say. “Am I allowed to wear my charm bracelet then?”
“If you like,” said Lacey.
“I do like,” I said, and maybe we would have hugged or maybe we wouldn’t have since she still looked a little wary. I have no way of knowing because, just then, a man with a clipboard knocked in that brisk way that means someone’s going to come in whether you’re sharing an emotional moment or not. And then he came in.
“Katie Cox? Tech team. So it’s just you, a mic, and an acoustic guitar?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Nothing for us to project behind you? Everyone else has a video or lights or something.”
“No,” I said. “Sorry.”
“Hey, can I have your phone?” said Jaz.
“Why?”
“Can’t tell you now,” said Jaz. “But trust me, okay?”
Just to recap. The first time Jaz had held a phone in my presence, she’d put me on the Internet and simultaneously made and destroyed my entire life. The next time I lent her my phone, she’d nearly given my mother a heart attack. So you can see why I wasn’t happy about this.
Which I guess is why she just leaned over and grabbed it out of my hand.
“Jaz! Jaz, come back. Ja
z!”
Clipboard man tapped his clipboard. “If you’d like to follow me upstairs, Katie? You’re next.”
• • •
Up we went. Up and around and along the bright hallways, in this kind of procession of doom, and then suddenly, we could hear them, the crowd, just ahead. Not the noise I’d heard back at my little concert. Not even the shrieking at the Karamel gig.
This was like…the sea. A real sea, an ocean, a swell of sound that went back and back.
“Catch her. She’s going down.”
“No, no, I’m okay. It’s all right,” I said. “It’s not even that many people really. Is it?”
We’d reached the wings, and I looked out.
And it was huge. Epic. A city of people, of twinkling phones and glow sticks, neatly stacked in rows that went on and on and on and up and up.
“Good luck, Katie.”
“Good luck.”
“Good luck.”
“RIP, babes.” That one was Savannah.
“Now, the original winner of the People’s Act Teen Time Award. Kind of a controversial one… This award was decided before recent…events , and was later changed. But she’s here now with her new song. It’s Katie Cox!”
I don’t know if you’ve ever heard twelve and a half thousand people gasp all at the same time.
It’s truly something. Then silence.
My legs were carrying me out into the light. Down onto the little stool they’d put there.
Fingers, shaking, into place on the guitar, as the first boos began.
A chord.
The wrong chord. Stop.
Take a breath.
More boos. Louder now. Then…
Quite like the boy band
A wave of jeering.
Their upbeat melodies
Keep going, Katie.
Quite like the boy band
Kinda pop-py kinda cheese
It’s cool they love their grannies
And their devoted fans
I quite like the boy band
And then—they cheered!
Not loudly. And not for long. But they did.
I like the boy band
It’s a different way to be
I like the boy band
Their vibe is so happy
Another cheer. Big enough to drown out the boos, which were still coming. I felt my voice lift, as though I’d stepped from a boat onto solid ground.
Katie Cox vs. the Boy Band Page 19