The Brightsiders

by Jen Wilde

  The show goes to commercial break, and a producer hurries me onto the set. I take a seat on the high chair that looks more like a bar stool while my mic is checked.

  “Nice to see you again,” the cohost, Chelsea, says as she shakes my hand. “Welcome to the show.”

  “Thanks for having me,” I say.

  Someone from the control room must be speaking into her earpiece, because she presses her fingers to her ear and starts to nod.

  “Seriously?” she says quietly. “We have that ready? Okay. Okay. Okay. Yes. Okay.” She glances at me, and I swear I can see a hint of excitement in her eyes. “Mm-hmm. Right now? Okay. Great.”

  She shuffles her papers around, then reaches over and puts a hand on mine. “Whatever happens, just go with it.”

  I nod, but I feel a strong sense that something isn’t right. Why would she say that? Whatever happens? Like what? Images of everything that could go wrong flash through my mind. Visions of Jessie walking out to hoots and hollers, like an episode of Jerry Springer. Or Dr. Drew being called in for a surprise live intervention. I look around the set, as though it’s going to give me answers. Sal smiles at me hopefully and gives me a thumbs-up.

  The countdown begins, and my mouth goes dry. Oh no. I can’t swallow. I’ve stopped producing saliva. I can’t speak. I have literally lost my ability to form words. I lift my glass of water from the table with two hands so no one sees me trembling, and sip it slowly. And then we’re live.

  Chelsea beams at the little red light. “Welcome back to our morning edition of Entertainment Now. Right now I’m joined by Emmy King, known to teens everywhere as the drummer from the hit band the Brightsiders. Emmy, good morning and welcome to the show.”

  Smile. Smile, dammit. “Good morning, and thank you so much for having me.”

  “Now, I wanted to start by asking you about your recent underage drinking-and-driving scandal,” she says. My heart stops. “But we just got some breaking news. TMZ just released a tape recording that I want you to listen to and then get your thoughts on. Let’s hear it now.”

  I freeze like a deer in headlights as the tape starts to play.

  “You know we’ll just get back together again in a week.”

  Oh. Fuck. No. I recognize the voices instantly. It’s Jessie. And me. Breaking up. I stare wide-eyed at Sal, who looks just as panicked as I feel. The tape keeps playing. Our strained voices fill the studio. Then the glass shatters, making one of the cameramen flinch. My words are bleeped when I scream at her to get out. And then Alfie’s name is dropped, and I realize how bad this is all going to look. The internet is going to break over this.

  Time slows down. When they finally stop the tape, the whole room is silent except for my heartbeat. I hope the mic doesn’t pick it up. Chelsea watches me carefully, like she’s waiting for me to shatter to the floor in a thousand pieces.

  “Wow,” she says. “Obviously, that was a very emotionally charged conversation.”

  My panic turns to anger as I piece everything together in my mind. They ambushed me for ratings. And Jessie must have been recording our argument. I’m going to kill her.

  “What are your thoughts on what we just heard?” she asks.

  I have to lie. There’s no way I can say what I’m really thinking, which is: Fuck all of you for doing this to me.

  “It’s hard to explain,” I spit out. “It’s not what I expected to be talking about when I sat in this chair, that’s for sure.”

  “Mm-hmm.” She nods, like she really cares. “I can imagine. How are you feeling?”

  I laugh because if I don’t I’ll scream. “Stunned.”

  “Can you tell us a little about what we just heard?”

  I think for a moment, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do. “I don’t know what to say, honestly. I’m lost for words.”

  I squirm in my chair, wishing I could shrink to the size of a quarter and dive into the empty water glass in front of me. Chelsea glances behind the cameras toward the booth, then nods.

  “Okay,” Chelsea says. “We need to go to a break, but we’ll be right back to get more of Emmy’s side of the story.”

  The second we’re off air, I’m out. I hurry off the set, push past Sal, and run back to the green room. My chest feels like it’s being crushed. I sit on the couch and bend over, keeping my head between my legs to help me breathe. I’m going to hyperventilate or throw up or die, I can feel it. I thought things were bad before, but this is the worst of the worst. How did this happen? How could Jessie do this? Does she hate me that much?

  Sal walks in and closes the door behind her. “You have to go back out there.”

  I laugh because I’ve never heard a more ridiculous sentence in my life. “Fuck that.”

  “Emmy,” she says, crouching down in front of me. “I know it’s bad, and I’m so sorry they just did that to you. I promise you I’m going to fight them on this later. But right now, people are watching, waiting for you to respond to that tape.”

  I swallow back my sobs. “You can’t ask me to do this. She’s going to eat me alive.”

  Sal sighs. “She’s going to try, but you can stop her. If you leave, she’s definitely going to eat you alive.”

  “I’ve been trying so hard to do the right things,” I say, fighting the lump in my throat.

  Sal rubs my knee gently. “I know, honey. And you’ve been doing so well. This isn’t your fault.”

  I throw a hand toward the door. “They don’t care about that! They just want ratings. And headlines.”

  “Yes, they do. This is going to give them great clickbait. But the headlines will be even more scathing if you run away from this.”

  Shit. She’s right. If I run from this, it’ll just make the story bigger news. People will call me a diva. Reports will say I stormed out of the interview like a spoiled brat.

  I have to go back out there.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Now that you’ve had a moment to gather your thoughts,” Chelsea says, “can you tell us about the tape we just heard?”

  I’m about to answer when one of the producers decides to roll the tape again. I sit still as a statue, every muscle in my body tensed as the audio echoes through the studio once more. When it ends, Chelsea looks at me expectantly.

  “It was a private conversation,” I say slowly. The bright lights of the set make me feel like I’m in an interrogation room. “Obviously, I didn’t know I was being recorded.”

  Chelsea nods sympathetically. “To be clear, the voices on the tape are you and Jessie Wilson, who has been romantically linked to you in the past.”

  “Yes.” Chelsea looks at me like she’s waiting for me to say more, but I don’t plan to give her any more information than is absolutely required. If that means a whole interview of one-word answers, fine.

  “When did this conversation take place?”

  “Last night.”

  “Oh, wow,” she says. “So it must still feel incredibly raw to you.”

  It hurts like hell, so thanks for playing it for the whole fucking world to hear. “It does.”

  “And that shattering sound,” she says, looking at the camera then back at me. “Did she throw something at you? Was this relationship violent?”

  “No, and no. A glass fell.” This is too much. I glance at Sal, whose brows are pinched together like she’s trying to set Chelsea on fire with her mind. I can’t take any more of this.

  “And what was said about Alfie,” she says, looking down at the papers in front of her. I can see Alfie’s name scrawled in big letters, circled and with a question mark. “Is there any truth to that?”

  “None. But if you don’t mind,” I say before Chelsea can continue, “I don’t want him brought into this. Even though someone felt the need to record and share this with the public, it’s still very much a private issue. I’m not going to say anything more on the matter.”

  I hold my breath, almost in awe of how mature and calm I just sounded. I’m handling this
better than I thought I would. I actually feel a little proud of myself.

  “Absolutely,” Chelsea says. “Just one more question.”

  Ugh. Surprise, surprise.

  “What is your relationship status?”

  I take in a deep breath through my nose. “I’m single.”

  “And did you make this recording?”

  So much for one more question. She’s not going to give up easily.

  “No.”

  “Who did?”

  “I’m not going to say anything more on the matter.”

  Chelsea laughs like I made a joke, then flicks her hair back. “Okay, let’s move on to something else everyone has been talking about. You recently came out as gay—congratulations!”

  “Bi,” I say.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I’m bisexual. And thank you, I feel really happy to finally be open about who I am.”

  For the first time during the interview, I smile an authentic smile.

  She leans forward over the table. “So what inspired you to finally come out?”

  “It was something I’d wanted to do for a while,” I say. “But I was afraid. It was seeing the fans that gave me the courage to do it. They make me feel safe, and they love me for who I am. And I love them back.”

  “Aww, how sweet.” She turns to the camera. “That’s all we have time for, I’m afraid. Emmy King, thanks so much for talking with me. We’ll be right back after the break.”

  The red light goes dark and she holds a hand out to me. “Thanks a lot. No hard feelings, okay?”

  I shake her hand but don’t reply. Any answer I give is not going to be one she’ll like, so I stay quiet.

  Sal is by my side in a second, whisking me off set and out the back door. Security keeps the photographers at bay while I’m ushered into the waiting SUV.

  The first thing I do is turn my phone back on and call Jessie.

  “Hey,” she answers.

  “Why did you do it?” I demand.

  “Huh?”

  “Why?” I ask again. “Are you that petty? Or was it for money? How much did you get for it?”

  I hear her breathing. And then she says, “Emmy. I didn’t release that tape.”

  “Bullshit,” I spit. “Don’t lie to me.”

  “I swear to God,” she says, her voice growing louder. “It wasn’t fucking me.”

  I roll my eyes. “So who did, then, huh?”

  Sal slides closer to me in the backseat and hands me her phone. On the screen is an email from PR:

  Sal,

  Checked with my sources at EN—they say they paid Mr. King $20,000 for the tape early this morning.

  “What?” I gasp. “My dad sold it?” I turn to Sal. “Are you sure? Like, one hundred percent sure?”

  She frowns. “I’m so sorry, Em.”

  “What?” Jessie says through the phone. “What’s happening?”

  Tears fill my eyes. “It was my dad.” He must have heard us fighting and come upstairs to record us. And now he’ll use the money to pay off my parents’ debts. “Sorry,” I say. “I gotta go.”

  The moment I end the call, I burst into tears.

  * * *

  By the time we’ve made it through LA traffic and pull onto my parents’ street, the recording has been turned into a dozen different memes online. I shield my face from the cameras as the car enters the driveway, not wanting them to see me crying.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go to a hotel?” Sal offers for the third time.

  I shake my head. “Later. Right now, I need to talk to my parents.”

  Alfie is waiting on my porch when I get out of the car. “Em” is all he says. I walk straight into his arms.

  “You saw the interview?” I ask.

  He nods against my shoulder. “I came straight over. And Sal just texted me. Is it true about your dad?”

  “Yeah,” I say with a sigh.

  His grip tightens around me. “I knew they were assholes, but I never thought they’d sink this low.”

  I start to cry again, then pull away from him.

  “You can’t stay here,” he says, but it sounds more like a plea.

  I nod. “One thing at a time.” I walk by him and through the front door. My stomach churns from nerves as I walk through the house, searching for my parents. When I find them, Dad is smoking a cigarette by the pool and Mom is sitting at the outdoor table, talking on the phone.

  “Yes,” she says, her phone voice all pleasant and proper. “I’d like half of that to go toward our credit card, please.”

  “Glad to see you’re already finding that money useful,” I say, scowling at them.

  Mom holds a hand over the phone. “Emmy, I’m on the phone. Don’t be so rude.”

  I storm over to her and yell, “How’s this for rude? Dad recorded a private conversation and sold it!”

  She swats me away, apologizing profusely to the person on the other end, and quickly ends the phone call.

  “Sorry, Em,” Dad says with a shrug. “We really needed the money. You know how it is.”

  “You could’ve just asked me for it,” I say. My voice cracks a little at the end, but I stand tall, trying my hardest to appear stronger than I feel.

  Mom scoffs. “Ask you for it? After the way you behaved last time? I don’t think so.”

  “So you thought it would be better to humiliate me instead?” I yell.

  “Relax,” Dad says. “It’ll all blow over. Tomorrow some other pop star will get a DUI or get someone pregnant, and this will all be old news.”

  Mom takes a sip of her coffee. “Yes. I really think you’re overreacting, Emmy. No one really cares what you do.”

  “No,” I say. “You don’t care what I do. You don’t care.”

  Dad gives me a blank stare, like he’s surprised it took me so long to figure that out. Mom just scowls at me.

  “We are the only people who do care,” she says. “Come on, you’re a smart girl. Do you really think Sal cares about you? Jessie obviously doesn’t. And Alfie and Ryan will both move on the second they see an exit. We are all you have.”

  They’re doing it again. They’re trying to make me doubt myself. To make me feel wrong and stupid and worthless, just like they used to. Why did I think things would be different if I came back here? I bury my face in my hands.

  “No,” Alfie says as he walks through the door. “Emmy, none of that is true. Don’t listen to her.”

  “Oh,” Dad says, laughing dryly. “Here comes the hero.”

  “Leave Alfie alone,” I say through gritted teeth.

  Dad raises an eyebrow. “Better be careful not to be seen around him, Em. You don’t want everyone to think Jessie was right about him. People already think you’re a hot mess. You don’t want them thinking you’re a whore, too.”

  Something snaps inside me, and I launch myself at my dad, fists swinging. Alfie holds me back, his arms wrapped tight around my waist. Dad jumps back, his mouth hanging open in surprise. I keep struggling forward, punching the air, but Alfie’s grip is too strong, and I give up. Once I’ve calmed down, Alfie releases me and steps in between me and my dad.

  “How could you do that to her?” he asks, his own fists clenched by his side. “You heard her screaming and instead of coming to see if she was okay, you decided to record her instead? What kind of father are you?”

  Dad flicks his cigarette to the ground, then storms through the yard and out through the side gate, slamming it behind him. Mom sighs.

  “Now look what you’ve done,” she says. “You hurt his feelings. I think it’s time for you to leave.”

  Alfie takes my hand, and we do as she says. I don’t say good-bye. I don’t look over my shoulder. I just collect my things, walk out the front door, and let Alfie take me away.

  And I don’t ever want to go back.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “That’s it,” Chloe says. I’m watching them pace back and forth in their living room. I asked Alfie to dr
op me here after we left my parents’ place. He wanted to stay, but Sal set up an emergency PR briefing with him and Andrew, so he knows the right things to say when reporters ask him about the tape.

  “You’re staying here,” Chloe says. “And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  I don’t even try to argue. Not only is Chloe stubborn, but in this case they’re right—besides, with Alfie’s place under constant watch by paparazzi and Ry’s apartment only a one bedroom, I don’t have any other choice. But once I turn eighteen, I’m legally free from my parents, and I can make a new home for myself.

  “Thanks, Chlo,” I say. “I promise I won’t stay long. I’m sorry for just showing up like this.” Guilt sits in my stomach like a brick. I hate that my own shit is spilling into the lives of my friends. First Jessie got arrested when I was the one who wanted her to drive me to get cheeseburgers, then Alfie’s name got dragged into my breakup-tape scandal, and now I’m dumping myself on Chloe. I feel like such a burden. On top of that, the burst of relief I felt after breaking up with Jess seems to be turning into guilt, too. I feel bad for kicking her out of my house in the middle of the night when she was drunk and upset. And that tape doesn’t make her look great, either—some Brightsiders fans have been trolling her hard on social media.

  Chloe stops pacing long enough to put their hands on their hips. “Don’t give me that. Enough. You can stay as long as you like. I love you. You’re my best friend, and I won’t let you go back to that house. Ever.”

  They finally sit down, and I hug them close. “Thank you so much. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

  They pull away, holding me at arm’s length. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “If I hadn’t broken up with Jessie, this never would have happened.” I slap a hand to my forehead. “Maybe I made a mistake. I overreacted. She loves me. And if I had just shut up, that tape wouldn’t even exist.”

  Chloe looks at me with pity in their eyes. “Jesus, Emmy. Please tell me that’s not what you really think.”

  I shrug, too embarrassed now to admit it’s true. They take my hands in theirs.