The Stage (Phoenix Rising #1)

by Shelby Rebecca

  She makes me lighter

  She was born in fire

  She takes me higher

  I’ve never felt so cared for, so calm since my mom was alive. I know all of this was meant to help me make the right choice about the future—to show me he’s here for me.

  I see how he always gets what he wants. He’s very persuasive, but all I’ll let him control is my voice—not me. He’s like playing with fire, and I don’t want to get burned.

  * * *

  The alarm on my phone starts to chime and I hit the universal button to make it snooze. But then I remember Kolton. I don’t feel him, so I turn over. He’s not here. Was it all a dream?

  I push the covers off and notice a slight dent in the pillow next to mine. Moving over to the chair in the corner of the room, I find my ear buds poking out of the crease between the cushions. It wasn’t a dream. He’d taken them out and sat down in the chair. He came to see me last night. He held me and sang to me.

  He wanted to know what I thought about the song he wrote me, which makes him seem kind of vulnerable. Human, rather than a persona. He seemed hurt that I hadn’t thanked him for it. I actually haven’t thanked him yet. I shake my head and walk into the bathroom to brush my teeth.

  With the toothbrush in my mouth, I grab the phone he gave me and type out:

  Kolton Royce Private

  6:15 AM

  Thank you Kole. The song you wrote makes me feel like I can be reborn. I can have a new life.

  I purposely called him Kole. After all he’s done for me, I can give him that. It’s what he wants, and it seems important to him.

  6:30 AM

  The life you’ll have is the life you choose.

  6:32 AM

  But I’ve already chosen.

  There’s no turning back for me. Now to start my day. Today is the challenge, and I need to be as ready as possible.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Challenge Round

  Waiting is the hardest part. I’ve got the mic in my hand and I’m pacing for the cameras pointed on me at stage left. The crowd is amped up as Chuck Faraday says, “Next, from Team Kolton, we have Kenny Jones going against Mia Phoenix. Here is a little about their journey.”

  “Next line,” says a producer.

  “Let’s see if these two are ready for the challenge. Singing Justin Bieber’s “As Long As You Love Me”, welcome Kenny and Mia,” he announces and the doors open. I walk out and up the stairs the same time as Kenny does. I feel the warmth of the lights, the crowd. The music starts, and Kenny goes first, only he’s started too high again.

  On my turn, I take the breath that Rania Steele told me to so I don’t come in too soon. I make sure to emphasize the third “love.”

  After, Kenny has trouble making it into the falsetto from that key. I circle him, stick out my hip, and sing over my shoulder. I feel it—the audience, the feeling that makes it worth singing at all. I look at the coaches, at Kolton, and know he feels it, too. He looks proud. His eyes are sparkling at me, through me, like we’re somehow connected through shared feelings.

  It’s a rush though, memories, motion, and activities with the cameras, the lights. I’m hearing my voice echo in my earpiece. As we end the song facing each other, there’s clapping but I can’t focus on any one thing. I feel high, full of adrenaline.

  Chuck Faraday says something. The judges are taking turns talking, but I don’t listen. I’m looking at Kolton, and even as words are coming out of his mouth, as he’s weighing his options about, “who will work better on my team,” he’s looking through me again, the real smile of his pricking at my little wounded part deep inside.

  Because I’ve done everything right, because I’ve chosen. I’ve proven to him I’m ready to accept this life, if it’s the life meant for me. That I’m strong, stronger than he thought.

  And when he says my name, I feel a tear fall down my cheek. I shake Kenny’s hand, and run over to Kolton, into his waiting arms. He squeezes me and whispers, “Perfect, Mia.” I don’t care what anyone says. That hug was genuine.

  As I run over to stage left, I hug Riley and promise her I’ll keep trying, that I won’t give up. That I’ll give her that blue room when this is all over.

  “Time for after interviews,” Amy says. Yes, I remembered her name!

  After Kenny and I are interviewed, I feel like I’m coming down from the high of being on stage. I look over and see Kimber, the gypsy-dress-girl who’d bumped me during our team shots, practicing her song. I know she hates me, so I’ve just ignored her stares and dirty looks these past weeks.

  “Sorry, Kenny,” she says, slapping him on the back. “You did your best, but no one’s going to win against ‘his star’,” she says, mockingly. I literally feel my eyes roll at her.

  “No,” Kenny says. “I ke—ke—kept starting in the wrong key. She de-de-served to win.”

  “Yeah, right,” Gypsy-Dress snarks as she walks by me, bumping my shoulder so hard it hurts. It’s instinctive, this feeling of self-preservation. I bump her back, knocking her to the right and turn to face her. “Ouch,” she moans, grabbing her upper arm.

  “What’s wrong?” asks Shawna, one of the “belters.”

  “That fucking bitch bumped into me,” Kimber screams. I cross my arms over my chest and feel my lips purse together.

  Great, now she’s going to make a scene. I start pacing as the next two contestants are called up and the stage doors open. In front of the door, I stop and look out enough so that I can see Kolton sitting at the coaches’ table. He has no idea what’s going on. Or that it’s because of his favoritism that I’m in this predicament.

  As Shawna consoles Kimber and her tears get louder and messier, one of the PAs whispers something into his little microphone headset and soon two muscle guys are coming toward us. When Kimber sees them she grabs her shoulder tighter and starts moaning.

  “What’s going on?” asks Muscle Guy One.

  “She punched me,” Kimber cries, and now tears are actually falling down her fake little cheeks.

  “What?” I yell back at her. “She just bumped into me on purpose. It’s not my fault she got hurt,” I say. The muscle guys take us each by the arm and escort us out the back door and up to a trailer just outside the studio. Muscle Guy Two knocks on the door and an older blonde woman opens the little door.

  “Yes?” she asks.

  “These two were just about to start a brawl backstage,” he says. Her head twists over to us and she walks down the metal steps to stand in front of us.

  “What are your names?” she asks.

  “Kimber Smith,” she says, all whiny.

  “Mia Phoenix,” I answer, looking down. How humiliating.

  “I see,” she says, “I need to speak with you, Mia,” she dismisses Gypsy-Dress, who’d cried all those tears and now has no one to watch anymore.

  “What about this one?” Muscle Guy One asks.

  “Take her back. It’s her turn in about thirty minutes.” The three of them turn and walk away, but Kimber has a little smirk on her face as she turns around to look at me like this was her plan all along.

  “Come inside,” the woman commands, waiting for me to go up the stairs in front of her. As I take a step inside the trailer, I’m not sure if I should sit down at the bench table area, or just stand. “Have a seat,” she says, ending my conundrum.

  “Okay, thanks.” I slide in opposite the laptop. She stays standing and I can’t help but feel like a kid inside the principal’s office—petulant and confused.

  “Honestly, we’ve been expecting this,” she tells me, steepling her fingers in front of her stomach.

  “You have?” I ask, even more confused.

  “Yes, they know he’s got a favorite and they’re lashing out; it was bound to happen.”

  “So you don’t think I hit her?”

  “No. I mean, I’ll check the cameras, but no,” she says, as she sits down behind her computer and shuts her laptop. “My name is Joyce McKim. I’m one of t
he executive producers.”

  “Oh!”

  “It’s fine,” she says. “Don’t get upset. When Kolton made his wishes known to us, we decided to allow it. All of it, because he said he’d walk. We’ve already done significant promotion with him—and we want to keep him. And then, there are his personal reasons—which are understandable,” she says.

  “Personal reasons?”

  “You mean, you don’t know?”

  “Know what?” I ask, genuinely confused.

  “Listen, Mia. What I think is best is if you switch teams. We’ve already shot too many scenes with you on Kolton’s team, so what we’ve decided is to make the change in the next round.”

  “Change the round?”

  “Yes. Rather than have teams go against another team member, each coach is going to choose a contestant to go against a member of a different team. You will be paired against someone from Pulse’s team.”

  “Oh, so how does that move me to another team?” I ask.

  “Well, you see, Selma and Danny will be voting on Kolton and Pulse’s winners. It won’t be up to Kolton to choose. Now, if they both vote against you, Kolton can choose to save you from losing the round, but he’s going to be instructed not to.” Holy shit. All of this is scripted already.

  “But then, that means I’m off the show,” I say.

  “No, you see, any of the coaches can choose to save you. That’s how you’ll be moved to Team Selma.”

  “So, it’s already been planned?” I ask.

  “Yes, Mia.”

  “Does Kolton know?”

  “Not yet,” she admits. “None of the coaches know. We’ve only just decided it yesterday. You’ll do better on Selma’s team. It will stop some of the harassment and jealousy. Also, Kolton won’t feel as possessive if you’re with a female coach. It’s really the most sensible way to proceed,” she says.

  “But what if he doesn’t want me off his team?” I ask, knowing he won’t take it as easy as she thinks he will. His interest in me is confusing, but completely obvious. He’s not going to let me go easily.

  “Mia, this is really the best way. Let me take care of Kolton,” she says. “And thank you for being so understanding.”

  “No, um, thank you. I mean, for not kicking me off the show.”

  “No. You’ll be with us for a while. The live shows can be unpredictable, but we have high hopes for you. Your story—it’s just amazing,” she says, as she stands up. I take her cue and stand, shake hands with her, and walk out to the warm LA air.

  I try to remember what I was supposed to be doing when I was so abruptly interrupted by a shoulder bump. Everything in my life seems to be spinning. But then I remember what she’d said about Kolton having personal reasons for helping me? What could that even mean? It’s like there’s this puzzle laid out in front of me, but not all the pieces are there.

  I need to figure this out and I should have looked him up online earlier, like, as soon as he’d arranged for us to stay at his house. Once I realized he had personal reasons for helping me and Riley—I should have really tried to figure out why.

  I have to wait until the end of the shoot for the final scene with the new team made up of whatever half of sixteen is—I hate math. I count on my fingers.

  Oh! Eight. There will be eight of us. I really hope Gypsy-Dress isn’t one of them. I get out my phone as I lean against the beige stucco wall outside the doors and type: Kolton Royce into my search engine.

  I should have done this weeks ago. Maybe I was just scared of what I’d find out.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Personal Reasons

  Leaning against the stucco wall, I watch as my phone’s screen starts to fill up with Kolton Royce. There are recent articles like “The Stage: A New Singing Competition,” and there’s his website, “KoltonRoyce.com.” There’s a celebrity gossip article by GOS~P Magazine titled “Playboy Royce Slapped,” which I really want to read, but I don’t—not yet. I want to see his Wikipedia page because that’s where all the information about his past will be, which might be the answer about his lack of boundaries, why he’s always scheming behind my back, and sleeps around so much. I need to understand his personal reasons for helping me. Just as I tap the link, I see someone coming out the back door to where I am.

  “Oh, hey, Kenny,” I say, nonchalantly.

  “Hey, um, I’m h—h—heading out—and, uh, I wanted t—t—to say congrats,” he stutters.

  “Thanks, Kenny,” I say, as I reach out with one arm to hug him goodbye. He wraps his arms around my waist, but the hug lasts a little too long. I tug backward to get him to let go, but he doesn’t pull away. I move my head back slightly and I realize, he’s moving in for a kiss.

  “No, Kenny,” I say, moving my head so he kisses my cheek instead. I push his chest away from me and move my shoulder up to give him less room. He moves back, but at the same time I hear Kolton bellow out, “Didn’t you hear her? She said no,” just before he pushes him so hard in the chest Kenny has to put one leg out to keep from falling.

  Kolton moves me behind him, protectively, so I peek out around his back as Kenny puts his hands up as if to mean, I give up. “I’m s—s—sorry, Mia,” he says. “I th-th-thought you—I thought you liked me,” he stammers, looking down, then rapidly anywhere else besides me or Kolton.

  “You’d better go, Kenny,” Kolton says, keeping himself between me and Kenny, like a guard.

  “Sorry, Mia,” Kenny says again as he skulks back through the door.

  Kolton turns around to face me and I can see how angry he is. When he’d had his back to me, I couldn’t tell, his voice was so controlled. “Are you okay?” Kolton asks gently, but keeps his distance from me. His eyes look pained, his jaw tight.

  “I’m fine. What are you even doing out here?” I ask, suspiciously.

  “We took a break. I came out here to smoke,” he says.

  “You smoke?”

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “I hate smokers,” I say, honestly. “I mean—” I stumble out.

  “It’s cool, Mia,” he says, cracking a smile and running his hand through his messy hair. “I like how honest you are with me. It’s refreshing.”

  “Really?” I ask, genuinely.

  “Really,” he confirms, and then chuckles. “I’ve tried quitting a million times, but hearing you say that might be incentive enough.”

  I don’t know what to say. He looks serious as he says it. So many mixed messages.

  “So, I’d tell you to go inside so I can smoke, but Love-Sick is probably still inside, waiting for you,” he says snapping his fingers and popping his fist with the top of his hand. It’s a move that takes me back. My dad used to do that.

  “No, I’m sure he got the message,” I say, sadly. Not because of Kenny, but because of my dad. It wasn’t good between him and us for those last few years. But he’s my dad, and I loved him. I look at Kolton, but his expression is unreadable. “What about a nicotine patch?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “Tried it,” he says, scratching his forehead. “I do have an e-cigarette. It’s in my trailer,” he nods his head toward them.

  As he says that, a bunch of other people start coming out of the back door. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want anyone to see us together, especially Kimber. So I pick up my phone and pretend that we’re not talking. Kolton doesn’t move. I thought he’d leave so we don’t look suspicious—and he did want to smoke, but he doesn’t leave.

  I feel like a little forest animal that can’t hide fast enough so it freezes in place, hoping to blend in. But how can I blend when I’m standing next to the chiseled rock god everyone here can’t help but notice and be drawn to?

  “Mia,” he says. I just shake my head. Doesn’t he know? I’m trying to blend.

  “You should go, Kolton,” I say under my breath. “You have no idea what just happened while you were in the main studio.”

  “What do you mean?” he questions. But I keep looking at my phone e
ven though it’s not even on. When I swipe the screen, it’s on his Wikipedia page with his picture clearly visible. Shit.

  “What the—? Are you looking me up?” he asks.

  “Please, just go,” I say. “Before everyone realizes you’re talking to me.”

  “I don’t give a shit. Talk to me, tell me what’s going on,” he says.

  “Yeah, it doesn’t matter to you. But you’re not the one getting attacked by jealous little bitches and escorted out by security,” I whisper, my jaw clenching my teeth together like a vice.

  “You what?” he asks as he reaches for me, but I move away. It’s too much all at once and I feel my chin start to tremble. I don’t want to freak out in front of everyone, which would amount to a glaring alarm bell announcing Kolton and I are arguing! I am cheating the competition! I’m living at his house! He’s not going to let me lose!

  Instead, I walk away without saying a word. Please don’t call my name, is my mantra as I go inside, through the hallway, and into the bathroom, locking the stall.

  My brain is spinning. The near fight, the producer telling me I’m switching teams, Kenny trying to kiss me, Kolton not even trying to hide whatever-this-is from everyone else.

  Leaning against the cold metal stall, I pull my phone out of my pocket and swipe the screen. Adrenaline pumps through my nervous system and I take a deep breath of that too strong fake-flower bathroom scent. I need to know why he’s doing this, what his personal reason is, and why he’s so adamant about helping me.

  It’s so weird to see Kolton’s life reported on this page. His birthday, March 10, 1986. He’s twenty-eight years old. I skim the first part, all things I already knew like songs, awards. There’s so many, I can’t even focus on one over the others. As I click “Early life” it takes a minute for my mind to absorb what my eyes have just read.

  “Flight 257… 1990…Four-year-old Kolton Royce…plane crashed into the river…lone survivor…“Miracle Boy”…severe burns…” and a link that, if I click it, will take me to an article. My finger hovers over the link, but I turn off the screen instead.