I steadied my voice even though fright flooded my nervous system. Surely, this couldn’t have been an innocent mix-up. Someone must have intentionally switched my song list. As usual, I had purposefully not been paying attention back in our prep room while everyone else took their turns on stage. But nobody else had returned to our room after their performance complaining about switched songs. The sabotage had been on me, alone.
Fortunately, I’d been served a song that Nicole loved. Every time it had come on the radio when we’d been driving around in Nicole’s car before school started, we’d sung it at the top of our lungs. I assumed that Nicole would tell anyone who’d listen that she sang it better than I did when she watched this broadcast in a few hours.
As I sang, I caught a glimpse of Marlene out of the corner of my eye and did a double-take. She appeared to be pitching a fit just off-stage, hitting a production assistant with her fists in a pinwheel motion that looked comical from where I stood. The abrupt ending of the song caught me off guard. Since contestants never performed songs in their entirety on the show, and I hadn’t known where the band would stop, my voice soared beyond the last note. Although I felt pretty confident that no one would have guessed I hadn’t practiced the Tawny song, I could tell how awkward the ending sounded. There was deafening applause, and I smiled as brightly as I could. I was grateful for the audience’s enthusiasm as well as relieved that I’d survived what was probably the worst trick played on me yet. I’d anticipated that Robin would do something underhanded, but this stunt seemed a little out of her league.
“Allison!” Lenore began. “What was that ending?”
I wasn’t sure whether or not I should admit to having been forced to sing a song that hadn’t been assigned to me. I didn’t want to incur the producers’ wrath by suggesting a production mishap. But the cameras were all on me; I didn’t have much time to deliberate. Nelly’s eyes were on Lenore, waiting. Scheming. I would have gone home that night in a murderous fury if I were voted off because Nelly had somehow convinced the band to play the wrong song. “That song wasn’t one of the ones that I’d been assigned. I don’t know what happened,” I said, pretending to be completely ignorant.
“Not your song?” Lenore repeated in disbelief. Chatter swelled in the audience. “Well, whose song was it?”
I shrugged and tried to smile as if the whole turn of events were amusing to me. “Don’t know. But I tried to make the most of it. Fortunately, I know that song by heart because I sing it all the time with my friend, Nicole.”
More applause from the audience. I scored major points with them for being a Tawny fan.
“Well, girl,” Jay Walk cut in, “I would never have known otherwise if you hadn’t said anything. You sang the hell out of that song, especially if it was a cold run.”
The audience cheered. There was stomping in the rows of seats. For a second I thought it just might have been possible that Nelly’s trick had backfired. I’d surpassed the obstacle she’d thrown in front of me… yet again.
Chase looked over his shoulder and then stood. He raised his arms, encouraging the audience to clap harder. My mouth started to crumple. I didn’t want to cry on that stage and I didn’t want Chase to enrage Nelly even more by rallying the audience to my defense. “Do you hear that, Allison?” Chase asked. “Hear that applause? That’s love. For you. You earned that. Being able to improvise when you unexpectedly encounter some technical difficulties shows your professionalism. Nice job tonight.”
At last, my eyes shifted from Chase over to Nelly sitting next to him. She wore a warm grin offset by one raised eyebrow. My anxiety got the better of me. I chewed my lower lip, just waiting for her to skewer me for something arbitrary. “Well, there, Allison. You’ve got a great voice, and you’re prepared for anything, it seems. As always, it’s a real pleasure having you on my team.”
Surely, the audience viewing at home hadn’t detected the layer of black ice that coated Nelly’s feedback for me. I trotted off the stage as quickly as I could to where Marlene waited for me. Without saying a word, she led me past the entrance to the Group 2 prep room and into an empty production room toward the end of the hall near the elevator bank. She flipped on florescent lights, revealing an ugly, abandoned space with tape stuck on the carpet, holes from thumbtacks punched in the walls, and long plastic work tables scattered at odd angles.
“Marlene, do the producers know what Nelly’s trying to do to me?” I exclaimed. I was so outraged that I was having difficulty catching my breath even though I knew I’d outwitted Nelly by managing to perform decently.
“I don’t know; I really don’t,” Marlene said, trying to calm me down. She pulled some tissues from a dusty Kleenex box left behind by whatever production company had last used that room. “I’d like to think that tonight’s screw-up with the songs was just an accident. But it seems like either Nelly’s got someone high-up looking the other way as she’s playing these little games or the producers are afraid to put her in her place.”
“I’m not imagining things, right? That was really, really messed up?”
Marlene leaned against a file cabinet and crossed her arms over her chest. Thick silver rings flashed as she tucked her hands under her elbows. “You’re not imagining things. I didn’t think she’d take it this far. After tonight, if Nelly succeeds in getting you voted off, then the other coaches can fight each other to the death to get you on their team with the Wild Card.”
Marlene was right. The first four weeks of the show were the toughest. From the fifth week until the ninth week of the season, the coach who drew the Wild Card could use it to keep all of their contestants in the running. Or, they had the option of poaching a contestant from another team in exchange for sending their lowest-scoring singer home.
I blew my nose into the tissue she’d handed me. “Would they even want me? I mean, if Nelly has the executive producers on her side, then who’s going to help me win?”
“Sure, they’d want you! You’re star material!” Marlene was quick to assure me. “Allison, if you wanted to throw in the towel on all of this tonight and try to find a record deal, you might be able to do that. I’m pretty sure I could even get you some back-up gigs if you just wanted work. But trust me, you don’t want to be just a back-up singer. And I shouldn’t have to tell you how much more power a winner has in this industry than a quitter.”
The tears simply wouldn’t stop. I felt so cheated; I hadn’t sent in an audition tape ever imagining that I’d have to go through this. “Why can’t I just go talk to Tommy and Susan and ask to be switched to another team?”
“Oh, Allison, you don’t want to do that,” Marlene discouraged me. “If there’s anything people in the television world hate, it’s a whiner. And if they think you’re collecting evidence for a lawsuit, they’ll be in an even bigger hurry to get rid of you than Nelly is.”
“Should I be collecting evidence for a lawsuit?” I wondered, feeling vulnerable and naïve.
Marlene placed her hands on my shoulders. “Listen, Allison. We can work together to get you into another group. Alright? And mum’s the word—please don’t say anything to Nelly or any of the other contestants about this.”
I wanted to believe that Marlene was going to make sure everything worked out okay for me. But I was growing highly paranoid. What if she, like Nelly, had a secret agenda? What if everyone was trying to make sure I lost? The way the show operated, it didn’t matter much that I hadn’t slipped far from first place yet; one awful performance could land me in last place and result in my expulsion.
While earlier on in the competition I might have cried over being kicked off the show, by that night, I knew that expulsion would devastate me. Winning wasn’t the only thing I cared about anymore; staying connected to Elliott had become just as important, even though I knew losing focus wasn’t good for me. I placed my hand on the door handle leading to the Group 2 prep room and hesitated before entering. Elliott’s soulful voice filled the hallway as he performed o
n stage.
Nothing would be worse than getting kicked off the show and having to watch Elliott compete for the rest of the season from the couch in my living room. Then I’d just be another adoring fan. One of millions, no different from anyone else.
After that night’s Expulsion Series, when all the votes had been counted, I’d returned to first place, and Chet was sent back to Maryland. I found Claire having a word with my parents in the hallway outside the Group 2 prep room.
“…check in on Monday morning and ensure that her accommodations are suitable,” Claire was saying.
“Hi,” I said, interrupting what was clearly a rather serious conversation in progress.
“We’re just talking about next week,” Mom informed me. “About where to drop you off on Monday morning when you check in at the Neue Hotel in Studio City.”
My entire body locked up. Naturally I remembered weeks earlier when Claire had mentioned the requirement that I move into the hotel along with the other contestants after the fourth week of the season. Back then, it seemed so far off in the future—and so much like the kind of complication my mom would have objected to—that I’d banished it from my thoughts. But now it was time. It was bad enough that I had to spend each weekday with my competitors in an environment where Nelly could sabotage me at her every whim. Starting on Monday, I’d also accompany everyone to and from the studio on the bus from the hotel. I’d sleep on the other side of walls from them.
The mere thought of being in constant danger was enough to make me flinch when my parents turned to smile at me. I could see in their eyes that they were excited I’d survived the first four weeks without being voted off the show. I considered asking Claire if there was any way I could continue to live at home for the rest of the season. But if I dared to ask that question, my parents would have wanted to know what was wrong. Then I would have had to explain everything, and I’d have either sounded crazy or my parents would have freaked out and wanted to confront the producers. “Great,” I said, pretending to be happy about my big move. A pathetic but desperate hope entered my head, “Will one of you be moving in with me?”
“Oh, heavens no!” Mom exclaimed. “Claire’s assured us that there will be staff on hand at the hotel around the clock in case any emergencies come up. Besides, we’re just twenty minutes away.”
“Over the hill,” Dad joked, elbowing Mom in the ribs.
“Hilarious, Dad,” I murmured.
Mom continued, “Just think of it as summer camp, but without the bugs, the sunburns, or the campfires.”
Or the fun, I thought bitterly to myself.
“You always did want to go to summer camp,” Dad added.
I stewed in my anger as I packed up my stuff in the prep room. Leave it to my dad to remember that when I was twelve, I had cried for weeks because Taylor was going to a prestigious violin camp for two months (paid for by Chase Atwood). That same summer, Nicole’s parents sent her to a real summer camp in Wisconsin near where her grandparents lived, with a big lake and cabins and everything. My parents had thought, at the time, that I was being ridiculous, since we lived in Southern California and owned a pool. My mom had insisted that one day each week would be a family adventure day. Between June and August, she took me and Todd to Magic Mountain, to Malibu for surf lessons, and even to the zoo in San Diego.
My parents had been correct both when I was twelve and in the present. I didn’t want to leave home. I wanted to sleep in my own bed and have my friends over without the producers speculating about whether or not I was breaking show rules.
On the drive home, Mom pulled into the parking lot at the 24-hour Savon to pick up a few items. Once inside the store, I wandered over to the cosmetics aisle, which was always my primary destination. After contemplating shades of nail polish, I meandered over to the shampoo and conditioner aisle (another good place to imagine possible glamour for a few minutes while my parent sought out whatever weird, boring items we needed for the house). And there, unexpectedly—especially because it was, like, midnight—stood Oliver Teague.
The Oliver Teague.
Looking as hot as ever, he stood in front of the array of hair gels. Before I had a chance to scurry around the end of the aisle, out of sight, he glanced up and spotted me with those dark, dark eyes.
“Hey,” he casually greeted me as if we were old friends. “You go to my school, don’t you?”
I felt my body melting like wax. My tongue refused to take orders from my brain. My mouth managed to mangle the words, “I used to.”
“Cause you’re on Center Stage! now, right?” Oliver asked, supplementing my outburst with the words I wished I’d said. “Everyone at Pacific Valley is all amped. I mean, you’re like, really good.”
“Wow,” I said, aware that I was blushing to the deepest, richest shade of crimson on the color wheel. “That’s nice of you to say. You’ve been watching?”
Oliver took a tube of fancy hair gel off the shelf and nodded. “Yeah, we’ve all been watching. I’m driving home from my friend Ronan’s house right now. He hosted a viewing party.”
Just then, as it was their custom of ruining every cool moment in my life, my parents joined me in the aisle and Mom smiled at Oliver. “Hi there. Are you one of Allison’s friends from school?”
I wished desperately for a bolt of lightning to strike me down in the aisle of Savon right at that very instant. Shockingly, Oliver replied in a very friendly voice, “Yeah. I’m Oliver. Everyone at school is hoping that she wins. She’s definitely the best one on the show, and it would be awesome for someone from Pacific Valley to get famous. See you around, Allison. Good luck.”
It was only as I recovered from the shock of Oliver Teague actually acknowledging my existence that I turned around and, to my great horror, discovered that my parents were holding the most embarrassing and gross household items for sale at Savon: a jumbo-sized tub of medicated hemorrhoid pads, a 12-pack of toilet paper, a huge bag of cat litter, and an economy-sized jar of a fiber supplement. “Well, he’s certainly handsome. I don’t recall you ever mentioning an Oliver before,” Mom commented in a knowing voice that infuriated me.
“He’s a senior, Mom,” I grumbled. “We’re not really friends.”
“Well, he seemed mighty friendly to me.”
The following night was Lee’s birthday party in Beverly Hills. I hadn’t seen many people from school since the show had started taping, so I was nervous about showing up. I feared that everyone from school would expect me to be hotter and more fascinating than the last time I’d shown my face in the cafeteria. Truthfully, nothing about me had changed much since the end of September. I didn’t own a single new article of clothing other than the fancy jacket from Marlene, which hung in my closet. It wouldn’t have surprised me in the least if even the band nerds at Pacific Valley gossiped right in front of my face that they didn’t understand what the big fuss was about me.
“Oh, come on, Allison! No one is going to say that!” Lee exclaimed when I expressed my worry to him on Saturday afternoon. There was no one in the world I’d dare to be so honest with other than Lee. “It’s not even going to be some big rager, alright? My parents are going to be home. I had to talk my dad out of hiring a magician to perform.”
“I don’t know,” I waffled. “I just feel weird about it. What if we just have brunch tomorrow at The Farmer’s Market to celebrate?”
“Because you’re one of my best friends and I really want you to be at my party.”
When I ventured out into the kitchen to request a ride over to the Yoons’ from my mom, Dad wolf-whistled at my outfit. After much deliberation and many outfit changes, I’d settled on a black skirt and simple black tank top. The skirt was shorter than I remembered it being when I had tried it on in the dressing room at Nordstrom.
“God, Dad,” I groaned.
When we stepped outside, it was still light out. Mom stopped talking mid-sentence about what a nice boy Lee was and how she hoped that when I was ready to start datin
g I’d choose a boy like him (embarrassing) when we both noticed in unison that there was a car parked in our driveway behind her Sentra.
It was a Ford Fiesta.
As soon as Elliott saw us, he started his engine. “I didn’t know you were expecting company,” Mom told me.
“I wasn’t,” I said, and then thought perhaps I’d better at least say hello. I rushed down the driveway intending to seem pleased to see Elliott even though I was surprised that he was there. We’d never even exchanged phone numbers, and yet this was twice that he’d shown up at my house unannounced. “Hey,” I said, bending over to look at him, eye to eye, through his driver side window. “How’s it going?”
“Sorry, I was just going to say hi,” Elliott said, nodding toward my mom to indicate he hadn’t known we were about to leave the house. “I didn’t know you have plans.”
“Oh, I’m just going to a friend’s birthday party,” I assured him. Only after I’d announced my intended destination did I realize that I sounded like kind of a jerk for not inviting him. “I mean, it’s not like, a party party. It’s like a bunch of kids hanging out and eating Zankou chicken. Maybe if things get wild, we’ll play Twister.”
Elliott smirked appreciatively. “That sounds kind of awesome.”
Before I thought through the full consequences of my offer, I blurted out, “You could come. If you want to, I mean. But trust me, it’s not going to be, like, a night at the Playboy mansion or anything.”
His eyes met mine—that turquoise!—and I knew even though I was about to regret deeply ever suggesting that he come with me; it was too late to rescind the invitation. Worlds were about to collide. Pacific Valley School people were about to overlap with Center Stage! people. I was about to break my personal vow not to introduce Elliott to Nicole. “That would be cool,” he said slowly. “Are you sure your friend wouldn’t mind?”
I told Mom in a low voice that Elliott was going to give me a lift to the Yoons’ house. She squinted and did this annoying knee-bend thing to try to get a better look at him through his windshield before agreeing to this change in plans. “Home by ten,” she commanded me. “And don’t get angry if I call Lee’s mom to make sure you arrive at the party within the hour.”
Center Stage! (Center Stage! #1) Page 19