Goldfish (22 page)

Mom waves us off, probably desperate for some peace and quiet, and we all wedge ourselves in Dad's car again. He delegates a separate responsibility to each of us to look behind, left, and right, since he doesn't have side mirrors anymore.

We drive to the conference center with only a couple of near misses (when Dad is changing lanes and the human side mirrors are checking Twitter).

The line looks even longer than last time. I dread to think how smelly the people are at the front of this one.

I feel the mood in the car sink a bit, so I give a little chirp on my whistle.

“Come on, team,” I say cheerily, “third time lucky.” We carefully unfold ourselves from the car, Roman and Lav with some reluctance. Honestly, between Mom and Dad and Lav and Roman, it is one big sex party around here.

We walk toward the entrance to the conference center, wondering if we have to line up again.

“Nah. They invited us,” says Roman in reasonable tones. “Who invites a guest and then makes them line up at the front door?”

We hesitate a moment, then hear, “Hey! Guys?” from behind us—it's the security man from last time, the one who talked to his wrists. He was surly last time; this time he's practically
beaming
. Is he drunk? Does he think we're someone else?

“Morning, morning, morning!” He bounces up to us.

“
Hiiiii?
” we reply doubtfully.

“We
love
the video here,” Wrists tells us. “Such big fans.”

“Thanks!” I beam. Lav looks amused. Well, she's used to people sucking up to her. (I'm not, and it's
lovely
.)

“Have you seen all the remixes?” Wrists goes on. “I adore the track that Belgian DJ added to it. Is he a friend of yours?”

“I have no idea,” I reply.
About anything you just said
, I want to add.

“Do you have representation?” he asks.

We look at each other, baffled.

“An agent? Or a manager?” he presses.

“Um, no, because what we do is we just sort of dance underwater in a community pool,” says Gabe carefully.

“Should the kids go inside or speak to anyone?” asks Dad, making us sound like we've just turned up for a ten-year-old's party. Show biz!

Wrists leads us into the aircraft hangar. Immediately there's a camera in my face and a microphone even closer.

“Louise Brown, the Aquarium Boys' coach!” says a man I don't recognize. “We hear there was some police trouble after your video was shot. What was
that
all about?” he asks with a mischievous smile.

“Ah, well.” I hesitate, sifting through all the insane details of that week and rejecting most of them as Too Harrowing for Chitchat.

Pete pulls me away by the arm and Dad, Lav, the Aquarium Boys, and I keep following Wrists. He leads us onto the stage. Lav and Dad hang back as we step in front of bright lights that blind us. We all blink and bump into each other. Wrists gives us a thumbs-up, then abandons us.

“Hello, guys!” comes a voice from the darkness out front.

“Hello…?” we shout back doubtfully, shielding our eyes to see a table with three chairs behind it and a woman with an earpiece and a clipboard waving exaggeratedly at us.

“OK, guys, real quick,” she says, ticking things off with her fingers as she goes through a list: “You'll be prepped at the side of stage.” (What's prepping?
Will it hurt?
) “You'll come on, do your routine,
wait
for the judges to give you their feedback, then off. Quick off. It'll be
loud
in here with the audience—be prepared for that, and
do not
swear on camera.”

“'Scuse me,” I mumble. My mouth is dry and my tongue has gone big. “
Audienthe?
” I ask, but she's gone.

We all look at each other for a second until—“Clear the stage, please!” a voice booms from nowhere. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

We walk off, stand in the shadows with Dad and Laverne, and have a small nervous breakdown.

“This is not another public tryout,” Pete says.

We all shake our heads silently.

“What?” says Lav.

“This is the televised audition,” Ro says.

We nod. Lav's and Dad's eyes go big.

“That line,” I say. They all look at me. “That line. It didn't have any ferrets in hats in it.”

“Are you feeling all right, Lou?” Dad asks, feeling my forehead.

“You're right…” Gabe says faintly.

That gigantic line, snaking halfway around town, is not contestants but audience members.

 

chapter 34

Lou! We heard you guys are off to
BHT
today, that's beyond cool. Hook us up with some tickets? Ten should be fine. I'm having a party this weekend, sorry babes, forgot to invite you earlier, aargh, ditz! See you at
BHT!

Imogen (Laverne's friend) xxxx

I know who Imogen is; she's acknowledged my existence
once
in six years. Twice now. I read her text and turn my phone off. I have more important things to worry about. We now have to wait three hours, which is really useful time in which to feel sick and pace around a lot. Roman nearly twists his ankle tripping on camera cables, so we force him to sit down. He can't get hurt. We're all out of substitutes now.

The term
dressing room
is too grand, but we definitely have a small room with no windows to ourselves. Plus there's a sign on the door that says
The Aquarium Boy
s, and it's surrounded by stars. Gabe gets out his pen and changes it to
Lou Brown and the Aquarium Boys
.

Lav calls Mom to tell her “things have got a bit out of hand,” which is one way of putting it. Mom and Hannah race along to join us, and Wrists brings them up to our room to wait with us. Roman and Gabe's parents are at work, and I think Pete is a little embarrassed about telling his dad. He just says, “Let's see how the day goes.”

The mood in this room is like a shaken-up can of Coke. I try to calm them down. Coach to the rescue.

“Come on, guys, do some stretches, stay limber.” The boys look at me, Gabe with a half smile, and I remember—I'm swimming too.

It's like someone just added Mentos to this can of Coke.

I step outside to use the bathroom, but really I just need a moment by myself to calm down. As I'm returning, I pass doors with signs like ours. Pete is loitering in the corridor. I realize he's waiting for me. He nods his head at one of the doors.

The sign says
Pretty in Sync
. I don't get it. He smirks and opens his mouth. Then the door opens and Nicole appears in the doorway.

“Oh!” She's surprised to see Pete, and I think I am literally invisible to her. “Pete Denners?” she says loudly, clearly meaning for everyone in the room to hear. “Are you waiting for Cammie?”

“Nope,” he says honestly. “Bye, then!” He grabs me by the arm and rushes me back to our dressing room.

“But I thought she was sweet?” I tease him.

“Sweet like a
snake
!” he says. And maybe it's bitchy, but I'm glad the message got back to him.

Someone knocks on the door and we shuffle aside to let them in. Our visitors are three very pretty girls—who are very orange.

“Guys,” one of them says, smiling, “we're here to give you a little makeup for the cameras.” Her eyes roam over everyone in the room, resting hopefully on Lav.

“It's those three,” says Gabe, pointing us out. The makeup artists hide their disappointment and set to work on our tired faces.

It's a strange feeling having little brushes dot and stroke my face. After about ten minutes my makeup artist steps back, satisfied, and I peek around her at the mirror. For the first time ever, I look like I might be related to Laverne.

My new vanity deflates with a farty sound as I notice that Roman and Pete are wearing more makeup than me and they look like supermodels. Sigh. This is the most beautiful I have
ever
looked, but still the boys are prettier.

Hannah catches my eye in the mirror. “You look amazing!” she mouths at me.

“You could look less surprised,” I tell her sternly.

There's a sudden thundering of loud music from down the corridor.

“They're getting ready to begin,” says my makeup artist, giving me a “Be brave” look. I give her a “Step Back Because I Might Be Sick on You” one in return. She steps back.

My face feels stiff with makeup. “Ank oo” is all I manage as the three girls wish us luck and leave.

I can tell I look scared, because Pete's being nice to me.

“We're going to be on in about an hour,” he says gently, like I'm a dog waiting at the vet. “Do you want to watch the first part of the show from the side of the stage?”

We pad along the corridor, barefoot and wrapped in towels, with Gabe, Hannah, and my family in tow. I was sure I had mastered walking some years ago, but now my legs are all rubbery and they feel about eight feet long. We reach the backstage area, and the guys with earpieces wave us through. They seem to know who we are, which makes me feel a little better, because right now I don't think I can remember my surname. I haven't felt this nervous since the time trials.

Unhelpful memory. Shush shush shush, Lou.

And, unlike at the time trials, this time I have Mom, Dad, and Lav with me. The earpiece guys make way for us and point at a two-foot gap in the curtain where we can peek through and watch the show. We all step carefully, trying to not trip on all the stage equipment on the floor.

I bend down to put my face beneath Pete's; he moves the curtain so I can see. (
Stop being nice, it's freaking me out
.) There is a lady onstage who looks like someone's mom dancing around with a ribbon on a stick. I can't see the audience, but I can hear them openly laughing at her. I reel back slightly. What is
wrong
with people?

I hang back and find I'm next to Dad, who puts his arm around my shoulders and whispers in my ear, “You don't have to do this.”

“I kind of
do
, though, don't I?” I whisper back.

“Well, yes,” he admits, “but if you want to make a run for it, I'll go get the car.”

We nod at each other. Deal.

The judges give their verdict on the woman and her ribbon, and they are brutal, saying the worst sort of YouTube comments, but to her face! I have a sudden urge to shower.

Next up, a father and son dressed as cows play pop songs on cowbells. Gabriel whispers in my ear, “Suddenly dancing underwater feels normal.” I smile at him, or I try to, but whatever they sprayed on my face has left it rock hard and I wince and hold my cheek while he stifles a laugh. I haven't been this close to him since we were in Pete's Mini, and I wonder if he's thought about that since. I totally haven't. Nu-uh.

The act finishes and the father and son disappear off the other side of the stage. Now a huge tank is being lowered down in six pieces. The moment the first piece touches the floor, an army of people surge forward with tools to fit it all together. I watch them drag a hose onto the stage and start filling up the tank while they walk around checking all the joins and edges.

Soon the tank is in place, filled, and the show music booms to life. I hear the indistinct sound of the voice-over man announcing the start of the show, and the way he holds the last word for a long time, I can tell he's announced someone.

Hang on, what? Is it us now…? They said we'd be fifteen minutes. Maybe I've lost track of time?

I throw off my towel and stumble forward. I have a terrifying moment of being blinded by the stage lights, and then someone pushes me firmly aside.

Debs is holding me back by the shoulder while her team sashays past, their faces lighting up with practiced plastic smiles the second they hit the stage. Cammie, Nicole, Amanda, and Melia—all in matching pink bathing suits.

For the first time all day I feel a real desperate desire to not do this, to just go home, put two chairs back to back, drape my duvet over them, and eat cheese on toast under there.

I don't even catch Debs's eye. I just walk away, back to my team, where Roman and Pete have grins on their faces. What are
they
so happy about? They'd better not still be excited about how “hot” Debs's team is. They lean toward me and take an ear each.

“You know her team already got through the tryouts weeks ago?” They tell me in stereo.

I nod.

Roman whispers gleefully, “Well we heard her freaking out, yelling at some poor guy backstage because now there are
two
swimming teams and only one can go through today.”

He raises his eyebrows at me. Us! The thought that anyone might think me and my team could be equal with Debs's … I'm astonished.

Debs looks back at me and I can't stop myself—I give her my broadest smile. Which, thanks to the face spray, isn't very big, but she gets the idea and looks royally pissed off as she turns back to watch the stage.

We hear whooping and cheering from the audience.

“It sounds like they're doing well,” says Pete nervously. Well, durr. He and Roman step forward to watch, but I grab them both by the elbows and shake my head.

“You swim no one's race but your own,” I tell them firmly. They hesitate, but I know I'm right. I give them a “Listen to Coach” look and they do.

Because I am so wise
and
a massive hypocrite, I risk a peek when they're not looking. Debs's team is doing proper synchronized swimming. It looks good, really pro, perfectly in unison. Maybe I'm biased, but
I
think it's a little boring.

Our routine is more exciting: In some places it's
too
exciting and downright dangerous. Let's just hope the substitute doesn't ruin it all. I suddenly feel sick, and either my throat has got very small or the air here is too big.