The Stage (Phoenix Rising #1) (4 page)

I
’m told to wait, and I do. According to my schedule, tomorrow is my after-interview and photos with the coach and team, so I thought I could leave but there must be something else they need from me.

There’s food laid out for contestants and their families, so I make a plate for Riley and me. I’ve been a vegetarian for about a year now, something about eating burnt flesh after the fire—okay, I can’t go there right now, but Riley still loves her some chicken nuggets with barbecue sauce.

“Are you going to be famous or something?” she asks, her little face covered in sauce. I wipe it before taking a bite of my spinach salad.

“A little, I guess,” I say, seeing someone walking toward us in my peripheral vision. My eyes dart over to find Kolton Royce, in all his glory, coming toward us. I start chewing really fast so I can swallow my bite. Oh my God, do I have spinach in my teeth?

“She’s going to be very famous, little girl,” he says, kneeling down and putting his hand out to shake with Riley, giving me a close-up view of the tattoos covering the lower half of his arms. One arm is covered in a green and black swirled tribal design. The other has a guitar with metal wings surrounded by dark clouds.

“What’s your name?” he asks Riley, as I run my tongue along my top teeth—just in case there’s food stuck there.

“Riley,” she says. “I like your song, the one about the panther. That one’s cool.”

“Well, thanks,” he says, turning his attention on me. “At least one of you knows who I am, then,” he says. He sounds serious and my heart drops down to my stomach.

“I know who you are,” I respond. I realize my hands are shaking and my breaths are coming in little short bursts. I set my fork down on the plate. “I’m a fan. I know all of your songs—I…”

“You impressed me today,” he says. He looks at me with an odd expression that I can’t read at all. It’s like he’s worried about me, or angry with me, or something in between.

“Thank you.” And before I can think of another way to put my foot in my mouth, he takes my hand, skin to skin, leans into me and, I swear to God, he’s scenting me like an animal.

“Hmm,” he says, looking straight into my eyes. They are the purest green I’ve ever seen, except for one red fleck in the upper corner of his right eye.

He says nothing, but he says everything. I see worlds in his eyes; pain, love, promises, and desire. It’s like he finds that broken part inside me and pricks at it. It hurts. It feels good. It’s been seconds. It’s been hours. He blinks before taking a step back.

He looks shaken for a second, his jaw tensing. Then a veil drops and he’s emotionless, distant. I want to say something, but, before I can, he says, “Hmm,” releases my hand, turns, and walks away.

A leggy blond in a gypsy dress runs over to him. “Thank you so much for this opportunity,” she says. “How can I ever repay you?”

“Work hard,” he says. “That’s how,” but his jaw relaxes and he smiles. She moves her arm around his back and he puts his over her shoulder as they pose, her arm outstretched for a selfie.

He’s gone again, just like that, back out to finish searching for his team. I still feel him, though. It was the weirdest experience I’ve ever had. I try to calm the shaking in my hands, to no avail, and I can’t eat another bite.

“Mia Phoenix,” says a production assistant.

“Yes?”

“You can go back to the hotel now. You need to be here at seven am for the team shoot. You’ll have your close-up taken and then the group photos.”

“Okay, thanks,” I say, getting up. Was I waiting for that? For Kolton Royce to come out and talk to me? What else could it have been?

*     *     *

The next morning I have to leave Riley with the staff sitter while I get made up. They have me change into the same outfit I’ve been wearing for the past few days, and the dreaded, tall boots I’ve grown to hate.

They take several shots of me smiling and standing in front of a blue screen. Afterward, Riley and I wait for the group portion. I don’t want to leave her with the staff sitter all day. Usually I go on early and we get to go back to the hotel. But today turns into tonight as I watch the other teams do the scene and leave.

Blaire, my New York roomie, made it onto Team Pulse. Somehow that seems like the perfect place for her to be. I mean, Pulse’s wardrobe is anything but boring. Last night over room service, she told me she hasn’t interacted with Pulse at all since joining his team. I’m wondering why I’ve seen Kolton so many times, talked to him, too. It’s weird.

Team Kolton has to wait for hours longer; I get Riley some pizza from the food service table, and she and I play ro-sham-bo. That gets old, though, and I’m getting anxious.

“Excuse me,” I say to a production assistant lady walking by. “Why is our group still waiting?”

“Kolton Royce isn’t here yet,” she says. “He’s running late.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you.” I wonder what he’s doing. And it’s funny how we all call him by his first and last name.
Do I do that with all celebrities?
Yeah, I guess I do.

Riley, sick of playing her Pokémon game on my phone, lies down on the couch and falls asleep. I’ve been writing lyrics. It’s actually been a productive day for me, three songs.

Green eyes with a red fleck keep passing along my thoughts.

“You need to head over to the stage in fifteen for group shots.” When I look up, one of the production assistants is standing in front of me. I’d completely zoned out.

“Is there anyone who can stay with Riley?” I ask.

“No. The staff sitter leaves at five pm. Don’t you have any family here?”

“She’s my only family,” I say. To be honest, the thought of how competing on this show is going to impact Riley makes me panic again. There’s no one to take care of her, just me. I start to shake. What if I have to drop out?

An older woman comes over and whispers to the production assistant, who turns and walks off. “Hello,” she says to me. “I’m Deloris Taylor. Mr. Royce has sent me to help you with your sister,” she says, warmly.

“I’m sorry?” I say. “Mr. Royce? Oh! Kolton Royce.”

“Yes, I’m a credentialed, multiple subject teacher, fully background checked,” she says, as she hands me a folder. I look over everything and she’s got an amazing resume. I’m not very good at math, but it looks like she’s got nearly thirty-years experience.

“So, you’ll be, like, a nanny?” I ask.

“Yes, exactly,” she says, and smiles.

“Does he do this for all of his team, or—?”

“No, actually. I was surprised to get the call from his assistant this afternoon. Usually I’m hired by the production company, but he took care of this personally.”

“Oh—um, okay. Well, thank you,” I say. Why is he doing this? Did he find out about my parents already? Does he feel sorry for me? I feel bare all of the sudden, vulnerable. My feet start itching inside my boots.

“No problem. We can go over her schedule when you get back. I’m going to keep her very busy.”

“I know we’re going back to Sacramento for the break between the taped and live shows. We’ll figure that out once we get there, I guess.”

“I believe you’ll still need my help then, right? I can travel with you.”

“Sure. I mean, I can’t think that far ahead. But, for now, she loves going to the park,” I say, looking at Deloris’ round glasses and her short blonde hair. She reminds me of a grandmother, all soft and gentle—if I’d ever had one. I’d never met my mom’s mom. She’d died when I was a baby. And they’d never let us around Dad’s mom.

He’d told me later that she was a bad alcoholic and a hoarder. Child Protective Services checked her out after the fire. It was found that: “
The home environment of the only living grandparent is insufficient, unhealthy, and unsafe for a child occupant
.”

That’s why she was given to me, or
allowed
to stay with me, I should say. I was eighteen, after all, just by a few months. I run my fingers over Riley’s temple, lean down and kiss her. I straighten the jacket I’d laid over her before standing up and walking toward the stage again.

“Thank you, Deloris,” I say, as she sits down on the couch next to Riley.

“She’ll be fine,” she says, as she pulls a book out from her nanny bag. I idly wonder what she has in there. My make-up is touched up and I’m sent to stage right. I know there are sixty-four of us and four teams. How many of us are in each team?

After counting twice, I’m the sixteenth on Team Kolton. Everyone is chatting, looking excited. I stand back a little, put my head down, and wait.

“Hey, what’s your name?” I look up and there’s a tall, cheerful brunette staring down at me. She reminds me of my best friend, Kaya, only taller. “I’m Brianna,” she says, briefly taking my hand. “Mia,” I say. “I know my hands are shaking.”

“Mine, too,” she winks. “No worries. I didn’t even expect to get this far. Everything else is just whipped cream on top,” she says, and I smile. It feels like a relief.

“Some of these people really think this is their big break. I know better,” she says.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“It’s a reality show, not a real competition. We were cast for these parts, to some extent. I mean, the silhouette auditions were real, but there were a lot of great singers that were passed on for stupid reasons during the call backs,” she tells me.

“Like, ‘cause they didn’t have a story?’” I ask.

“Yeah, that, or their looks weren’t right.”

“Attention Team Kolton,” an older white haired gentleman announces. “I’m Jackson Diles, the executive producer of
The Stage
, and I’d like to be the first to officially congratulate you on having made it on to a team.

“There are a few things I’d like to go over with you all. First, we have a record contract as well as a confidentiality agreement that you all must sign.

“The record contract is because your songs will be recorded in the studio about two weeks ahead of time. The songs are released the night of the live shows. You will be singing the songs live, but we release the studio version on iTunes.

“We need to control your image. That means you are not to talk to the media at all until after the taped shows air in August. Also, there is to be no contact between the team and the coaches outside the show, unless it’s in the nature of promotional work we approve of.

“What I’m saying, to be blunt, is there is no dating of one’s coach or any of the other coaches on this show,” he says, looking specifically at me. “You will automatically be released from your contract if you don’t abide by your contractual agreement.”

I feel heat rising on my cheeks and a little sweat forming on the back of my neck. What’s going on? Am I just feeling paranoid?

“We’re going to bring Kolton in. The cameras are rolling. In fact, you should always believe that the cameras are rolling.

“We are utilizing all the footage we have to give our viewers more of a behind-the-scenes perspective of this show than any other singing competition, give it a more ‘reality’ feel to it. We’d like to see him interacting with his team, and then we’ll take some stills. Is everyone ready?”

“Yes,” I say, along with the other fifteen. The lights turn up and hum, a soft current of energy igniting us as Kolton enters from stage left. He takes my breath away. I move to the back of the group as he’s surrounded by his minions.

I’m not some groupie. I’m not going to get myself kicked off the show. I won’t sleep around to get to the top. I need this. I want him to take me seriously. I need a real record deal. Bad.

As he moves in my direction with all of his hotness, I force myself to feel cold. He starts shaking hands with the members of his team.

I feel like hiding. But he hones in on me, and as he takes my hand, I look behind him, not into his eyes. I’m smiling, but just past him so the camera will see, and I won’t look like a frigid bitch.

He squeezes my hand tighter. “Look at me,” he whispers.

Shit!
My eyes dart to his, quickly, and then back away. But he doesn’t move to the next person. He holds tight to my hand, making it obvious he wants me to look into his eyes.

When I do, it’s in defeat. I’m angry and I glare at him. His jaw is tight. “I sent you someone to help with your sister.”

“Thank you,” I say, trying to pull my hand away from his.

“Still working on it,” he says.

“On what?”

“On earning your trust,” he says, his jaw tightening again as he lets go, smiles for the cameras, and moves on to the next person.

In his wake, I’m completely shaken. I’d like to put my hands on my knees to get a good breath; I feel faint.

What the
hell
is going on? I’m on a team with someone so unnerving that I don’t know how I’m going to keep my head on right.

“Okay, that was good,” says Jackson. “We need some stills. Let’s get in two rows, guys in the back, and ladies in the front.”

I’m walking to the edge of the first row when I feel someone grab my hand. I freeze when I realize it’s Kolton’s firm hand holding mine.

“Stand next to me,” he demands. The room begins to spin. I think I have some deathly, ghost look on my face so, I pretend I’m alone. He’s
not
holding my hand,
forcing
me to stand next to him.