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It’s a true statement, although, technically, we dreamed of me being the winner of the singing competition. Or, better yet, a full-time judge on the show, like Aloha is now. But there’s no reason for me to say any of that to Daria, after she’s secured such an amazing windfall for me, this early in my career. The singing competition attracts icons to its ranks, even as mentors. The fact that Daria secured a spot for me at all is close to a miracle.
“I truly can’t thank you enough, Daria,” I say. “This is the chance of a lifetime.”
“It’s Aloha who deserves most of the credit,” Daria replies. “She joined me on the conference call with the producers and convinced them they’d be stupid not to hire you.”
I clutch my heart. “Aloha! You did not! Thank you!”
Aloha shrugs. “You were a tough sell, dude. They were convinced you’re a raving bitch who’d be a nightmare to work with, thanks to your face.”
I burst out laughing at the inside joke. During our tour together, Aloha and I teased each other constantly about our resting bitch faces. For both of us, unless we’re literally smiling from ear to ear, we look like we’re sulking or plotting murder. As a child star on the Disney channel for a decade, Aloha expertly learned to mask her resting bitch face with a perma-smile. But me? Not so much. On a daily basis, someone who doesn’t know me will undoubtedly ask, “Are you okay, Laila? Is something wrong?” Even when I’m feeling light as a feather and happy as a clam.
Aloha sips her drink. “No, actually, you were an easy sell, Laila. I told them you’re the perfect combination of sassy and sweet. The kind of person who’ll give the sweetest encouragement to the contestants while doling out unparalleled death glares to Hugh, whenever he acts like a jackass blowhard during the all-cast round table. Which, of course, he will. And, voila, the producers were sold.”
I giggle and raise my glass. “To aud-sassity!” It’s what Aloha and I have coined our special brand of badassery. Audacious sassiness. And Aloha and Daria clink my glass and whoop, just as the host of the party, Reed Rivers, walks up.
“Wow, looks like I’ve found the epicenter of the party,” he says. He greets everyone, and we quickly tell him the reason for our toast. Of course, Reed congratulates me on the amazing news and we chat about it for a bit. But when Aloha’s darling husband, Zander, the sweetest guy in the world, appears, Aloha excuses herself to meet some friends outside. And just like that, I’m alone with Daria and Reed, two of the biggest power brokers in the music industry, and neither of them is telling me to “scram, kid.” Seriously, how did I get here?
Reed says, “When it rains it pours, Laila. I’ve got some exciting news for you, too.” He pauses for effect, his dark eyebrow raised. “The opener for Fugitive Summer’s domestic leg had to bow out, unexpectedly, for personal reasons. So, I’ve decided to push up the release of your album and send you in their place.”
I gasp. “Are you serious?”
“Very serious,” Reed says, just as none other than the drummer of Fugitive Summer approaches the group.
“Hey, Reed,” he says. “Oh, Laila Fitzgerald!”
And before he says another word, I throw myself into his muscled arms and thank him, profusely, for the amazing opportunity. “I’m so excited!” I shriek. “I love Fugitive Summer!”
“Wow,” the drummer says, laughing. “Good to meet you, too.”
Reed says, “I just told Laila the exciting news that she’s joining your tour. You know, because Alexa Play Music had to bow out?”
“Aaah,” the drummer says, returning my hug. “That’s awesome. I’m so glad you told her the news, Reed. That’s actually what I was coming over to do.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
I pull away from the drummer, laughing. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“Not at all.” He smiles adorably and puts out his hand. “I’m Kendrick Cook, by the way.”
I shake his hand maniacally. “I know! I’m so glad to meet you. Thank you so much for coming over here to welcome me to the tour! That was incredibly sweet of you, Kendrick!”
Kendrick looks at Reed and smiles. “Of course, Laila. We’re all super excited to have you aboard.”
“You are? Oh my gosh! What an honor! Thank you!” My heart racing, I glance excitedly across the room toward Savage, all prior “I don’t give a shit” pretense impossible now. And once again, I’m ecstatic to find him already staring at me. Which makes perfect sense now. Obviously, the band has been sitting on this thrilling news, waiting to see my reaction when Reed finally let the cat out of the bag.
Practically bursting with excitement, I smile broadly at Savage, letting him know, yes, Reed and Kendrick have delivered the amazing, exciting, shocking, thrilling news to me—although, I’m sure Savage has already surmised that fact, given the way I hugged his drummer just now. But to my dismay and acute humiliation, Savage doesn’t return my goofy, no-holds-barred smile. Instead, on the contrary, he frowns in the face of my exuberance and immediately looks away like I’ve greatly offended him. Like he’s pissed about me joining the tour.
