“Well, she probably doesn’t do it in an equipment closet. Come on, stand up. Brush yourself off. Get back out there and do whatI knowyou were put on this world to do.”
Sadie could hear her mother in the background, telling Gran to ease up and not push Sadie so hard, that there were plenty of other things she could do with her life. But Sadie knew this wasn’t true.
“Okay, okay, maybe Iamhaving a small episode. Thanks for snapping me out of it, Gran.”
“Tell me about the other contestants. Who do you need to look out for?”
Sadie decided not to mention Max Brody. She knew Gran was a big fan of his father, Holden Brody, and didn’t want to hear her swoon about Sadie getting to be one degree from greatness. “There’s this one guy, Johnny King, who has a pretty good voice, but he’s also got thispresence. You justwantto watch him. He’s the one I’m worried about. And he’s only twenty-one years old!”
“Are you going to start insisting that at twenty-eight years old you’re a washed-up old lady again?! Remember who you’re talking to.”
“Twenty-eight isn’t that young, not in the music world.”
“Nonsense,” Gran said. “Age is just a number. Your beautiful voice is going to be what people notice.”
“My voice might not be enough.”
Gran moved her face close to the screen, pinning her granddaughter with a pointed gaze. “You’re right. It isn’tjustyour voice. It’s you.Yougot yourself onto that show. Your poise, determination,andyour voice.Do you hear me? Now, you go on out there and make me proud.”Make me proudwas what Gran always said to Sadie before she performed, and she had been doing so since Sadie was knee-high to a grasshopper. Sadie smiled and was about to say goodbye when all at once, her gran’s screen blurred, as if she had dropped the phone. Sadie heard her gran coughing for a moment, then her mother’s voice. Lynn appeared on-screen once more.
“She just... swallowed some water wrong.” Her mother’s expression was full of worry. “Good luck today, Sadie. And don’t forget—if it doesn’t work out, you can always come home.”Ah.Sadie should have known the worry was abouther.“I’ll miss not having you home for Christmas this year,” she continued.
“I’ll check in later,” was all Sadie said. “I should really get back.”
Then she hung up and was alone with her thoughts once more, a ball of anxiety still pressing itself against her sternum.
—
You lookamazing,” said Hugo, the stylist assigned to Sadie—a lucky break, because he was one of the best, and had come from Tasha Munroe’s tour crew. He had put Sadie in a red backless minidress, gauzy and trimmed all over with frills that should have been too much, but instead were just perfect because he had toned down the look with milk chocolate–brown cowboy boots. The dark circles under her eyes had been magicked away by a makeup artist, and her long dark hair hung loose and wavy down her exposed back. Hugo lifted up her locks and dusted on some body shimmer powder.
“Love the piercing,” he said, referring to the tiny diamond stud Sadie had worn in her nose since she was seventeen. Her mom had been chagrined when she came home with it one day after school—but she had been feeling inspired by Pink, her favorite singer at the time. “It shows that you’re adorable—but you have an edge. Now, go get ’em, gorgeous.”
As Sadie walked toward the soundstage, she tried to calm herself. She was just going to have to breathe in her fear and breathe out powerful music. She wished there was an app forthat.
She stepped out onto the stage and sat down at the piano. Her eyes adjusted to the bright lights, then roamed quickly over the ledge of the piano and across to the judges’ table, whereTasha, Cruz, and the other two judges—country music icons Monica Cleary and Darryl “D.J.” Jones—sat, their faces arranged in neutral expressions. The other competitors sat in the front row—but perfectly coiffed Johnny King in a bright purple suit, no shirt underneath, washboard stomach on full display, was most noticeable. His posture was casual and relaxed, his long legs were crossed at the ankles, his socks were emblazoned with hot pink guitars.
She’d chosen to sing “Sweet Dreams,” by Patsy Cline. It was a comforting old favorite, one of the first songs Gran had taught her to sing, and a great opportunity to show off the range of her voice. Sadie ran her fingers lightly across the keys, preparing herself. Now her gaze landed on Max Brody, who was as understatedly hip as Johnny King was garishly alluring. Max was staring off to the left of the stage, where Sadie knew a large clock was affixed to the wall. It appeared he was counting the seconds down until this tedium was over. Sadie felt frustrated just looking at him—but then, as she let her gaze linger on Max, she noticed there was a surprising benefit to having him in her line of vision. It was making her forget how nervous she was. So she kept her eyes on Max as she began to play the haunting opening bars of her song. As she sang those first lines about sweet dreams that could never come true, Max’s gaze finally shifted to the stage and she saw it: surprise.
Max Brody, I have something to prove to you,she thought. It was a short tune, but powerful—and by the closing bars, she knew she’d nailed it. Johnny King even hopped up on his chair to give her a standing ovation—but really, Sadie knew, he was just using the opportunity to show off for the cameras.
The judges were in unanimous agreement. “I mean,” Tasha was saying, “I justknewwhen I stumbled on this one practicing earlier today that she was someone to watch.”
Sadie blushed as she sat beaming on the stage, letting the compliments wash over her, thinking about what her gran had said to her earlier about this being her life’s purpose.
“Star quality, definitely,” Cruz McNeil was now saying, looking Sadie over appraisingly and with interest, as if noticing her for the first time. Sadie was smiling so much it was starting to hurt her cheeks. And her smile got widerstillwhen she saw the scowl on Max’s face. Sadie had just proven he was going to need to stay on his toes to beat her, and that felt incredible.
Later, after all the performances were over, the day’s rankings were announced: underdog Sadie had impressed the judges and come in first place—but Johnny King’s showstopping rendition of Shania Twain’s “Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under?” was nipping at her heels, a close second. Max Brody’s version of Johnny Cash’s “Folsom Prison Blues” had somehow earned him third place, even though Sadie could have put money on him choosing a song like that. So predictable.
“Your prize for winning today’s competition—and as a nod to your name, Sadie”—Tasha winked as she said this—“is thatyouget first pick of a contestant to partner up with for the duet round of competition. Everyone else will have their partners randomly assigned.”
Sadie was about to point to Johnny King—he was her stiffest competition, sure, but she’d get more attention if she sang with him—when someone called, “Cut!”
Wait.What was going on?
One of the directors, an energetic man named Chuck, approached. “Okay. So, this part is now scripted,” Chuck said. All the contestants had been told there would be certain portions of the show that were predetermined, but Sadie still felt taken aback. “Pretty simple. You’re supposed to pick Max Brody. Okay? So when the cameras roll, you just point to Brody, bat those baby blues, and say you choose him.”
“You mean I don’t really have a choice?”
Chuck just shrugged. “We need Brody in the spotlight as much as possible and if he keeps on trotting out tired old Johnny Cash covers, that ain’t gonna happen. Ratings. It’s that simple. Alright, so let’s get rolling.”
