“I’m sure.”
“Then what are you going to wear?”
“I don’t know,” I said, in a way that was supposed to indicate the subject was closed.
“FYI, Savannah’s really good at dressing people. Look at me! I look great today. And that’s all Savannah. I didn’t even have to buy anything new. She’s a genius with accessories.”
The annoying thing was that Lacey did look great. She had this striped blue-and-white sweater she always wears, but instead of shoving it over jeans, she’d put it over a sleeveless blouse and miniskirt, and wrapped a skinny belt around it, which really showed off her waist and legs.
“Your belt is new,” I said.
“Sofie lent it to me. Those three have the most gorgeous stuff, really. You should see it. Paige has a walk-in closet.”
“So I’ll start with ‘London Yeah.’ Then ‘Cake Boyfriend.’ Um, I might do ‘Spaghetti Hoops’—I know Tony’s not happy with that one, but I should do some new material. Then ‘Autocorrect,’ ‘That Belt,’ maybe the new one about my dad, ‘Just Me,’ and finish with ‘Can’t Stand the Boy Band.’”
“That was easy,” said Lacey as her phone started to ring. “Oh, hi, Sav. I’m with Katie. She seems fine. She doesn’t want you to dress her. I know. I know! I tried my best.” She held the phone away from her face. “Sav says at least don’t wear your jeggings.”
“But I like my jeggings!”
She rolled her eyes and went back to her phone. “Yes. No. No, we can’t. I know, but a sample sale at Cindy’s is not as important as Katie’s concert. Yes, you are coming too.” I opened my mouth to say that if Savannah would rather go to a Cindy’s sample sale she should go right ahead, but Lacey was still talking.
“What if she has a meltdown midsong? Or falls off the stage or something? This could be a complete disaster. Total public humiliation! You know what she’s like. She needs her friends.” She hung up and smiled at me. “Okay, I got Savannah to come.”
“How generous.”
Was I supposed to be grateful for this sprinkling of Savannah stardust? Just a few weeks ago, before the whole bedroom-recording-viral-music thing had happened, the Queen of Highlights, Princess of the Mani-Pedi, and High Priestess of Juicy Couture had not counted Lacey and myself among her loyal subjects.
More importantly, neither of us had even cared. Today, though…
“Katie?”
Dad was calling me from the sofa.
“What?”
“Come down! Now!”
Dad is not one of life’s hurriers. This is a man who thinks that missing trains is not only normal but inevitable.
By which I mean, if he says, “Come now,” you come. “What?” I hurtled into the living room. I forgot that the door was falling off and pushed it too hard. It fell off.
“Katie Cox, with her new single ‘Can’t Stand the Boy Band’ is unrepentant. The young singer- songwriter…”
“That’s you!”
“That’s me! And that’s the man from this morning. He was in the kitchen, like, two hours ago.”
“And he’s talking about you!”
“Shh!” said Lacey.
“…said on social media last night that Karamel are the enemy of good music, accusing them of playing songs written in boardrooms by middle-aged men.”
“You tell ’em, Katie!” said Dad.
“Shhh!” said Lacey.
“Karamel have hit back, releasing a statement saying that they either write or cowrite all their songs themselves, and that they have the utmost respect for their fans. Head of Top Music, Tony Topper, spoke to NTV this morning, saying that both acts are releasing singles on the same day.”
“That’s him,” I said. “That’s Tony.” He was standing there in an expensive-looking simple white T-shirt showing just a curl or two of chest hair at the neck, looking as relaxed as if he was watching TV, not on it.
“Shhh!” said Lacey.
“All I can say is that I respect them both. They’re making great music. But the question for viewers is—are you Team Katie or Team Karamel?”
The screen cut back to Chris, smiling into the camera.
“The UK’s most established act is up against one of its most exciting newcomers. It’s the biggest chart battle in years, and so far, at least, this result is too close to call.”
“That Tony’s a genius,” said Dad. “An absolute genius.”
“He kind of is,” I said. “I mean, I thought he was down on me because I wouldn’t play one of his trashy songs. I assumed he’d given up on me. But this is…I mean, this is huge!”
“Yeah,” said Lacey.
“So how’s that set list coming along?” Dad grinned. “All eyes are going to be on you, my girl.”
All eyes? “Uh, it’s okay.”
“Not feeling too nervous, I hope?”
“No…”
“Great! This is such an opportunity.” He beamed. “My little princess, all grown up, out there, in the spotlight…”
“The thing is,” I said, because his words were making my stomach do worrying things, “it’s actually a very intimate concert. Low-key. Tony and I agreed that we’d start small.”
“Doesn’t look small from where I’m sitting,” said Dad.
“Very small,” I said, mainly to myself. “Small and intimate and low-key.”
• • •
I turned down Savannah’s offer of that pink limo to take me to the gig, and in the end, it was Adrian who drove us there, four sleepless nights later, to a soundtrack of the Pet Shop Boys and early Pulp.
It wasn’t the most fun of journeys. I was playing songs over and over in my head, until none of them made sense anymore and I completely forgot why I’d written them. Meanwhile Adrian was mainly swearing, at the traffic, at other drivers, and at the lack of decent road signs on the highway. So much so that I hardly registered when he started banging his fist against the steering wheel.
“Ach.”
“What is it?” said Amanda.
“See for yourself,” said Adrian.
The road outside the venue had been blocked off by some kind of humungous demonstration. A hundred or maybe two hundred people were standing around doing protest things like holding hands and chanting and waving homemade signs.
“Why are they doing it here?” I said. “They have all of London to stand around and shout.”
“I hadn’t heard anyone was marching today,” said Mom.
“This isn’t an ordinary demonstration,” said Adrian. “They’re too young.”
Now that he mentioned it, they were all around my age or younger, wearing T-shirts and hoodies and little tiny skirts, with fluffed-up hair and angry faces.
“They’re—” Adrian paused. “Ah. I wondered if this might happen.”
It was then that I read the closest sign. It said:
KATIE COX IS A WITCH
Which made me read the other signs. I got:
KARAMEL FOREVER
BAD APPLE
KATIE HATER
UGLY FACE UGLY SOUL
And then I decided I would stop reading the signs.
“I’m sorry. What’s going on?” asked Mom, who really needed to get with the program.
“They’re Karamel fans,” said Amanda. “And I think they’re kind of mad at Katie.”
“I am not a hater,” I said. “I just happen to be giving my opinion about something, which is that I hate it.”
“Speaking of which,” said Adrian, “K, maybe you want to turn away from the window?”
Given the view, this was not a difficult decision to make.
“Yeah. Let’s make it into the venue alive,” said Amanda, which I think we all felt was unnecessary.
Thank the Lord I hadn’t gone for the Savannah
limo. Adrian’s car was old and dented and smelled of cigarettes and mints, but it was, at least, reasonably anonymous.
Too bad I couldn’t stay in it forever.
“All right?” A man with an earpiece was talking to Adrian through the window. “Around the back. Don’t worry. It’s ticket holders only.”
So Adrian attempted a three-point turn, which quickly became a twenty-seven-point turn, while I tried to tune out the chanting.
And then Mom said, “Why do you always have to upset people, Katie?”
“I’m just saying my opinion.”
“Yes, but you’re famous now. Your opinions matter.”
“And they didn’t before?!”
Mom’s fingers began to massage the area between her nose and her forehead.
Then I was safely housed in a dressing room with “Katie Cox” taped to the door. Only it wasn’t safe, not safe at all, because in half an hour I would be onstage performing in front of two hundred and fifty people.
My brain took in the office chairs, the bunch of flowers with a note from Top Music, the two bottles of mineral water, one fizzy and one still, anything to distract me from the fact that in half an hour I would be onstage performing for two hundred and fifty people.
“I can’t believe that in just half an hour you’ll be onstage performing to two hundred and fifty people!” said Lacey, who had traveled in the Savannah mobile.
“That’s so many people,” said Paige.
“And you haven’t even done your makeup,” said Savannah.
“Yes, I have,” I said.
“Oh,” said Savannah.
With eleven of us in the room, plus my guitar, it was starting to feel a little claustrophobic.
“Can I get you anything?” said Adrian.
“A drink would be great,” said Dad.
“And for me,” said Jaz. I have no idea how she got there.
“I meant Katie,” said Adrian.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I said.
The walls, which were a very deep green, seemed to be closing in on me, like I was being suffocated by spinach. I shut my eyes.
“Katie.” Amanda’s voice sounded far away. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I said, opening my eyes to see Lacey looking down at the scrawled piece of paper that was my set list.
“You’re going to play ‘Can’t Stand the Boy Band’?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Even though you know how much it upset all those Karamel fans?”
“Um…” I said, because she was maybe a little bit right. I mean, I’d known that my song would annoy people, but not so much that they felt like they had to make signs and come to my gig to protest…
This was a bad idea.
Not just the song, not just the chart battle, but this concert.
Everything. All of it.
Dad was strumming on my guitar, while Savannah was demonstrating to Paige the perfect way to use lip liner, using Sofie’s mouth as a canvas. I sank down into a chair and put my head between my knees.
Then, Adrian's voice: “Okay, that’s it. Everyone out.”
“What?”
“You don’t mean me,” said Savannah.
“I do,” said Adrian. “I’m Katie’s manager, and I want this room clear in the next thirty seconds. Go find a place to watch. Or get a drink. I don’t care. But go.” He caught my shoulder as I headed for the door. “Not you, bozo.”
“Oh.” I looked back at the room, which was now wonderfully empty. “Hey, thank you.”
“I’ll call you when it’s time,” said Adrian.
Ten minutes to go.
I tuned my guitar and then retuned it. I sang a few notes into the mirror, which had lights all the way around it, and reapplied my eyeliner.
Five minutes to go.
Don’t be sick. Don’t be sick.
Then I went into the bathroom and threw up.
There was a gentle knock on the door. “Katie?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re on.”
There was a thick darkness to the wings. Deep and thick and I was in the middle, down deep, in the depths of my very own grave.
I could hear them, the audience, the two hundred and fifty people who were about to see me completely fall apart.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. “Katie, hi!”
“Yaaaaaaargh!”
I must have jumped about ten feet into the air. “Sorry, Katie, it’s Chris. From NTV News. You remember?”
“Oh, right. Hi Chris.” I’m not the world’s greatest conversationalist at the best of times, and this definitely wasn’t the best of times.
“You remember the deal? We’re just going to have a quick chat with Kurt while you’re singing. He’ll be here in a minute. If we can get it edited in time, we’re looking at a slot on tomorrow’s ten o’clock news. Have a great show!”
And before I had time to think or even breathe, the lights started doing some crazy whizzing around, and this huge voice came down from the sky or maybe the speakers, and Chris stopped muttering because I knew I was going to have to sing.
“Ladies and gentlemen…”
I don’t want to be here.
“She’s a rising star. Our youngest, freshest, realest talent…”
Please, let me be somewhere else.
“Give a very warm welcome to…”
Anywhere else.
“Katie Cox!”
I hesitated. And then, on legs that felt like they were someone else’s, stepped out from the darkness into bright, bright light.
It was like when you do a somersault in the swimming pool and halfway through forget which way is up. For a long second, I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything, and then, slowly, the world settled.
They were there, just beyond the end of the stage. A blur, face melting into face, shifting, coughing. I could smell their hot breath.
Through the murmuring, a single, lonely whoop.
“Um,” I said, sliding into place on a chair and trying to tilt the microphone so it was closer to my mouth. It wouldn’t move. I tried harder.
It wouldn’t budge and wouldn’t budge, and I was seriously considering giving it a whack with my guitar when it occurred to me I could just move the chair up. So I did that.
“Hi.”
The front row began to focus. Lacey next to Amanda. Jaz. Nicole. Savannah, Paige, and Sofie. Tony. Mom. Dad.
They seemed…excited. And then, less excited.
The more I stared into the audience, the more they shuffled and looked away. As though until two minutes ago they had really been worked up about seeing me in the flesh. But now that I was here, my flesh pale and sweaty and trembling, everyone was starting to think it might have been better to have stayed home.
I know I was.
“So I’m Katie Cox. Like the apple. Cox apples. Not that there’s an apple called Katie, but maybe there should be! Ha ha.”
I swear I heard Jaz sigh.
“So, yes. Katie Cox. That’s me.”
I glanced sideways. The darkness was only three steps away. Two steps, if I made them big ones. I could be off the stage and out the back door in, what, a minute, maybe a minute and a half?
In fact, I was just wondering exactly how much money I’d owe Tony if I ran out now when I noticed that I was somehow still talking.
Isn’t it amazing what the human body can do?
“So. Anyway. I’m going to p-play you a couple of songs. More than a couple. Some songs. Of mine. That I wrote.”
With the most enormous effort that anyone has ever made, I managed to lift up my guitar and get my numb fingers into position on the strings.
“This one’s called ‘London Yeah.’ Because we’re in London. Um, yeah. Yeah! Yeah.”
Trafalgar Square and then Big Ben
Bond Street and Covent Garden
Greenwich and the Cutty Sark
And a really massively big Primark
Put your hands in the air
For London, yeah
This was okay. I sounded a little wavery, but it wasn’t too bad.
Camden Town and Kensington
Notting Hill and…
And…where?
I’d forgotten the next line.
In a fraction of a zillionth of a millisecond, I raced to the part of my brain where I kept all my lyrics and…
Nothing. Completely empty.
Like a cathedral if someone had taken all the seats and altar out and switched the lights off. And maybe, right in the middle, left a tiny piece of paper that said “Sorry.”
Camden Town and Kensington
Notting Hill and…Aberdeen
Where had I gotten that from? Aberdeen isn’t in London. Not even slightly.
But it did rhyme. And is, at least, a place.
Greenwich and the Cutty Sark
And a really massively big Primark
Put your hands in the air
For London, yeah
No one put their hands in the air, either for London or for me. I got to the end of the song, and there was an embarrassed pause, then a dribble of applause.
Just the whole rest of the concert to go.
“Okay, cool, thanks. This next one is called ‘Cake Boyfriend.’ I wrote it because my friend Savannah… She’s here, in the front row. Hey, Savannah”—Savannah quietly pulled her jacket over her head—“she had this gigantic cake at her party, and she loved it so much it was almost like a boyfriend, and I thought, Wouldn’t it be great to have a cake that was a boyfriend? Anyway.”
Pat-a-cake
Pat-a-cake
Baker’s man
Bake me a boy as fast as you can
Give him fudge for hair
And frosted blue eyes
And finish him off with
Twanggggg.
I’d snapped a string.
“What is wrong with me?”
Adrian appeared at my side and took the guitar as I stood, now shaking, and the audience began to whisper and rustle.
Katie Cox vs. the Boy Band Page 9
