by Hanna Dare
When he looked up to mild applause—the exasperation on George’s face, Priya’s sad eyes, Kai’s shrug and smirk—Conor realized his mistake. He should have remembered that bemused and detached were not emotions that played well on this stage. He knew. He knew, and his only surprise was at how calm he felt. He sat at the side of the stage for everyone else’s performances. He applauded, he smiled, and at the end, he walked out with the others to stand at the middle of the stage and wait. He was still calm and he still knew.
When the contestants’ names were read out, he and Madison were left to the end, the bottom two, one of them doomed to be sent home. Matt liked to drag these things out, with long pauses and sorrowful glances out to the audience. Conor was fine playing along with Matt, but when Madison began to cry beside him, he put his arms around her.
“It’s okay,” he whispered into her ear, “it’s not you, it’s me. I’m done.”
“Madison,” Matt said with great sorrow, “I’m sorry to tell you that… you’re going to have to say goodbye to Conor tonight, because…”
Conor had enough. “Matt,” he said firmly.
Matt looked contrite for a brief second. “Madison,” he said, “you’re safe.”
She looked disbelievingly from one to the other. Conor wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Go on,” he said.
She clutched tighter at him. “Conor—”
Matt was gently tugging at her other hand now. “Madison, you have to let Conor do his farewell song. Go join the others now.”
She shook her head, but Toby came over from the side of the stage to get her, putting one hand on Conor’s shoulder before he led her away. Conor’s eyes followed them, over to where Jesse was standing up, looking stricken. Sit down, Conor wanted to tell him, everyone can see you. But Jesse stayed where he was, looking at Conor.
Conor’s farewell song had changed many times over the months. He’d settled on the current one a week ago, and had only rehearsed it with the band a couple times. But it was okay; he’d heard this song his whole life. He felt a brief pang that his dad was in the audience tonight; his memories of the song would likely be of the times they’d played it in the hospital for Conor’s mother. But then the band started playing the first guitar chords of The Verve’s “Lucky Man,” and Conor thought of nothing else but the song itself.
He took the microphone from the stand and walked forward, looking out over the theater filled from front row to back balcony, the judges silent at their table. Over at the side of the stage, the others had joined Jesse in standing, and they clapped along with the beat. Beyond them were the ever-present cameras, but they were worked by people, people that he knew, and they were watching Conor, too. He began to sing.
And the song was a better choice than he could have imagined, because all he could feel as he sang was gratitude. All the things that had happened… they had been weird and bittersweet, happy and sad—and he still had as many questions as answers—but these things had changed him. He was glad for it. He hoped he could give something back to this strange and quirky universe in return.
It was so much, the music along with everything he felt—too much to be contained by the stage—and Conor ran down the low steps of the stage, into the audience as he sang. He knew there wasn’t time to linger, just to move swiftly past, touching the hands that were raised to him, each touch energizing and sustaining him. He brushed his father’s hand, Tori, and Linda’s, and then he had to move on, back up onto the stage, where he was supposed to be. The crowd was on its feet now, the judges too, and Jesse, Madison, Toby, and Emerson came from their places to join Conor. After the last “I’m a lucky man,” Conor gave up on singing altogether, just let the music and his friends surround him and embrace him, knowing that it could all go on without him. He lowered the microphone and his eyes, but not before he thought he glimpsed, up in the balcony, forever young and impossibly healthy, a woman with long red hair, dancing and singing and cheering. Cheering for him.
Conor closed his eyes. It was enough. More than enough.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Conor might have thought that after being cut from the show he’d be driven straight to the airport and whisked away into the dark of night, never to be heard from again. But the season finale was in a couple weeks, a two-hour extravaganza featuring all the Top Ten Singing Sensations contestants and a great deal of preparation, so it was decided that it would be easier to have Conor stay rather than fly him back in a week for the start of rehearsals.
It was strange, to suddenly have this vast stretch of unscheduled time while the others kept to the grueling six days a week of rehearsing and recording. Conor also had to keep out of sight of the cameras when the remaining contestants were around, so he found himself hanging out with the crew more, discovering that they had both a tremendous amount of show gossip and way better snacks that they were now willing to share in their break rooms and trucks. Crystal even let him try on her headset.
His time wasn’t all that free. He did have a lot of essays and assignments for school that he needed to catch up on if he wanted to graduate. He had songs of his own that he wanted to work on. And, it turned out, he also had a number of meetings with various people about his future.
The most interesting of these was the very first, when host Matt took him out to lunch the day after he’d been cut. His dad and Linda were braving the lines at Disneyland for Tori right about the same time Conor was walking into the un-flashy but undoubtedly very expensive restaurant. Conor worried that he should have worn the suit that the show had tailored for him, but this was still L.A., so Conor fit in with his jeans, t-shirt, and jacket.
Matt was, as always, perfectly tanned and perfectly at ease, but his smile to Conor seemed genuine as he asked him about his plans.
“Dinner with my family tonight and then I’m taking them back to the airport tomorrow.” Conor knew that Matt was asking about more than that so he shrugged and went on. “I still have to finish high school.”
It sounded a bit ridiculous as he said it. He was hoping that if his grades were okay he could avoid stepping back inside the school altogether and just get the diploma sent to him.
“Yes,” Matt said, “but then there’s the summer and everything after that.”
“College, I guess,” Conor said, and then after some hesitation, “A couple of the guys from the show’s band said they would help me put together some demos of my songs.” They’d actually said that they could sneak in and use Singing Sensations’ equipment after hours, but Matt was also one of the producers on the show and Conor figured he didn’t need to know all the details.
“That’s good,” Matt said, sipping his water. The waiter had asked them if they wanted still or sparkling, which had confused Conor, so he’d let Matt handle all the ordering. The water ended up being bubbly and weird-tasting. “I know there are people interested in talking to you about recording contracts. George, for instance.”
Conor almost choked on the water. “George hates me.”
Matt’s eyes crinkled around the edges. “You may find, Conor, that what plays well on the show is very different from what works in the real world. George has a lot of experience, and he knows talent.”
Conor wasn’t convinced that any conversation with George wouldn’t be an occasion to further berate him, but he stayed quiet.
“What you should do before anything else,” Matt continued, “is find representation; a management company, perhaps an agent. If you like, I could set up some meetings with people I know for you.”
Conor paused, studying Matt. He didn’t know him, not really. He was a smooth, handsome, older man Conor bantered with for the cameras. “What would I have to do, exactly?” Conor asked warily.
Matt sighed, the smile and the eye crinkles disappearing. “I am so sorry about what happened with Kai.”
Conor froze. “Did—did Emerson say something?”
“No, nothing like that. There are a lot of eyes and ears around, for the show’s pr
otection of course, but also your own. Unfortunately, by the time we realized that Kai had crossed the line it was—”
“Over,” Conor said firmly.
“He won’t be asked back for another season. If you’re planning to take legal action against him or the show, I can’t officially talk to you about it, but I will quietly suggest some good lawyers.”
“I’m not looking for anything like that—I said yes, and I am eighteen. Kai took advantage and he turned out to be skeevy, but he didn’t do anything illegal.”
Matt’s mouth twisted ruefully. “I don’t suppose you’re familiar with the expression that younger lovers are like campsites? You’re supposed to leave them in better shape than when you found them.”
Conor gave him a steady gaze. “I handled it. I’m fine.”
“Yes,” Matt said, nodding briskly and losing the sad air that had come over him, “you’re better than fine. So let me throw another old saying at you, Conor, one that’s very specific to show business: be kind to people on their way up, because you’ll meet them on your way down. If you’re asking what I get out of helping you, it’s that I think you have a long and interesting career ahead of you. Maybe years from now, a connection with you will benefit me. Who knows? When I first came to this town, there were people who took advantage of me, but there were also some who helped me. Who really were mentors. I want to pay it forward.”
Conor held his eyes a moment longer. “Okay,” he said. “And thank you.”
“Good,” Matt said, both to Conor and to the waiter who had arrived with their food. Matt had ordered them both burgers, though his had come without a bun. Matt picked up a knife and fork, pointing the fork at Conor before turning it to the burger. “Have you ever thought about acting?”
Show night was very different on the other side of things. Conor couldn’t just miss the performance, but he didn’t want to hang out backstage, picking up on the nervous energy of the contestants and the crew. So he ended up sitting in the audience next to Toby’s parents when Toby was cut.
They were an interesting pair—both tall like Toby, but that seemed to be their only similarity. Toby’s mom had long, loose, light brown hair, streaked with grey, and she wore piles of necklaces and bracelets that immediately had the sound guys in the crew wincing as they likely pictured trying to interview her with jewelry jangling on the mike. She unreservedly hugged everyone when introduced, and Conor overheard her saying something to Madison about her aura.
Toby’s father, in contrast, shook hands firmly and efficiently. He wore a boxy, conservative suit and glasses, and had his black hair and goatee so closely trimmed that there was no hint that Toby’s wild almost-fro must have come from him.
“Oh yeah,” Toby said to the remaining contestants and Conor, the night before the show, after his parents had come round the house to meet everyone and then gone back to their hotel. “It’s a total opposites attract deal. She’s the crunchy granola music therapist, and he’s a chartered accountant who hits McDonald’s on the way home when he knows it’s quinoa night. They met back in college when she was a techno DJ and wanted to get some samples from the jazz trio Dad was playing in. He’s a total jazz snob and thought it was blasphemy.” Toby spread his hands and smiled. “But love is weird. And the early nineties were heady days. Heady days indeed.”
Conor liked them both, even if he did agree with Emerson’s out-of-Toby’s-earshot comment that seeing Toby’s hippie mom put his fling with the yoga-loving and vegan Darleen in a very different light.
Sitting the audience was both louder and more nerve-wracking than Conor had expected. The crowd was enthusiastic, wildly so because they were kept pumped up during the commercial breaks by the band and various comedians, but Conor found it hard to relax during the performances, knowing exactly how every tiny mistake was going to be magnified in the minds of the singers. He hoped this was just a temporary problem, and that he’d be able to enjoy watching live music someday without analyzing and stressing. It was just that, here, he knew that Madison was going to spend the next week on the verge of tears over her one flat note, and he couldn’t help but wince in sympathetic embarrassment when Emerson winked and smiled to the wrong camera. Conor also knew, if no one else did, what it meant for Jesse to choose to sing Sam Smith’s “Stay With Me” that night, that it was both an apology and a wish. Jesse laughed and easily dodged Matt’s questions about whether the song was about anyone special, but his eyes were looking out into the audience the whole time.
Toby’s mom squeezed Conor’s hand, as well as her husband’s, as they waited for Toby’s name to be called. When it was announced that Toby was cut, there was a mix of tears and relief, probably more on the relief side from both Toby and his parents. Toby’s health had never been great, and the longer the show went on, the more drawn and weary Toby had looked. Toby was already talking about sleeping in his own bed within seconds of his parents finding him once the show had called “Cut!” and they were done for another night.
Conor got up early the next morning to help Toby and his parents load up his car. They were eager to start the drive up to Northern California where they lived, so that Toby could have a few days’ rest before returning for rehearsals, but when Conor made an offhand remark to Toby’s dad about not having seen the ocean yet, everything was stopped, and Conor was loaded into the car along with the luggage and driven to the beach.
“It’s okay,” Conor protested. “I’ll go see it on my own, it’s not a big deal.”
Toby’s mom shook her head at him and all of her chunky necklaces along with it. “This is the biggest of deals, Conor. It’s the ocean! The source of all life.”
“But your plans,” Conor said, mainly to Toby’s dad, who he suspected was the one who did all the planning.
Toby’s father shook his head as well, much more seriously. “You will find, young man, that plans that can’t change to accommodate the important moments of life—big and small—aren’t worth keeping.” Then he smiled and took his wife’s hand.
When Conor turned to Toby he only shrugged. “Love is weird. The ocean is big. Let’s go check it out.”
In the backseat of the car, while his parents argued good-naturedly about directions, Toby asked Conor about his own plans. Then he made a face. “Oh man, I’m sorry. Listen to me, I must be like the millionth person who asked you that, right?”
“I think it’s still under a thousand, but yeah, I’m not sure yet.” Conor looked out the window at the city that he’d barely seen these past months. “It’s kinda overwhelming. I guess I’ve been realizing that most of my choices up ’til now have been about reacting to what other people want. Or just doing something random, like trying out for Singing Sensation.” Conor sighed. “Part of me just wants to go back to hiding in my room.”
Toby grinned. “That’s what I’m planning to do for the next few days, but the sad thing about adulthood is you eventually gotta crawl out of that room yourself.”
“So what about you? What happens when you crawl out?”
“I’ve had a couple offers, yeah, but Darleen and me, well,” Toby smiled shyly. “We’re talking about starting a band together.”
“Toby, that’s great.”
“We’re gonna hang out at her place in Portland for a while and figure it out. I just need to get out of Hell A right now. Not,” he added quickly, “that there’s anything wrong with here. If here is where you’re staying.”
Conor looked back out the window. “I just don’t know.” It felt like a teenage shrug of an answer, but Conor didn’t have another one at the moment. It was okay, though, because they had arrived at a parking lot for a beach and Conor was urged out of the car and towards the water.
At first it wasn’t much—the overwhelming impression was of people in all shapes and sizes, but all wearing very little clothing. The oiled skin on display under the bright sun made Conor feel like he was going to start freckling out of sympathy, though he figured he had about five more minutes before
that became an issue for real. It all seemed crowded and messy, and very far from the spiritual essence of life Toby’s mom had been going on about.
Beyond that, though, was the ocean.
He took off his shoes and rolled up his jeans, while Toby was already running down the sand towards the water. It was a calm, nearly windless day, but Conor still approached the ocean cautiously.
Conor had seen lakes before, tiny ones and a couple of the Greats—Michigan and Superior—but nothing prepared him for the size of the Pacific Ocean. Or its careless power. Some people talked about feeling insignificant when they looked at the stars, but Conor liked the night sky. It was remote; the stars went about their business of twinkling and dying without any concern for him, so Conor could just appreciate the beauty. The ocean, though, as he stepped into the water with the waves pushing and receding against his ankles, felt much more personal and way scarier. In it, Conor felt very small. It would be easy to get lost here, be swept away. It wasn’t just the water, it was the whole world and the future, surrounding him and pressing in, demanding answers. Conor looked out to where the water met the horizon and tried to find something to anchor him.
He knew that after she’d finished college, his mother had spent a year teaching in Japan. She’d told Conor about flying in a plane over the ocean, staring at it for hours, and then one day, standing on the shore in Japan, looking across the Pacific and trying to grasp the distance between her and home. Conor hadn’t asked if she’d thought about the future then, imagined marrying his dad, or pictured him and Tori, but he liked the idea that somehow in that moment she could have looked across the years to see her son, on the other side of that huge, unknowable ocean, looking back at her.
