Then I remember him saying that day outside the studio, after Kenny tried to kiss me, that he was going to go smoke an e-cigarette. But when we went to his parents’ house, he had one of those nicotine patches on his hip. I never saw him smoke a cigarette once while we were there, or any other time, actually.
“Not even the e-cigs?” I ask, playfully, my voice higher than normal.
“Nope. Don’t need those either,” he says, and, finally, out comes the side smirk. The same one Ingrid describes in the song I’m singing.
“So you’re cured?” I say, and he laughs, his eyes brightening. He starts to look better, like a plant that needed a little water and finally got it. I know we’re in front of the cameras, and people may notice our chemistry. But just to see him smiling is worth it.
“With the right company, I am.” His voice drops a little and he tunes into me. My whole body responds and I have to put my arms up over my breasts to hide them from standing out erect. “Let’s take it from the top,” he says, and we do, again and again.
I have a good feeling about this. So when I stand on stage and sing this very personal song, I watch Kolton smile. I’m wearing a long teal colored dress that has a short skirt underneath. When I walk or move, the thin silk fabric sways and reveals my legs, partway concealed with grey ankle boots. My hair is up in a bun and I sing in front of an old-fashioned microphone. I take my time. It’s a seductive song, really. The lyrics mean so many things for me.
You’re right Kolton. This isn’t wrong. We’re not a mistake; it’s everyone else that’s wrong.
And do my feet have to touch the ground so firmly when I’m around you? Maybe I should learn to let you carry me, a little.
When it’s his turn to critique, Kolton says, “I think we’re all in trouble, when you sing that song, Mia.” Taking a little jab at me about the song lyrics. “You look great, by the way,” he says.
“No flirting now,” Selma teases. “Mia, I loved it. I really did, but I love you. You already know that. It’s like when Chuck announces you, I know I can sink into my seat and enjoy the show. There’s nothing amateur about you.”
“But don’t she just look like she’s a professional up there?” Danny says. “I mean, such a natural. And I think you’re right, Kolton. The rest’a us are in trouble, man. Wish I could’a stolen that one,” he says and claps.
“What’s unique about you, Mia, is how you feel the lyrics. It’s like you wrote them yourself. And, even when you don’t write the lyrics, I mean, a lot of my best hits were written for me, you know. But even then, you still have to find that part in you that feels it to sell it to us. And you do that, baby. You always do. So, thank you.”
I leave the stage feeling like I accomplished something. Even if I don’t make it to next week, Kolton and I reached a milestone today. I did feel the lyrics, because they remind me of him. And everything I feel for him is so tainted by what I think the Nation’s view of me would be if they found out. When in reality, I only have myself to answer to.
That night in bed, I check Kolton’s phone. There’s a message from him that says to check my iTunes rating for “Around you.” When I do I gasp and squeal. I’m number forty-two! That’s crazy high. I’m curious if anyone else from The Stage has been ranked that high on the iTunes chart?
I wonder, as I lie back on this cushy bed what I’m more excited about: the prospect of Kolton and I, or my future as a performer.
Who says, I can’t have one without the other? Maybe we’re one step closer. Life is a journey, after all, that takes one step at a time to complete.
* * *
I made it. I’m still riding a high from having Chuck Faraday share my iTunes rating with the audience, which had gone up to number thirty-five at the highest point. He didn’t even make me sweat a little before telling me I was safe from elimination this week.
And we’re taking a day off for Thanksgiving. I have to admit, having Deloris here to cook dinner is almost ‘normal.’ I help her make the stuffing with veggie broth instead of meat while Riley peels the skins for the mashed potatoes.
Last night, she actually bought real pumpkins and baked them. Today, we helped her scoop out the orange pulp, put them in a food processor, add spices and some evaporated milk, and poured them in pie crusts that she rolled out herself. Now we’re baking them. The scent of real pumpkin pie makes my stomach rumble with appreciation. We set the table, and she says a quiet grace.
“Thank you, Lord for this food we are about to enjoy. Thank you for these two girls you’ve blessed me with. I can’t imagine my life without them. And, thank you Lord, for Manny, here, who always helps us feel safe. As we eat together, Lord, I ask that you bless Kolton, who tries so hard to keep us happy and secure. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”
“Amen,” we say in unison.
“I like him,” Riley says, taking a big bite of a turkey leg.
“Who’s that?” Deloris asks.
“Kolton,” she says. “He’s nice. Do you like him, Mia?” she asks. I stop to think about the right answer.
“I do, Riley. I like him a whole lot. I’m kind of sad he’s not here, actually.”
“Me, too!” she exclaims in her too-hyper voice.
It’s a real pang of sadness that cracks deep inside my heart, thinking about him alone in his parents’ house. I wish I had the courage to reach out.
Instead, I play Monopoly with Riley and, later, eat another full plate of Thanksgiving food. Then, while we watch a Lifetime movie, we sit on the couch and eat pie with mounds of fresh whipped cream Deloris made with Kolton’s Kitchen Aid mixer.
I go upstairs later that night and send him a quick message.
K-Royce Private
9:15 PM
I wish you were here for Thanksgiving.
9:18 PM
Me, too. I can’t cook a turkey so I had to order pizza.
9:20 PM
Deloris made pumpkin pie from scratch.
9:21 PM
Don’t tease me or I’ll come over and take it away from you.
9:23 PM
You wouldn’t dare.
9:24 PM
Yes I would.
9:25 PM
Happy Thanksgiving
I type that really quickly and put the phone back on the nightstand. Something about his threat to steal pie was a little too heart thumping for me. God, he’s sexy even when he’s only talking about food.
* * *
It’s already December. Twitter saved Kimber tonight. She was in the bottom three. I haven’t been, yet—and we’ve been live for five weeks. I wonder how long my luck will last.
It’s amazing how when you’re this busy, the weeks go by so fast. It’s my birthday in a few days, the tenth of December, the night of the live elimination for this week. Things have been quiet between Kolton and me. Since “Around You,” I haven’t had a choice to give him song-hints because the show allowed the fans to choose the music. Last week they had me sing “Jar of Hearts” by Christina Perri.
Kolton was a little pissed off. If they’re choosing songs because of him like I did, then they think he’s dangerous for me. They think he’ll steal my heart and keep it with all the others he’s collected over the years. Either that or they just wanted to hear me sing that song, because it’s a good one, but I think we all know, he’s a heart-stealer.
Sometimes I think about him standing in the doorway, his hand bandaged, and him telling me it couldn’t be him; he couldn’t love me. That he’s empty and wanted me to have a life without him. But then everything changed. We couldn’t stop moving on the path toward being together, both of us broken and wrong. I had to stop it, even though it hurt him. I needed a break from him, for myself, to figure out what this is.
I’ve been right to guard myself. Yes, we have a physical attraction, but who doesn’t with Kolton? I have to look past that and know that we want to be together for the right reasons, whatever those might be. I’m too young to know all the answers.
This
week, I sang, “Because of You” by Kelly Clarkson. It was a request by Joyce. She wanted to remind the audience of my story, but I chose it for my mom. How I wish she could’ve lived to see better days after the recession. How my dad could have seen his worth, not in how much money he made, but in how much we all loved him and missed him—even though he was right there.
The regret over what me and Riley will never have, it’s what keeps me up at night. In fact, if it weren’t for the fact that I’m exhausted from the vigorous The Stage schedule, I don’t think I’d be able to sleep at all these days.
After tonight’s eliminations, there’re six of us left: Team Selma has Kimber. Team Kolton has me and Sam. Team Danny has Jessie. Team Pulse has Blaire and a long-haired Adonis, Don.
Riley and Deloris come to every show. I always make sure to wave to her and she claps so hard her little hands probably sting afterward. Deloris has been taking her to school with some of the full-time actor kids at the studio. Riley had been getting antsy for kids her own age, so it’s a good thing for her.
Tonight when we got home, I read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe to her and then she tells me about the kids who get tutored there.
“One is making a movie about a girl who goes to camp. It’s a funny one,” she says, as I brush her hair and braid it down her back.
“Maybe we can go see it soon?”
“Yeah,” she says, idly.
“Something wrong?” I ask her.
“That song you sang. It was sad. It made me have goose bumps.” She grabs her forearms with her hands and shakes like she’s cold.
“It’s a really good song. I had fun singing it.”
“What do you miss most about Momma?” she asks, looking up at the ceiling.
“Everything. But I wish I could smell her, hear her voice.”
“Me, too!” she exclaims, coming alive.
“I have a video of her on my Instagram. Wanna see it?” I ask. The thing with a house fire is that all our history burned up with their lives. Our baby books, our year books, all our little mementos and awards. Gone. Gone. Gone.
Luckily, Mom and Dad had Facebook pages, and Mom was really into throwback Thursdays. She used to post old pictures a lot. Their wedding, pictures of us growing up. Happy times. It’s really cool to scroll through all of those irreplaceable photos. I miss them both so much. The regret. That never goes away.
I pull out my phone and peruse my Instagram to find the video of Mom, Dad, and Riley on Christmas morning. I have to brace myself because the sounds of their voices can make me cry straight away. I remember being scared to cry when I was in the hospital. I thought if I did, I’d never be able to stop. I’d imagined a river of tears carrying me away to a place where sadness lived, a place from which no one returns. But then I learned that too many tears held inside turn into anger. Anger only masks sadness, so I let it out in my music, into hugging Riley, into writing songs. Otherwise, I might have turned sour, rotten. It’s better this way.
I can watch it, but I watch Riley’s face carefully as I play the video to make sure it’s not too much for her. She smiles so wide with her too-big teeth behind a little girl mouth. I close my eyes and pretend for this short moment that it’s Christmas two years ago. We are all living. Even though Dad sounds sad and a little grumpy, Mom’s voice is upbeat, still groggy from sleep, but real and alive.
I used to spend quiet moments wishing I could go back in time to the day before the fire. That I could warn them to get the crap out of the garage and away from the furnace. It’s futile, but it eases the anxiety sometimes. Either that or it pisses me off. It’s such a stupid, needless mistake; it didn’t have to happen. I run my fingers over Riley’s nose, cheek, forehead, like Mom used to do, until she’s breathing heavy and sound asleep. I’m glad to do it, but it should be my mom’s hand here. We should be living different lives.
I kiss Riley’s little forehead and head upstairs. When I check Kolton’s phone he’s sent me something as an attachment. It’s a picture of his tattoo with the words.
K-Royce Private
10:52 PM
No one deserves such beauty, such strength in their life; least of all me. But I had to make you permanent in my life. I endeavor to ease your pain. You make me work for it. Not on purpose, but through the will to be good. I honor your resolve but please give my weak, new, little heart a reason to beat. Play me another song next week. Goodnight, my Phoenix.
He’s so good with words it makes my heart swell up, giving me a lump in the throat. All the song lyrics he’s sent me are beautiful, and then he sends me this. He wants me to sing another song to him.
There is this one song I’d heard through the music circles in Sac Town called “Warrior” by Beth Crowley. I bring it up on my phone and read the lyrics, listen to it on YouTube, and read the lyrics again feeling the excitement of newly hatched love. It reminds me of when Kolton looked at my scars and called me a warrior.
It paints a musical picture of love that hasn’t started off right. About two people who challenge one another, like a burn under the skin, but they help each other by opening their eyes to who they are. All the while they change each other for the better.
Some of the lines are me. Some are Kolton. It’s like we’re entwined tightly around one another in the form of a song. I can’t wait for him to hear it, but I need to work on it for a while to get it just right.
He hid things from me, because he’s broken.
He scared me, but enraptured me. He changed how I thought of myself.
He burns me, awakens me.
We’re not wrong.
We’re right.
I pad my way down the stairs and find myself sitting at Kolton’s well-worn piano in the family room. I put my fingers on the keys, almost feeling Kolton here with me like a ghost. I close my eyes and work this song until it’s a part of me, like DNA or memories. I sing it until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore and my neck is stiff, until I’ve made it my own. It’s like he can see the warrior inside me when no one else can. But it’ll be our secret.
He sees the warrior inside. Just him. He sees the real me.
I see the real him.
I couldn’t see the truth through the lies.
I tried, but I couldn’t figure out my feelings.
I give him my hand. He shows me who I am.
He brings out the best in me.
He is like sin, and I’m not his redemption. Only he can do that for himself.
And he’s trying. He’s done what he can.
Sometimes you have to fight for what you love.
* * *
The seven of us film a commercial for the show and then an interview about the coaches. It’s a parody where we mock them. First I pretend to be Selma. I try her accent, but can’t really do it justice. I think I end up sounding more Irish than Spanish. It’s completely scripted, but the producers make it fun. They ask me to do the Kolton Stare. I raise one eyebrow and try my hand at the half smirk. I pretend to be Danny and turn on the twang, and then they put a bunch of gold chains around my neck and ask me to say, “Come ride with the Pulse!” I don’t know why, but I can’t seem to say the line without sticking my thumbs out.
It’s going to be funny.
I’m so nervous when I go to the room to film this week’s song choice with Kolton. The producers said I could sing it, even though it’s not well-known. The album isn’t even out yet, but they like it and the changes I’ve made to suit my voice.
It’s always the same. I come into the room with him and the guest coach. Today it’s Simon Ross, a well-known music producer, and Kolton and I pretend for a whole hour that we don’t have screaming chemistry. After I sing the song the first time, he puts on the persona. I’m not even here with the man who writes me love songs. He’s Kolton, not Kole.
But there’s this moment, when Simon Ross models a slight change and I nail it, and I see Kolton looking at me like we’re tuned into the same radio frequency. His eyes narrow and he smiles
in the way lovers do when they’re sharing a moment.
We finish up, and I feel a lot better about the song than I did when I walked in. In the hallway, I hear the door open and Kolton comes out and grasps my hand. “Unplug your microphone,” he says, quietly.
I do as he says and wait for him to say something. “That song’s for me?” he asks. I hesitate for a second, and then nod. “Does it mean what I think it means?” he asks, and puts his forearm up against the wall. I can smell him, like musk and spice, and I have to resist the urge to put my arm under his and come into the nook he’s created for us. It’s the perfect invitation.
“I have a surprise for you,” he whispers, gazing into my eyes.
“What?” He takes a step closer but stops at an imaginary boundary between us.
“After the live elimination this week, I’m taking you somewhere, for your birthday.” I feel my eyebrows rise in anticipation.
“You remembered?”
“Of course. I’ve been waiting to ask you. I’m not going to whisk you off without your permission this time.” He smiles true and real, and I feel things in this moment that I never thought possible. He’s been paying attention. Not only did he remember my birthday, but he’s waited for me to show him I was ready. He’s asking my permission before making decisions about us. I can’t help it when I take his hand and move forward into the nook. He’s so warm and his gaze so penetrating I have to close my eyes or combust. I put my left hand up to his hip. He’s solid. With my thumb, I can feel the crease where the V slides down into his jeans. I close my eyes. He’s been working out like crazy. Knowing all these extra muscles are a result of him wanting to wait for me—and not being with anyone else—causes temporary insanity.
“I want to go with you.” I feel everything; his breath on my face, the warmth of his body. His scent enraptures me. I’m secure in this place with him, even though anyone could find us this way. This is right and I don’t want to deny this small celebration. I’m finally catching up and he seems to finally understand that I need to feel more in control of what’s happening. I run my hand up his chest and place it right where I know the tattoo of the phoenix is. I feel him moving slightly into my touch as I look up into his eyes, mesmerized.
The Stage (Phoenix Rising #1) Page 22
