by JJ Knight
“Thank you for that,” I say. I didn’t really want to have to wear anything other than what Blitz picked out.
If the producers in the room are annoyed that we refused their audacious ring, they don’t say anything.
Amara pops her head in. “Blitz, Livia, Devon has decided you guys should be on stage after the announcement of the winner.”
“I thought we agreed we didn’t want to upstage the new couple,” Blitz says.
Amara’s red mouth pinches into a sharp line. “We didn’t really expect who the voters were going to pick. We think it’s good if you’re there to show support.”
Blitz and I glance at each other, but we follow her. The other producers have stood up, anxious again.
I lean in to Blitz as we return to the dark wings of the stage. “I thought all the finalists were good,” I whisper.
He shrugs. “I haven’t heard any rumblings.”
The big dance number ends. Barry leads to a commercial and the dancers scurry past. On stage, the crew sets up for the winner announcement. The three finalists arrive beside us, waiting for their cue to walk out. My mind flashes back to my own moment exactly like this one.
Dolly glances over and mouths, “Congratulations.”
I nod back at her.
The backstage assistant moves the three finalists closer to the edge of the stage. Blitz and I hang back to make sure the lights don’t fall on us and cause a distraction.
I spot Mack in the opposite wings, his arms waving wildly as he argues with Devon.
“Why does he know in advance?” I ask Blitz. “Isn’t he supposed to find out when the rest of us do?”
Blitz shakes his head. “No. I knew.”
“What?”
“They told me right before we went out. Remember how I just announced it?”
I recall that now. That I thought he might change it to whatever he wanted, even though there are T-shirts that will drop onto the live audience with the image of the winning couple.
“That’s why they keep us separated. Mack is over there and the girls over here.”
“It’s a stressful moment,” I say.
He turns to me then and slides his arm across my shoulders. “I always knew they would pick you,” he says. “It wasn’t in question.”
“I don’t think they should have told him,” I say. “He’s clearly upset.”
“Probably they wanted him to have time to calm down. He wanted Felicity,” Blitz says. “There was not going to be a good choice tonight.”
“It sucks,” I say. “Now he’ll have to do publicity tours for months.”
“Yep,” Blitz says. “Part of the biz.”
The countdown begins, and a stony-faced Mack heads out on stage.
“He can’t pull himself together,” Blitz says. “I’m going out.” He lets go of me and heads across the stage.
I spot Devon with his headset in the opposite wing. His arms fly to his head, like he can’t believe Blitz just strolled out.
The show has gone off the rails again.
Chapter 6
I squeeze my hands together as the countdown clock reaches zero. Blitz and Mack are talking intensely. Right as the theme song starts up, Blitz backs into the wings again, over near Devon.
I let out a sigh of relief and so do the girls. I can see from the tight set of their shoulders that they’re anxious.
The spotlight falls on Barry, and he talks about the journey this season that led to the finale. There are clips of Mack with each girl. I can’t see the screens backstage, but I can hear the audio.
I realize Felicity wasn’t part of the swans. They didn’t invite her back for the live finale. They must have feared she would do something. Or Mack would.
This business is hard, hard, hard. I wonder what Felicity will do next. She was a good dancer, more contemporary, best at jazz. I don’t know what opportunities are out there for what she does.
I should convince Blitz to ask the other producers to nix that three-year non-compete clause. It’s not fair to dancers who barely get by as it is. It should be six months at most. Or maybe end as soon as they’re cut. Only the winner should be contractually obligated to anything other than maybe a nondisclosure agreement about what goes on behind the scenes.
Barry turns to Mack.
“Are you ready to find out your dance partner?” he asks.
Mack nods.
“Will there be a proposal tonight?” he asks.
To Mack’s credit, he puts on his sly smile and says, “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
I let out a breath. He seems recovered. I’m not sure what Blitz said to him, but it seems like it helped.
“Let’s bring the girls out!” Barry says, turning to our side of the stage.
Dolly, Veronica, and Beth Ann step out onto the stage. Dolly and Beth Ann join hands, but when Beth Ann tries to clasp with Veronica, she jerks her arm away.
The crowd notices and gasps.
Great. That’s going to be an animated GIF meme within the hour. The one of me stomping on stage in season two has never fallen out of popularity. Occasionally I’ll be out in public and some ten-year-old will see me and mimic my walk from the GIF.
Fame is a beast.
Beth Ann looks over at Dolly. She smiles and nods. They let go of their hands as well.
Mack has missed none of this, and his gaze flickers for a second. But this is live TV, and the show literally must go on.
Barry heads over to the girls and speaks with each of them to stretch out the suspense. Another countdown clock at the base of the stage lets him know how much time to spend on each segment.
Finally, he turns to Mack. “We’ve come to the moment for Mack to see his winner and let the world know who she is.” He opens his jacket and pulls out an envelope.
Huh. This is new. They just had Blitz say it.
It’s also fake. We all know that Mack has already been told.
That’s show business.
Barry holds the envelope in the air. “This won’t be a Miss Universe moment or a Best Picture mistake,” he says. He waggles his eyebrows. “I already verified it myself.”
I glance out at the audience, what little I can see due to the blinding lights facing the stage. Some lean forward, hands clenched. Others clutch each other. It amazes me, how caught up people can be about perfect strangers.
Barry walks over to Mack and hands him the envelope. “It’s your lucky day,” he tells him.
Mack nods and lifts the flap.
Barry moves to the edge of the stage, out of the light.
Dolly and Beth Ann instinctively hold hands again. Only Veronica stands alone.
The room is quiet as Mack pulls the card from the envelope. Then a slow drum roll begins, quickly picking up momentum. A cymbal roll adds a new pitch, increasing the tension. The sound people are on point.
Mack scans the crowd, drawing the moment out. I’m sure he practiced this over and over with Devon. He looks down at the card and does a little nod with his head. It looks like he is pleased, but we know better.
His gaze travels up and lands on the three women. He says in a level voice that betrays nothing, “The winner is Veronica.”
Reactions are mixed. Some boos, lots of cheers. The screens flash on above the stage, casting a brighter light over the audience. I can’t see what they say, but there’s definitely a reaction, more mixed boos and cheers.
Mack picks up the flowers from the stand and takes them to Veronica. Blitz stays back in his wings, so I stay in mine.
Dolly and Beth Ann are quickly escorted off stage by Barry.
The T-shirts drop, and while many of them are quickly grabbed, a few get tossed on stage. Amara pushes a couple stage hands out to fetch them.
There’s supposed to be a final dance now, but I can see why Blitz and I were asked to be close, because everyone is unsettled. The boos start to outnumber the cheers, and more T-shirts land on the stage.
Blitz walks out, holding
out his hands. Amara presses against my shoulder. “Go!” she says.
As I head out, I glance up at the video screens to see what got everyone so riled.
And there it is. The vote tallies.
Veronica: 16,540,000
Dolly: 16,539,942
Beth Ann: 12,350,309
Wow. Veronica won by barely 100 votes. Out of millions.
And it’s an oddly even number. Like it’s been rounded up.
That does seem a little strange.
A chorus of “Dolly! Dolly! Dolly!” starts up.
More T-shirts land on the stage.
I glance at the wings. Devon is red-faced, speaking angrily into his headset.
Blitz takes my hand as we approach Mack and Veronica.
“Congratulations, you two,” Blitz says, pouring on more charm than I’ve seen since his own dance show days. “Can I cut in?”
Blitz lets go of me and pulls Veronica into a quick whirl. The chanting stops. Mack takes my arm. “Looks like we’re doing an unplanned dance.”
My heart hammers.
Music comes on, fast-paced and upbeat. It’s a foot-stomping, hand-clapping sort of song that engages everyone immediately. Soon the room is filled with a party atmosphere. The boos stop. No more T-shirts hit the stage.
Blitz links arms with Veronica and does a quick square-dance move. I see where he’s going and do the same with Mack.
Blitz and I meet in the middle and we spin, then we’re off again with Mack and Veronica.
The crowd stands to cheer, and the dance goes on. It’s not what the show creators had planned, but the four of us are able to ham it up. We add feet kicking lifts and a few impressive twirls, making it up as we go along.
At some point more dancers filter in, and it’s wild and loud with the four of us in the center.
Finally, the music gets a little softer and Barry talks over us. “Thanks everyone for being a part of the finale of Season Four of Dance Blitz! We’ll be introducing our new dance bachelor very soon. Let’s hear it for Blitz and Livia and Mack and Veronica!”
He threw us in there to avoid another round of boos.
Everyone’s ready to live it up at this point, the shock worn off. The noise is deafening as we keep dancing through the chaos. When the countdown goes off and the cameras stop flashing, we continue a bit more for the live audience, then Blitz and I dance ourselves off stage.
The other former contestants keep going, linking arms and turning in circles, not wanting the moment to end. I glance behind to see where Mack and Veronica have gone. They smile and wave their way off stage, but the moment they’re in the wings, they drop hands and immediately part.
“That’s going to go well,” Blitz mutters.
“At least we’re not involved,” I say.
We head back to the viewing room with the other producers. They’re murmuring quietly and look up when Blitz and I enter.
“What do you make of this?” Taya asks. She’s not dancing a jig now.
“Disaster,” Blitz says. “Who authorized that vote count number? Nobody in their right mind believes the winner would have that many even zeros in the final count.”
Taya exchanges a glance with Drake Addler, another of the producers who looks small and lost in his navy suit, his curly brown hair a riot over his bushy brows.
Blitz lets out an annoyed sigh. “Please tell me you did not fudge the numbers.”
“I don’t know who authorized that number on the board,” Taya says after a pause. “But in a case where the vote is too close to call, we agreed that we would discuss the repercussions of each choice and make a decision.”
“I was not part of that discussion,” Blitz says.
“Lance, Drake, and I handled it,” Taya says. “We had a majority and were unanimous.”
Red creeps up from Drake’s neckline. “Sorry, Blitz,” he says. “Your vote wouldn’t have mattered.”
A couple women in the viewing room glance over at us, and Taya pulls Blitz over to the corner. He hangs on to my hand, so I go with him.
“Here’s the thing,” Taya says. “Dolly has a boyfriend who started threatening to talk to the tabloids after she was named a finalist. It was too late to blue card her. She couldn’t win.”
“What about Beth Ann?” I ask.
Taya shakes her head. “We should have taken her out early on. We really didn’t need another ballerina. She was skating on Livia’s fame. She wasn’t what the franchise needed as we go into season five. We’re barely holding our ratings position as it is.”
“So you rigged it?” I ask. “You made Veronica the winner?”
“It was stupidly close already,” Taya says. “It didn’t really matter.”
“And nobody thought to at least rough up the numbers?” Blitz says. “There were four bloody zeros on that tally. Anybody can see it was rigged.”
I nod. “I’m sure Twitter is going nuts.”
“We’ll put out a statement,” Taya says. “It will be forgotten in a week.”
“Yeah, like Giselle,” Blitz mutters.
“What do you mean by that?” Taya asks. “Is she back?”
“She’s been skywriting over the studio,” I say.
Taya waves her hand to dismiss the idea. “That’s nothing. Talk to me when she does something people will actually notice.”
With that, she waves at a man across the room and takes off. Drake glances over at us, taking another long swig of his drink.
“I guess in the end, it doesn’t really impact us,” I say.
Blitz shrugs. “If they plan to tank the show, I guess it doesn’t.” He rubs his eyes, and I wonder if he’s thinking about all the money he paid to buy out Bennett as producer. It shouldn’t matter. We have more than enough to live on in San Antonio, well, forever, as long as we’re not stupid.
“We should go,” I say. “Have a nice night in LA before we fly home.”
Blitz takes my hand. “I hear you on that.”
We walk out of the studio as the crew rushes around to clear everything. I glance anxiously up into the sky, but darkness has already fallen. No skywriting.
By this time tomorrow, Dance Blitz will be packed away for another season.
And we can live our lives in peace again.
Chapter 7
We should have known better.
We’ve only been home a week when we find Danika waiting for us outside our practice studio, her spiky blue hair standing out against the gray walls. She’s run the dance studio since it opened, built for her by her son-in-law Bennett. She has counseled me on more than one of my personal problems, and by the look on her face, it’s about to happen again.
We let the wheelchair ballerinas take off with their mothers, including my biological daughter Gabriella with her adopted mother Gwen.
Gwen doesn’t speak to us much, preferring to give us a quiet nod. She knows I’m Gabriella’s birth mother, but we haven’t told the little girl herself. I have to leave that to Gwen. She still feels very threatened by me. I must respect her wishes on this, because I have no legal claim to my daughter and only see her if Gwen allows it.
When the hall has cleared, Danika asks if we’ve checked our phones in the last hour.
“Nope. Totally focused on the girls,” Blitz says.
“You might want to do that now,” she says. “And please consider how you will arrive and leave the academy in the coming weeks. We really don’t need more stalkers.” She meets my gaze, and my eyes flit down.
I caused enough trouble already when my crazy ex, Gabriella’s father, refused to leave the front of the academy and wound up getting arrested. We lost a lot of students during all that upheaval.
“It’s that serious?” Blitz asks, pulling his phone from his bag.
He scrolls through his feed, his mouth turned down. “Great.”
“What now?” I ask.
“They made a video. A damn video,” he says.
Danika cuts her eyes down the hall to make sure
no little ears heard Blitz.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. “This is ridiculous.”
“Just show me,” I say.
He hits play. It’s a Dance Blitz promo. Barry Winston fills the screen.
“Dance Blitz lovers, you all got to see the romantic proposal between our original dance bachelor Blitz Craven and his winning contestant Livia Mays.”
“I was never a contestant,” I insist.
“Shhh, girl, let me hear!” a voice says.
I look up to see my friend Jacob standing tall and spectacular behind me. He teaches jazz to the boy dancers. He’s rapt on the video. He’s literally Blitz’s biggest fan. He calls him his “impossible crush.”
They play a clip of the proposal, then Barry comes back on.
“And now, you’ll get to see it right here, their glorious wedding live on Dance Blitz.” The camera pans out to reveal a lush garden with people setting up white chairs.
“What?” I exclaim. “We’re not even there! Are they going to have lookalikes?”
“It’s just for effect,” Blitz says. “Look, the date is four weeks away.”
A still shot showing the date and time of the live broadcast flashes up as the video ends.
“What?” I say again. “Who is engaged for four weeks?”
“Technically,” Jacob says, “you got engaged at the spring recital.”
We all turn to him with a frown.
“Just saying!” he says. “My auntie Carol married that good-for-nothing Doug after only knowing him a week. You got this.”
“I don’t have a dress,” I say.
“Nobody has contacted me about this,” Blitz says. “They can’t go announcing that without our approval.”
“Wouldn’t that be your agent’s job?” Danika asks.
Blitz and I look at each other. “Hannah,” we both say.
“Have you gotten anything from her?” I ask.
“Her emails are auto deleted,” he says. “Texts and calls have a silent alert and roll off the home screen automatically.”
“Now that’s some hard-core shade you’re throwing right there,” Jacob says.
