America's Next Star

by Katie Dozier

  I inhaled the little bottle, and though it wasn’t much, it was enough to regain my ability to talk.

  “Where are we going?” I asked E.T.. When he didn’t reply, I suggested, “To the makeup room?”

  “No time for that,” he said.

  I couldn’t help thinking that if we were short on time, maybe he could’ve saved some by not forcing me to ferry myself across an enormous lake alone for hours. But even though he’d treated me gruffly at best, I couldn’t help the fact that some part of me wanted him to like me.

  Even if the Astronauts (the mysterious and elite creative team responsible for the almost magic-like components of ANS) designed the challenges, it seemed that E.T. could make my life harder or easier. And if he liked me maybe I wouldn’t have to go through hell quite so soon again. Of course there was the distinct possibility that he treated everyone horribly. Well everyone except for one passenger on our golf cart, which was currently zooming between concrete posts, too fast to get any sort of sense of direction.

  “Blondie’s a great dog,” I said, as I turned to E.T.. It was as truthful as it was a clumsy attempt at flattery.

  His defensive scowl broke slightly, and he grunted in what I could guess was agreement.

  It was by far our best interaction of the day, and I worried it would be our most positive exchange ever to take place in the Universe.

  He’d been wrong about one thing though, the show, even if not filmed literally in the Core, was very much still taking place there. I just had to stop acting like a pawn being sacrificed and more like a queen in command of the board.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  ♪ Purple Rain ♪

  * * *

  W hen the golf cart jerked to a stop, E.T. got off while it was still technically moving, then gaped at our slowness even though I did my best to bolt off the seat.

  “There,” he said, as he pointed to a door that’s only distinguishing f eature was that it was painted gray instead of beige like all the others we’d passed on the journey.

  Whatever it was, I hoped for somewhere to wash off the black remnants of mascara streaking my face. I would’ve traded my iPod (if I’d still had it) for any kind of normal outfit to change into—the leather on my dress was beginning to dry, and the effect felt like I was wearing a fruit roll up. The small bottle of water that Kara had given me hadn’t been nearly enough to solve the problem of my thirst. My head hurt and I looked like a shipwreck.

  On the heels of a sudden breeze of golf cart exhaust, as instructed, I slid my Beam up to a silver plate by the handle of the door, which flashed green and opened.

  Red velvet seats, so many steps. Purple walkways lined with green neon lights. A group of people on the stage, but one rose above the rest, and even though her back was turned to me, I’d know her from anywhere.

  I must be in the back of a rehearsal auditorium , I thought. It may have had nothing on the stadium where the real show was filmed, but it was still a marvel in its own way in part because it felt more real than anything I’d seen since arriving to the Universe.

  The door slammed behind me just as I realized that I should have caught it.

  “Oh hello, Ella.”

  She took in my bedraggled look with half of her mouth locked in a smile.

  Zee walked down from the stage to meet me, giving me the kind of hug where her shoulders moved inwards, but maybe that was just because I must’ve smelled at that point.

  “Just join in the back of the others, please.”

  I realized that all these glossy people were in a triangle, and I would have counted eleven, had the count not been stopped at one.

  Smack at the head of the pyramid was Carrie, looking like the cherry on top of an ice cream sundae. We exchanged nods, and for some reason I walked up by her, and in this sea of unknowns I made a split second mistake of thinking we were friends. So I stood by her at the front.

  “Ella. Just fall in the back please, sweetie. We’re half way through choreography for the opening number.”

  Aw, she called me sweetie!

  “And music please, from the top.”

  The theme song shook the stage, and a hot guy stopped just short of knocking into me as a little girl tripped over my leg.

  “Stop!” shouted Zee. “Ella, maybe you could stand to the side while you get caught up, honey?”

  On take two, the Comets danced like I hadn’t seen since I watched Chicago . The triangles shuffled into four small ones, which shuffled again to make a star. Like a kaleidoscope, the Comets continuously created perfect shapes while simultaneously morphing into the next one.

  “And that’s when the lights will fade to the starry background for the intro story,” said E.T., as the air filled with the now familiar rattling of his beloved box of candy.

  Then the door at the back opened, and some guys looking like they were federal agents or something shuffled in before another judge, Tyler, came in.

  “Hi everyone! I’m excited for the best season ever of America’s Next Star . Thanks for all auditioning on such short notice. It’s our first time doing two seasons within six months, but we’re so excited to have the Universe ready that we didn’t want to wait months for the tenth season! That’s why it’s really important you all sing your hearts out. You’re the best of the best, especially the Comets on my team!”

  He winked at an older woman in a white pantsuit, who blew him a kiss. I’d later find out her name was Diana, and she was the most experienced Comet on the show.

  “Hi, Tyler,” she called out. Her voice was so full, it was the tonal equivalent of how boxers are supposed to punch from their hips. Even in two spoken little words, her voice seemed to start at her toes and build all the way to the moment it flew out of her lips.

  I sat almost behind the curtain, my legs folded up like an unused chair.

  “Let’s take it from the top for Tyler, and remember, smiles!”

  There was a flurry of shapes and snapping and Carrie at the front, popping her hips in perfect time to the music.

  Tyler, Zelina, and the crew clapped.

  “Great everyone,” Tyler said, “But what about that one?” He pointed to me, like a fly in a bowl of otherwise perfect tomato soup.

  “Oh, that’s Ella,” said Zelina, as she smiled to the camera, her high ponytail bobbing like a rubber ducky in the bathtub. “She was late because—”

  “Well there’s always one.”

  How did Carrie make it there before me anyway? Shouldn’t we have been on the same flight?

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  ♪ The Great Divide ♪

  * * *

  D inner was served close to the bridge I’d come into the Universe in, with the enormous planetary flower topiaries brightening the sky in neon jabs of color above us.

  The picnic tables were lined with gingham cloth, and the buffet offerings had so many little “Gluten Free” flags in them that it would have saved a lot of time just to put “Gluten” flags on the few items that had it. Contrary to what health nuts might try to tell you, gluten-free pepperoni pizza isn’t really pizza at all.

  Cameras swarmed like mosquitoes around a pond in Florida. I selected a seat on the very far edge of the green. As I walked by, Carrie was sitting behind a plate of fruit at the front, speaking into a camera.

  “Yeah, I became a fruitarian like a long time ago.”

  She hadn’t been one a few weeks ago at The Loop!

  “It’s just that I couldn’t think about harming all those animals, and then I began to feel bad for plants too, like broccoli?”

  I rolled my eyes. The show hadn’t even aired yet and she already had the vegetarian votes from Solar Stadium locked up. If Dad were ever in the audience—unlikely, since the show was notorious for not giving away any free seats—well, he would probably vote for Carrie too.

  My eyes were so focused on my plate and pretending to ignore the familiar uncomfortable feeling of the one semester Huck and I had different lunch periods back in
high school. I nearly flipped my tray of gluten-free mac and cheese over when I heard another tray set onto the table beside me.

  It was that hot guy that had just stopped short of running into me at rehearsal.

  He eyed my plate.

  God, I was already being judged for eating.

  “Nice to see someone else around here not eating like a bird.”

  He smiled, even though I couldn’t see any cameras hunting us. Were they hidden in the purple gerbera daisies populating Pluto above us? Why were they visible at times even though there were so many hidden cameras everywhere?

  “I’m Preston, and I, like you, and well, everyone else in the world, like pizza and cupcakes.”

  He sat down beside me, and picked up his slice.

  “I’m—”

  “Ella,” he said, as he jammed the pizza in his throat. “I know.”

  “I guess it wasn’t exactly a secret back there.”

  “Can I ask—why you were late, anyway?”

  “I just got on the flights with the ticket they gave me. No one told me I was running late. I didn’t even know I got on the show until yesterday.”

  “Oh, you’re the vid audition that made it on. That must have been a shock. By the way, we’re both on Zee’s team.”

  I nodded, but really was wondering why they hadn’t waited for me to get to the Universe before doing the Zelina versus Tyler team choosing that was always a big part of the first episode.

  “I got on to the show in Atlanta—I go to UGA. I sang an old school country one. Hank Williams. They tell me I have a bluesy voice, but I don’t really care what they tell me, I just know I like to sing. And for my talent, I just did some line-dancing.”

  “Did you swim to Star Stadium?” I asked.

  Studying his broad shoulders, it looked like he could’ve done it without even breaking a sweat. The only “damage” would have been a deepening of his tan. Meanwhile, my skin resembled the red velvet cupcake on my plate.

  “Oh God no,” he said. “I picked the dirt, and that meant I got to ride that new coaster all the way. Took under two minutes, but I guess that’s no surprise going ninety doing corkscrews! It was awesome.”

  He studied my burnt face and offered, “I think my mom put some aloe in my suitcase if you want it. I haven’t got a sunburn since I was about seven years old, but you’d never know it from how much she keeps badgering me about it.”

  “Thanks.”

  I took a bite of the red velvet cupcake, not even caring that this hot guy—who just had to have a six-pack under that shirt—was watching me, an overweight girl about to look even more fat with the padding of television and inevitable cream cheese frosting on her face.

  “What’d you sing for your audition?” he asked. “Must’ve been pretty damn good for them to cast a vid audition for the first time.”

  I covered my mouth while I chewed.

  “Wait, don’t tell me. I have to see this one in a million video,” Preston said.

  “Later,” I said with my mouth full of cream cheese frosting.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  ♪ I Wanna Dance With Somebody ♪

  * * *

  M uch to the annoyance of Mack, the choreographer, I needed an individual rehearsal after dinner—to get caught up for the opening number.

  “No,” he said. “Arms up on the fourth beat, in time with the box step.”

  Eventually, he said he couldn’t spend more time with me and I would have to get it on my own. If only Huck was there to help me, I couldn’t help but think. But I decided to practice in my room until I got it, if that was possible.

  When the driverless limo from the Katherine Egg specials dropped me off at the mansion, I was alone with the box of pizza I’d taken off the buffet—and my complete amazement at the place I’d somehow get to call home for the next few weeks.

  It was a huge white rectangle rising several stories into the air, framed by bright pillars. Many of the walls were made of glass, and there were a dizzying number of windows pulsing every shade of the rainbow. The mansion’s many neon-colored columns were offset by topiaries trimmed into giant stars that pulsed with rainbow lights.

  As I stepped onto the purple carpet leading up to the front door, a firework exploded overhead that looked like a Comet. The walls were lined with huge art, that looked like prints of Andy Warhol. Everything in sight was either pure white or every imaginable shade of neon.

  It felt like walking into the coolest modern art gallery in the world, but somehow it was all mine—well, to share with my teammates. At least for as long as I was on the show. Unless, by some miracle, I could win. There was a thought I’d barely had time to think in the whirlwind since I got on. I could win!

  A man in a tuxedo opened the door before I could even knock.

  “Welcome to your new home, Ms. Windmill. I am Mr. Woodhouse. May I show you to your room?”

  In the foyer, which spanned the length of my entire house in Cocoa Beach, there were two rows of glass elevators. He motioned to one.

  “This is your private elevator to your suite,” he said.

  The glass doors slid closed behind us, and we rose above the rainbow-colored triangular couch in the center of the foyer. I couldn’t help but think that it was the least private “private” elevator in the world—considering that it was entirely see-through.

  When the elevator stopped, I was in a room bigger than the auditorium at CBHS.

  “Your things have been put away. And we have a chef on call at all hours. No need to bring back snacks from the buffet,” he said, as he smiled at my pizza box. “Anytime you would like access down or back up, don’t forget to just scan your Beam.”

  Before I could even thank him, he disappeared down the elevator shaft.

  The room was painted the color of an eggplant, and outlined in corners of black. On one wall was a giant pair of red, shiny lips with white fangs poking out of the folds. A neon model of the state of Florida, the size of a basketball hoop, pulsed in red.

  On the bed was a fuzzy red king swinging from the ceiling. And somehow, when I jumped on the bed and looked up, I realized it was made of glass. Real stars twinkled above me. I gasped as I heard thunder, and then lines of magic lightning trickled up the walls all around me up to the stars. The sound of rain overtook the room to the extent that I expected it to start pouring on me, but when I got off the bed to try to understand how the hell they were making it storm inside, the lightning was gone.

  The bathroom kept the same color scheme, and the bathtub was basically the size of a swimming pool and backlit with purple. To say it was the most dramatic mansion and room I’d seen on America’s Next Star , would be like saying the Universe was just kinda big.

  I sat down in a black chair in the shape of a hand, and put the pizza box on my lap. One slice of pizza turned into five. And then there were the cookies I shoved in my pocket when it seemed like no one was looking.

  After swearing to myself on the plane that I wasn’t bulimic—and imagining that a magical toilet fairy would come and dub me like I was being knighted with a plunger—I felt the urge to vomit again. I hadn’t meant to finish the whole pizza, but in less than a week I was going to be on world-wide TV. Was that the price of my upcoming fame?

  I am a Windmill, and the wind always moves me, I’m not some kind of funnel that seems to gather strength like Carrie.

  When I reached the bile I knew it was all gone. All the mistakes I’d eaten, all the anger at Dad not caring I was on the show, to being mad at Mom for being gone and feeling guilty even for thinking that. And David making me infamous at FSU. How could I have thought that I was in love with him that night? Why would he hurt me like that?

  If he woke up with regret, didn’t want to text, realized he loved Carrie and who could blame him—I could have understood. But that night, under the blinking lights of Tennessee Street, right when he kissed me—looking back that felt almost as good as the total shock of winding up on this show. He turned o
ut to really be a phantom after all.

  But then, when I sat up from the toilet bowl, all of that was gone for a few seconds in my exhaustion.

  Detoxified, flushed away. Or at least mostly flushed away. My shaking hands. My screaming throat. Wondering how it could have all just come crashing down again, when I should’ve been bouncing on the king bed in a silk robe and kitten heels.

  Chapter Forty

  ♪ Shape of You ♪

  * * *

  I heard the zip of the elevator coming to my room.

  Carrie? Had she come to apologize?

  I looked in the mirror as I called out, “Who is it?”

  Bloodshot eyes. Red faced. Messy bun. Gross breath.

  “It’s Preston.”

  “Just a sec.”

  I closed myself in the bathroom. I pulled off my FSU t-shirt and changed it for a fresh one, just in case. Shoved it under the sink to make sure to hide the smell. Sprayed myself with coconut body spray. Swished water around in my mouth.

  “Just wanted to see your audition video,” he called out.

  His hair looked fluffy like a baby duck—like he had gone to the effort of taking a shower before coming to my room and had even bothered to towel dry his hair. He was wearing red and black flannel pajama bottoms, and a black t-shirt that had a fit so much sexier than something super tight. His rounded biceps stopped the sleeves of his t-shirt before the end of their tracks.

  “Hi,” I said, as I came out of the bathroom. I pretended that a strand from my bun had fallen into my eyes, instead of that I had strategically planned that exact action.

  “Look, I know we’re technically enemies for the show or whatever, but there are a lot of people here and we don’t start the live show for a week. Plus, we’re both on Zee’s team, so in a way, we’re in this together. Can we be friends now, then worry about being enemies later?”