America's Next Star

by Katie Dozier

  “Please tell me the talent isn’t standing on elephants,” May whispered.

  “Let me introduce, Jinka Jenkins, circus star, and juggler extraordinaire! Since juggling was Solar Stadium’s favorite non-finale talent, we’re doing it again, to warm us up for the rest of the season. But in true America’s Next Star fashion, it’s going to be even bigger this season!” said Tyler.

  Hearing her cue, Jinka threw the jewels high into the air, then did a backflip off the elephant’s head and caught the jewels a second after she landed. The elephant raised his trunk in the air and trumpeted.

  “The poor elephant,” I whispered to May.

  “Hello everyone!” said Jinka. “I’m here to help you become masters of your talent this week. Which is something I learned to do when I was three. This week, you will become masters of juggling.”

  E.T.’s assistants had traded their usual black attire for astro-turf dresses. They scuttled around, setting a golden basket at each of our feet. Inside my basket were three large black orchid blooms—like the ones all over me.

  “First, pick up one of your instruments.”

  “Instruments?” asked May.

  “I guess she means the flowers,” I said.

  I dug my hand into the basket and picked up a black bloom, only to feel more weight than I expected—like picking up an overripe melon. I squeezed the base, and realized that the bloom disguised a bean bag.

  “Now,” Jinka said. “We learn to throw our instrument with a gentle arcing motion, and then scoop it with our other hand, like this.”

  She took a calla lily stem and sent it in a perfect arch, before catching it in a scooping motion with her other hand. I doubted that her flowers concealed bean bags.

  In front of me, I watched the other Comets. Diana swayed her hips as a red rose soared above her head. To my left, Maria sent a dahlia flying above her—pausing to gasp at the beauty of the bloom in mid-flight. Levi catapulted an orange cactus flower into the air while making a fist with his free hand.

  I couldn’t help but feel like an errant stroke of black paint on a technicolor masterpiece as I lifted a black orchid towards the sky.

  “Now, we add another instrument. Remember to make adjustments if you are left handed instead of right.”

  “Well that’ll make it a bit easier,” said Preston, as he sent a Bird of Paradise arching in the opposite direction.

  Joni , her hair still in braids, juggled two wobbling squash blossoms. The highest blooms belonged to Lil’ Jay, who shot chrysanthemums into the air while laughing. Frank dusted pink lilies into the air, making jazz hands while they were aloft.

  And me, I’d caught a single flower. Once. And I seemed incapable of even holding two blooms in the same hand, let alone throwing them.

  “My, my, my,” said Jinka. “It looks like we have a natural.”

  At the front, Carrie was tossing three sunflowers in the air and catching them with such ease that it looked like she was that week’s talent expert.

  A helicopter swooped low over us, so close that the wind from its blades caused petals from the surrounding flowers to rain on us like confetti.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  ♪ Scar Tissue ♪

  * * *

  I opened my mouth wide and tried to sing as if I was home alone in the shower, but while maintaining my eye contact with Chris.

  When I paused to take a breath, Chris applauded, and even though it was just the two of us in the studio, it felt like the applause from the entire audience of Solar Stadium.

  “That was your best run through yet, Ella. And not a moment too soon—since this is our last time together this week before the dress rehearsal. Perfect breathiness at the beginning, just make sure to stay on tempo once the pace changes to a dance beat at the chorus.”

  “Do you think Zelina will like it?”

  Even though I saw her at a distance every day, and sometimes she even spoke to me when we were on camera, I couldn’t help but feel like I had given her some reason to stay away from me.

  “I’m sure she will. Just remember your breathing and everyone will love it. Your Blast-Off Battle song’s actually my favorite though, not that you’ll be singing it this week.”

  I turned my face down to the microphone.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “I guess I’m still surprised that Zee’s not coaching me really at all. It feels like she’s not my mentor.”

  “I told you in our first session—that’s what I’m here for. Though I doubt America would like to see me dance, or wear one of her tube tops.”

  “I didn’t mean to come off as ungrateful. Chris, you’ve taught me more in the first week than I ever knew about singing before.”

  “Thanks. But you’re a natural. I’ve met so few people with truely perfect pitch like you have. So promise me not to take it personally with Zelina, okay?”

  I gave a few quick nods.

  “Because it has nothing to do with you. Usually she just picks one favorite on her team and devotes her time to them, but if I were your mentor—”

  “You are my mentor,” I said.

  “If I were officially your group’s mentor, then I would pick a different favorite. I know we haven’t spoken about this, but I read your ANS file…and I just wanted to say, because, well, I think it needs to be said, and I doubt anyone’s told you…”

  “What?”

  “I just think you should know…that I’m sure your mother would be very proud of you.”

  I tried to fight the tears, but lost the battle.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  ♪ I’m Coming Out ♪

  * * *

  “H ey girl,” said Diana, rushing out of the costume studio as I was on my way in.

  I fought the urge of swallowing the compliment that was on my lips for her.

  “Diana.”

  She turned back towards me, her skin was glowing like it had just been scrubbed in sugar.

  “I just wanted to say that you really nailed it in rehearsal yesterday for the opening number.”

  “Aww, thanks, doll face. It’s all in the hips.”

  She wiggled from side to side and then pretended to flick dust off of her shoulders.

  “And honey—if your voice is as big as your eyes, you’re gonna have no problem tomorrow night.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “And good luck.”

  “You’re new to this game, so lemme let you in on a little secret. Luck is for losers. I don’t need luck. What I need is twenty-five years of experience singing backup for Mrs. Houston. And fortunately that’s what I’ve got! Break a leg,” she said, as she swayed towards the Supernova Schooling green.

  As I headed into the costume studio, I envied Diana, so much experience and sass. The show hadn’t even aired yet, and she was already a lovable diva. What hope did I have at beating someone who had already made a living singing?

  “Daaarling,” said Katherine as she gave me air kisses on both cheeks.

  Never in my life did I think I would have a relationship with someone where air kisses were the customary greeting—but with her it felt almost natural. She was wearing a small hat, pinned to the side of her hair with a violet and a nest of gold chains with a pearl posing as an egg. Her Beam gleamed with a flick of her wrist. It was fitting that she had the prettiest one by far, even more than the other Comets.

  “How are you? The talent going okay, and how about the voice lessons?”

  “Yes, everything is going great!”

  Except the juggling, and the dance tempo in the song. And the bulimia…

  “I’m delighted to hear that. But I hope you’re going to be even more delighted by the costume for your performance this week.”

  She leaned into me and she smelled like fresh hay—or maybe that was just the little bird’s nest on her hat.

  “Don’t tell anyone this, but I spent more time on your costume than anyone else’s.”

  “Thanks so much.”

  “Now,
let’s get you fitted. This is going to be just perfect for your character—perfect! That is if I can get any pins around here.”

  Her eyes scanned the assistants in the room, and when no one returned eye contact she shouted, “Pins!”

  An assistant rushed over to her bowing his head to offer her one of the many pins pushed into the pincushion that rested there.

  But I couldn’t put a pin on what she meant by my “character.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  ♪ Sweet Surrender ♪

  * * *

  A s if it were only a blink later, I was sitting in a canvas chair in front of a huge mirror with so many lights that I felt like I was about to fall face-first into a birthday cake. All the Comets sat in their canvas chairs, like we were bees lined up at flowers, searching for nectar.

  The room pulsed in tempo with a rap song. Makeup artists clacked their cases, brushes swirled in compacts, and glitter danced on the floor. There was the dissonant clash of Comets humming different melodies.

  One of the makeup artists turned to me, a woman with teal lipstick, and she studied my face.

  “I did my own makeup,” I said. I’d lined my eyes lightly with silver, and kept the rest of my face pretty bare. With how busy my costume was, I’d thought that simple makeup would be best.

  “No,” she said. “You really didn’t.”

  She grabbed a wipe and scrubbed my face with it, before I even had a chance to close my eyes. She held my face in her hands.

  “Your eyes are pretty, but…you can’t even tell because they’re so bloodshot.”

  She squirted a river of Visine in them, eventually resorting to holding each eyelid open like some sort of medical vise grip when I kept blinking.

  She was clearly not going to be my friend, but I was still prepared to like her if she could cover up the evidence of eighteen-hour days and puking.

  She clacked her gum at me as she surveyed her foundation palette, which as far as I could tell, ranged from somewhat tan to full-on oompa loompa.

  “God, I don’t see why we have to wait till the second week to do makeovers,” she said, as if she were dolling up a defective mannequin. “This is why God invented spray tans.”

  From the bottom-most shelf on her cart, she snatched a box labeled, “Clown Makeup,” and began blending the white paste with a dot of the lightest foundation on her palette. She pressed it into my skin like she was trying to force a stain out of a rug.

  “Us guys have it so easy,” said Preston, as he touched his face. “Weird as it is to be wearing powder, at least I don’t have to use a torture device on my eyelashes.”

  She was curling these fake lashes that looked like lace along with mine. I struggled not to blink as I saw the outline of a glob of glue threatening to blind me.

  “You have to take off that necklace.”

  I clutched Mom’s bruised oval, and tried to work up a protest— but before I could, she managed to undo the lobster claw that had protected my neck since Mom’s funeral. The only witness to my toilet crimes. When she turned around, I snatched it from the counter and hid it in my padded bra.

  When my eyes opened, I looked like a backup dancer from those 80’s dance videos Mom used to watch.

  Even though it wasn’t Katherine’s intention, it didn’t help that they had put me in a black leather dress that felt at least two sizes too small, and at least three inches too short.

  Arcing into the air a foot above my shoulders were the top petals of the bud of an orchid—the bottom petals were attached over my breasts.

  The V-neck ended closer to my navel than my neck. Poking up through my cleavage was a purple wire with a light that glowed as the stamen of the flower.

  I really liked Katherine, and if it wasn’t me wearing the costume, I would have been in awe of it. But I couldn’t help feeling like I was an haute couture version of a slutty orchid.

  At least Tiffanie would like it, but Dad and my aunt, well that was a silver lining too—they would hate it almost as much as I did.

  As I shifted in my costume, it sounded like a huge man throwing himself into an overstuffed couch that threatened to burst open—shooting white stuffing into the air.

  The woman left my station, throwing out, “Well that’s all I can do,” as she rushed behind me to where Carrie had a ton of assistants around her. It was like she was a mother dog, and they were her adoring new puppies.

  “Hey!” Said Kara, as she walked up with Blondie and gave me a hug. “I wish I could say more, but just wanted to wish you good luck!”

  Blondie bobbed her head up into my lap and I tousled her curly hair.

  “Thanks, and you too.” I lowered my voice. “I hope E.T. goes easy on you tonight.”

  She smiled.

  “Gotta run! Come, Blondie.”

  She swayed out alongside Kara. I couldn’t help but think that she probably went way out of her way to wish me well and must’ve broken about a billion rules to do so.

  Alone in my chair as per Beam’s instructions, I tried to avoid looking at Carrie, so I scanned around the room—from Maria on my left, to May on the far side who—come to think of it—appeared to be crying. But the light around Carrie glowed more intensely, like it came from somewhere deep within her—like she had swallowed up all the lightning bugs in the world.

  The sobbing grew, and the people around May scattered like ants under the threat of rain. I made an attempt to get out of the chair while wearing my stiletto black leather boots, but gave up. When I unzipped them, the spot where the zipper had been left a hot red imprint.

  I left my shoes on the floor and then I hovered over the little girl, trying to figure out what to say, but knowing that saying anything was better than saying nothing at all. And I was probably her only friend here—because, though May didn’t know it—everyone was actually threatened by her superpower of cuteness.

  I put my hand on May’s back, over her super straight hair threaded with daisies that smelled like burnt flowers. She sat up too quickly, like my hand had been an electric shock.

  “Hi,” I said. “Are you okay?”

  I knew that she was only eight, but she looked like a three year old girl that had been caught playing dress up with her mom’s stuff—her tiny frame swallowed by a giant daisy wider than she was tall. She grabbed her glasses and studied me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She motioned me to move closer.

  “The cameras,” she said. “And they told me I can’t wear my glasses on the show. They told me I look like a mouse. They told me I can’t ever wear my glasses on stage.”

  “They said you can’t wear your glasses on stage?” I said, hazarding that repeating what she had already told me twice was safer than offering any real consultation to this girl who was so desperately in need of it. I grabbed a tissue and started to dab at where mascara had made dark pools below her almond eyes.

  Zelina swooped in like a crane on the other side of May, snatching the box of tissues from my hand.

  “Oh, May!” she gushed, before hugging the girl for three seconds too long. Zelina’s face never left the light of the camera that had followed her. “I know you miss your parents, but it will be alright! Zee is here for you.”

  E.T. pulled my arm, leading me away from the scene.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  ♪ Walk This Way ♪

  * * *

  “ R eady to really see Solar Stadium?” asked Preston. He was wearing jeans and a white button down shirt—though only a few of those buttons were actually being used. A Bird of Paradise stuck suggestively out of one of the pockets on his jeans.

  Watching the show at home, I’d always been annoyed when a Comet had an understated costume. But now I wished I was wearing one too.

  I shifted my weight from one side to the other, running through the choreography I’d finally learned for the opening sequence—not that it really mattered a ton as I was the back point of the star.

  “What do you mean? We already saw
it at the dress rehearsal,” I said.

  “But that’s not really Solar Stadium. Not with most of the seats empty.”

  “I wish they were still empty! I’m terrified.”

  “But are you ready? I mean you did good at the dress rehearsal.”

  “Thanks. I guess I’m ready…And I’m beyond ready to finally hear you sing. I still don’t understand why they had to pull me for an interview last night right before you went on. Speaking of which, are you ready?”

  “To open the show with an old country song? You bet your ass I am!”

  Oh to have the confidence of a hot southern man.

  He took my hand for a few seconds and squeezed it.

  “And don’t worry 'bout it Georgia peach, you’ll be great.”

  He’d taken to calling me that ever since our first night, which was a funny nickname—since I’m obviously not from Georgia, and I don’t even like peaches. Too squishy—they’re only useful for making mediocre fruit pies—when anyone in their right mind would want chocolate anyway.

  “Places, everyone!” said E.T..

  Underneath the stage in the middle of the stadium, I heard the biggest buzz I’d ever heard—full of garbled, energetic sounds—like being lodged inside a party cracker right as it exploded.

  I took my place for the opening number, near May, but farthest away from Tyler and Carrie. My eyes scanned the thousands of dots that were only recognizable as having to be people because I’d seen every single episode of the show.

  The lights blinded me, thousands of high beams all pointed at us, and then dozens more that strobed. I’d learned during that night performing Into the Woods that strobe lights and me in heels didn’t mix.

  And Preston was right. With the energy of over a hundred thousand people in the audience, and the pressure of knowing I was being watched by over two hundred million people around the world—well it made Solar Stadium a place that felt like magic. The only problem—well, besides walking in my stilettos—was that I realized in that moment that I’m not just in awe of all this magic, I’m also kind of scared of it.