by Katie Dozier
“I guess you’re right.”
“Where’s Carrie?” Levi asked Preston.
“Extra vocal practice with Zee, you know how it is.”
“No, I really don’t,” Levi said. “I think I can speak for Ella here too. How come you and Carrie get all of Zelina’s time here?”
Preston speared his stack of pancakes with his fork. “Man, I don’t know.”
“Yeah you do,” Levi continued. “You think it’s because I have no shot at winning right?”
I was grateful that he didn’t say my name out loud even though he clearly thought I was getting the same treatment.
Carrie suddenly appeared in the doorway, holding a lone blueberry in her fingers.
“That’s not it. I mean why do you have to make this all about you? Zelina’s like really busy.”
“I think what Levi’s saying is just that it would be nice if our mentor’s time was more equally divided.”
“No, what Levi’s doing is coming up with an excuse, so that when he goes home he’ll have someone else to blame for it.”
Before I could manage to stop him, Levi lunged across the table at Preston, but pulled back when the flames singed his eyebrows. One of the spikes on his mohawk poked Preston in the eye.
The Chef ran into the room. “Anything else I can get for you all?”
“Nah, we’re good here bro,” Preston said. His right eye was pink and he was blinking over and over. “And don’t worry about it, Levi. I’m sure the show will get you the help you deserve.”
His smile was more sweet than a gallon of pancake syrup.
I put my hand on Levi’s lap to maybe help calm him down. After all, he had basically been trying to stand up for us both, at least in his own, heavy metal way.
“ Mademoiselle Ella, I am sorry that I am obligated to not offer you more. But if I could I would make you a Buche de Noel . Even though it is not Christmas, I think you would love my marzipan mushrooms.”
“That’s okay, Chef. Merci .”
Plus, I would’ve just thrown it up anyway.
“So how is training going? Ready for tomorrow?” the Chef asked.
“We’ll see soon enough.”
That night, instead of sleeping with my sheet music under my pillow, I hugged it to my chest.
Chapter Sixty-One
♪ The Last Midnight ♪
* * *
T he opening number of the live show zoomed by in a rainbow-hued blur.
Under the stage, I’d changed out of an indigo-colored gown so poofy that it would’ve made the dress I never wore to prom look tame—not that what I changed into was anything normal. In fact, I am pretty sure that “normal” wasn’t a word that existed in Katherine Egg’s vocabulary.
My costume for the live show was a mashup between a stage costume for Katy Perry and a pro-wrestling uniform—sequined squiggles looked like snakes strangling my stomach. And in case my theme wasn’t overt enough, there was this rubber snake thing around my neck that glowed green with LED lights.
The pattering of hooves rang out above my head. I watched from the monitor as Preston, dressed as a matador, battled a bull without breaking a sweat and belting out country.
Earlier, Carrie had emerged from a pond, while stroking the necks of flamingoes and singing “True Love,” by Pink.
Levi jumped hurdles on horseback while singing Aerosmith. Diana rode in, clothed only by a well-placed wig, bareback on an elephant. Lil’ Jay barely avoided getting struck by his rhino, and Frank had somehow trained the penguins to dance alongside him while he sang Frank Sinatra’s “I Get A Kick Out Of You.” Maria belted out an entire song in Spanish while riding at the center of a herd of giraffes.
And that left just me.
Well, me—and an enormous snake.
“Ella,” said E.T.. “This week you might be asked about this clip, so Zelina wants you to watch it. Follow me.”
Well, so much for avoiding watching the interview clips. Still, I was determined not to let whatever I was about to see rattle me like the snake around my neck. Since they’d finally asked me about my parents, I’d told them about Mom.
Was it wrong to hope for enough sympathy votes to make it to the third week?
The intro music was over electrified guitar. Then, an interview with Huck, overdressed in that tux. I guess from when they spoke with him on camera minutes after I’d found out I’d made it on the show:
Huck Millaby, Friend
“I always knew Ella was a star. Ever since she had every lead part in plays in high school, we knew she could sing better than Veronica from last season. I mean, for one thing, she literally has perfect pitch.”
He’d said he might have gotten carried away, but come on Huck!
Then it was on to Sam’s voice, over shots of me in the opening dance sequence from last week. Unsmiling, I looked bored instead of the reality that I was trying so hard to focus that it hurt.
“But with all that confidence, did Ella take it too far last week?” asked Sam.
The show cut to a video of me at the studio lunch, and I said to Preston, “I’m not here to make friends.”
But that had been a joke!
And then on the screen, Carrie?
Carrie Curtsey, Comet
Behind her the green screen was full of hydrangeas.
“So I went backstage, and heard a girl crying. And Ella was standing over May, like she had just stabbed her or something.”
The video cut to an image of me, in black and white, hovering over May in the makeup room, moments before I comforted her.
“And,” said Sam, as they played a montage of clips of me rolling my giant gray eyes. “Then we have the question all of America wants to know. What did the high school prom queen say to May that made her quit!”
The scene cut to last week’s bottom two moment, where May was doubled over, and I was trying to comfort her.
“And does the incident with May have something to do with Ella’s dark interests?”
“I want to be a vampire when I grow up!” I said, on screen.
Next they showed a shot of me trying to stop Levi from lunging at Preston that somehow looked like I was the one about to throw a punch. The montage of me acting terribly was at once familiar and other worldly—like having an out of body experience.
It was convincing enough to make me question myself.
Shaking the words from my ears like leaves falling from a tree in the wind, I tried to convince myself that it didn’t matter what the whole world thought.
Chapter Sixty-Two
♪ Toxic ♪
* * *
“ T o your mark, Ella.”
E.T. pushed me up the stairs to the dark stage.
The hiss of the fog machine threatened to overtake me, but I wouldn’t let it.
On stage was Lilly the leopard, tethered as if—even behind the bars— she was a threat.
But I strutted on stage. Suddenly I didn’t care that my ass was barely covered by my skirt.
Because I knew who this song was going out to.
The vampy rhythm trumpeted through the stadium, rattling my eardrums.
I sang, spitting venom at the audience with my eyes.
I jumped down right on cue into a trap door with a trampoline that made me bounce up, flying above the stage. I tried to look like this was fun, when really it was terrifying.
I landed—on the spikes of my green stilettos, on top of the leopard cage.
A dead ringer for Zac Efron came on stage. I bent over to cling to the bars, adding a new vocal riff I hadn’t practiced, and realized I liked.
I jumped backwards off the cage, free falling into the arms of the hot guys, and then gyrated as the weight of the snake was pressed onto my shoulders. There were two dancers holding the other ends, but I felt the slickness of Abe’s cold skin against my bare shoulder blades.
With a rapid strobe effect that didn’t even make me flinch, Lilly’s cage disappeared, making it look to the audience tha
t I was on the stage with just a wild leopard and an enormous snake.
Lilly didn’t even resist her harness; instead, she just looked sleepy to anyone that was actually familiar with her. But to Solar Stadium, she was ferocious.
My snake necklace lit up, flashing green and yellow.
I sang a whole octave higher than Britney had— holding out my arm to the leopard like I was so hot that even a cat couldn’t resist me.
And then, even though I was told not to go within ten feet of the leopard, I found myself moving towards her.
A voice in my head told me that having a snake—even the biggest snake in the world draped across my shoulders—wasn’t going to be enough to save me from competing in this week’s Blast-Off Battle.
The stage was pulsing with strobe lights and green confetti, and yet Lilly’s eyes stayed locked on mine.
They were grey, just like Mom’s and mine.
And in that moment, she wasn’t a leopard anymore.
She was a lost little girl.
I was dancing down to the floor, my head inches from Lilly’s. The reflection of the lights from my necklace danced in her eyes.
Her whiskers twitched as if laughing at an inside joke we shared. As I struck my final pose, my hand grabbed Lilly’s paw. She began to purr.
And as the applause in Solar Stadium rang out like bells in the Vatican, she nuzzled my hand with her fluffy head.
“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it one more time for Ella Windmill,” said Sam, as Mr. McFling dragged Lilly under the stage—hidden to everyone by the smoke and mirrors of the show.
Well, everyone but me.
“Now, let’s hear from the judges.”
“Ella that was a hell of a performance,” Tyler said. “But why didn’t you take our advice last week about a slower song?”
I opened my mouth to speak before I realized it was a rhetorical question, since he was in on the secret that I had no control over what I got to sing.
“I mean, you’re just starting out in this business. It’s really disrespectful to act like you know more than one of us sitting in these chairs by picking a song like that.”
“No, I didn’t …” I offered, before realizing that my microphone had been turned off.
“Yeah, alright, that was interesting,” Tyler continued. “Alright job with the animals. But that part where you sang an octave higher than the original sounded like falsetto. It may have worked in an opera, but in a dance remix it was toxic.”
This time, when Tyler found every microscopic fault imaginable, I didn’t feel sorry for myself. It was like that old “if a tree falls in a forest does anyone hear it” riddle. If I was the only one that believed I was an okay person, how could that be true?
But then I was thinking of Lilly, and wondering if they drugged her all the time or just for the live show. And then I was thinking of May, and wondering if it was okay to writhe across the stage in front of millions of young girls…
“Well I thought you were amazing!” said Zelina. “I mean, you killed it tonight, girl! Just like when you killed that guy in your audition tape!”
Gasps emitted from the audience, and I found that my mic was still off, so I couldn’t correct her apparent murder charge.
Chapter Sixty-Three
♪ Wrecking Ball ♪
* * *
“ Y ou were amazing,” said Diana, as she bumped her hip with mine beneath the stage. “A true diva like Britney herself!”
When it was time to line-up for the judging, it still felt like I was lining up for a firing squad. But, I’d nailed it right? I mean how many Comets had touched a wild ferocious animal to have one more shot at their dream?
But then, somehow there were only three of us left—and still I wasn’t too worried, I mean I’d seen the show a zillion times. Sometimes they liked to mix it up, put someone that clearly did great into the bottom to scare their fans.
Then I watched Sam’s lips move, and whatever name he said that was safe, well it didn’t start with an “E.” Lil’ Jay was safe.
But me and Maria were not. I was very surprised to be up against the beauty queen. I thought she was going all the way to the final, maybe even destined to give Carrie some trouble.
Sam’s hand on my shoulder was all too familiar. Just moments ago, my costume had made me feel empowered—but now, the blinking light in my necklace felt like a “Vacancy” sign on a forgotten hotel.
I thought I had crushed it. I mean I touched a leopard for Christ’s sake!
Was I still a ninja in stilettos…or was it all in my head?
“Ella, we’ll start with reminding Solar Stadium about the judges’ comments for your performance earlier tonight. Zelina?”
“I loved it,” she said, but she was only half-smiling.
Tyler said, “I mean maybe it was a good song choice considering your reputation here. You can sing, but the trouble is that you seem to have even more venom off stage than on.”
Applause rang out that must’ve been audible all the way up to the shimmering rings floating high above me.
“Excuse me, Tyler,” said Sam. “Are you referring to the controversy with last week’s elimination?”
“Yes,” said Zelina. “Even if he isn’t asking about it I am. I care so much for my Comets that I have to ask it. What did you say to May that made her quit?”
A microphone was thrust in my face like a huge needle, but I’d already been punctured by Zelina throwing me under the bus anyway.
“I, uh...didn’t make her quit.” I tried to keep my damned bug-eyes from rolling again. “I don’t know what I said.”
Why would Zelina do this to me when I was on her team? Didn’t she know that me winning was the same as her winning?
“Well whatever you said,” said Tyler. “It worked out for you last week. But let’s see if Solar Stadium is more okay with it than I am.”
I ran off the stage, and directly into Carrie.
“That was really bitchy of you with May,” she said, stopping me in the wings.
“You’re the bitch!” I screamed too loudly, like somehow it was filling Solar Stadium.
And then I realized that it actually was filling the stadium—and would also be heard by Huck, Dad, and a world-wide audience of well over two hundred million people.
Chapter Sixty-Four
♪ Back to Black ♪
* * *
M y Blast-Off Battle song was “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” and I struggled through—p erhaps distracted by my still blinking necklace that no one claimed to know how to remove.
But I was mainly distracted by wearing a slutty snake outfit while singing a song most associated with ruby slippers and blue gingham. E.T. claimed that my other costume hadn’t been made in time, and that they had technical difficulties with switching the set to look like The Wizard of Oz . I had a very hard time believing that.
To Solar Stadium, it couldn’t be simpler.
I was a snake. In snake’s clothing.
“And now, the voice of America will be heard through our Solar Stadium voters!” said Sam.
To the right of us, a screen the size of an basketball court displayed graphics. Sam’s arms seemed to pull us almost shoulder to shoulder, and there I stood with Maria—in a shaky, well-lit huddle.
“And first we have the votes for Maria.”
Maria had gotten to change her costume—trading in a sombrero for a top hat, and she’d admittedly sung a beautiful version of Beyoncé’s “If I Were a Boy.”
Numbers rotated on the giant screen, scrolling and scrolling, waiting for some Astronaut to decide they’d pushed the tension far enough—like a medieval torturer with his victim being stretched on a rack.
“May I have the stadium votes for Maria?”
118,774 Votes
“And now for Ella’s total.”
And I hoped for one thing—to not see a zero on that giant screen.
It felt like this was a presidential election, though come to think of
it, I’d never seen a president wear a costume that made him look like he was a victim of a snake strangling.
“Ella’s total please,” said Sam.
Not a zero, not a zero, please.
6,039 Votes
So much for thinking that they might love to hate me.
“We’ll just round these to even percents to see the winner!”
As if anyone in the audience thought that someone with under ten thousand votes might wind up with more votes than someone with over a hundred thousand—thanks to the magic wand of turning them into percents.
95% Maria
5% Ella
“That means that, unfortunately, our first videotaped audition Comet will be going home in the second week.”
Home. Like that was a word that meant something to me, a distinct place, with smells I knew, and where I could walk around without stumbling even if that was in the dark.
Like Dad wasn’t a bankrupt alcoholic. Like Mom wasn’t dead. Like it was bittersweet—because hey—at least I got to go home.
Home was the same to me as dead-mothers-turned-fairy-godmothers. Nonexistent.
Chapter Sixty-Five
♪ Homeward Bound ♪
* * *
W hen you get kicked off of America’s Next Star , the first thing that happens is a stern reminder from E.T. not to violate the contract by blabbing to the media. You fly away in coach— and I was sandwiched between two guys that made me look thinner by comparison than even Carrie. I wore sunglasses even inside the airport, and shoved my hair deep inside my FSU hoodie.
Anytime anyone so much as looked in my direction, I fled the area. I wasn’t sure if I was actually good at being incognito or if it was just that no one gave a damn who I was anymore, now that I was a failed Comet instead of a shooting one.
I dug out my cell phone and clicked to dial Huck—but was hit by a message on the screen.
Service has been disconnected. Please call 800 866 2453 to settle your bill.
