The Stage (Phoenix Rising #1) (31 page)

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.