Center Stage! (Center Stage! #1) (20 page)

He opened his car door and I climbed out on my side, too.
 
“So, what’s it like, living with him?” I asked, and before he could answer, I was overcome by a sudden uncontrollable impulse to confide in him. He’d shared a risky truth about his temporary residence with me, so I figured I’d share a risky truth about my relationship with Chase Atwood in return. “I used to be really good friends with his daughter. I’m not sure if he realizes that or not. It’s probably best if he doesn’t.”

“Oh, really?” Elliott asked with more interest in his eyes than I was expecting. “That’s pretty weird. Living with him is… you know. He’s not there that much. In the past four weeks, we’ve had dinner together maybe twice. Usually in the morning he makes me coffee and breakfast, which is kinda nice,” Elliott admitted. “Hey,” he said. He took me by the elbow when we reached the corner. My elbow tingled where his fingertips made contact with my skin, and we both stopped. “Before we go in this place, you should know that this was Chase’s idea.”

I froze. It felt like all of my vital organs stopped functioning in unison. What an idiot I’d been to think that Elliott had wanted to go out for ice cream with me. Of course he’d asked me out at Chase’s insistence, and now he didn’t want me to get the “wrong idea.” I didn’t want to walk the rest of the way to Milk. I wished I’d never left my house. This situation was worse than if Oliver Teague had asked to borrow my pen because he wanted to write a note to his girlfriend. “You don’t have to hang out with me because Chase thinks you should,” I said sharply, taking a step back toward the car, breaking free from his light grip on my elbow. We hadn’t driven all that far. If I needed to, I could have walked home.

“No, no, no,” Elliott apologized with a solemn expression. “Ice cream. At
this
place. In public.”

I tilted my head at an angle, frowning in confusion. If he was trying to explain himself, he was only making things worse.

Elliott took a deep breath, frustrated with himself. He closed his eyes as he began, “Chase suggested that you and I make ourselves highly visible in the public eye this week. He thought it would be good for us to create our own paparazzi moment, you know? Give our fans something to talk about.”

“Oh,” I said numbly. Of course this made sense, but I still wasn’t sure I wanted to get ice cream with Elliott at that point. I’d agreed to go out that night
only
because I thought Elliott had been asking me out on a date. A real date. As if maybe whenever he saw me, he got all freaked out and flustered the way I did whenever I saw him.

“Come on,” he urged, taking a few more steps toward Beverly Boulevard. I lingered where I was, still uncertain about what kind of paparazzi moment Chase Atwood thought we were capable of creating, and whether or not that was what I wanted. “It’s not like I ever would have had the nerve to ask you to hang out if he hadn’t made me.” Elliott was looking down at the sidewalk when he uttered the phrase that changed my mind.

I took a step forward. Then another. He’d admitted he wanted to ask me to hang out but was too shy. My heart ballooned with so much hope it seemed like it was trying to escape through my throat. I swallowed hard to keep it in my chest, where it belonged.

Heads turned as we walked through the arrangement of canopy-covered tables outside the ice cream shop. “Is that..?” I overheard a female voice say.

Elliott held the door open for me. Inside, all eyes were on us as we stepped into the long line. “What looks good to you? Chase recommended the blueberry swirl sandwich,” Elliott said. The ice cream shop specialized in making ice cream sandwiches with brightly colored macaroon cookies. Awareness that there were at least twenty pairs of eyes on me made it difficult to focus on the menu over the counter. Even the air in the store smelled sugary.

I felt a sharp tapping on my shoulder and turned to find a woman my mom’s age holding up her cell phone. Her two young children cowered behind her. Her daughter mashed her fingers together nervously.

“Excuse me. Would you mind taking a picture with my kids? They’re huge fans,” the woman asked us both.

Elliott shrugged at me as if to say
why not
and then put his arm around me. “Sure, that would be okay.”

The woman motioned for her two kids to pose with us, and with that photo we took with them, the floodgates burst open. Suddenly
everyone
in line and sitting at tables flocked toward us and surrounded us with their cell phones extended. Even one of the kids working behind the counter came around to take a picture of us to hang on the wall of the store.

“What are you going to do if you win?”

“What’s Danny Fuego like in person?”

“Are you and Christa best friends in real life?”

Elliott and I both deflected questions, some of which were cute and some of which made me realize I should pay closer attention to the rumors on the celebrity blogs about
myself
instead of just Google-stalking Elliott. Were headlines really claiming that Christa and I were
friends?
It seemed like revealing the bitterness between us to fans could only lead to trouble. Instead of answering truthfully, I grinned sweetly and said, “We’re very close, and it’s going to be awful for us when one of us has to leave the show.”

“Are you guys
a couple?”

This question caused Elliott and me to look at each other with bewildered expressions. Thankfully we were saved from having to answer by the Milk employee who’d taken our picture. He returned from around the counter carrying a plastic bag of ice cream treats for us, which he handed to Elliott and said, “For you guys.
 
On the house.”

We dashed back to Elliott’s car because photographers from the
Hollywoodland website had arrived with
real
cameras—expensive DSLR’s with big flashbulbs on top. They chased us, calling our names as they followed us down Beverly Boulevard and around the corner onto quiet, residential Fuller Avenue. I felt like a criminal as I slammed the passenger side door of the Fiesta. Elliott tried to pull calmly out of his parking spot and act like it wasn’t a big deal that he’d gotten a parking ticket.
That
was my fault. As a lifelong resident of West Hollywood, I should have warned him that non-residents who didn’t have stickers fixed in the lower corners of their windshields got tickets on residential streets without meters.

“That was insane,” I gasped as we turned left onto Beverly Boulevard. “And you’re going the wrong way.”

“I know, I know,” Elliott said, “I’ll turn around on one of these streets up here.”

We drove in awkward silence back to my house, and as we slowed down, Elliott said, “Sorry you didn’t even get to eat your ice cream.” He reached into the back seat and handed me the entire plastic bag.

“Oh, I don’t want all of this!” I exclaimed, and withdrew just one ice cream sandwich wrapped in waxed paper. “Actually,” I reconsidered, “I’ll take two. One for my dad. But the rest, you can keep.”

“Hey, Allison,” Elliott said just as I was about to close the passenger side door of the Fiesta. “So, I guess people are probably going to think we’re together now.”

“They can think whatever they want,” I said curtly.

“Is there anyone who might be… I mean, do you have a boyfriend who’s going to get angry about that?” Elliott asked.

 
“Uh, no,” I admitted, kind of wishing that I
wasn’t
single so that he’d have a reason to be jealous.

“Alright. Good,” he replied with a shy smile. My heart blazed.

The next morning, several celebrity blogs featured photos taken of us at Milk under the headline,
Are They, or Aren’t They?
The number of comments underneath the posts speculating about our romantic entanglement surprised me. It seemed ridiculous that there were so many people in the world who cared enough about whether or not we were coupled up to comment. A little more than a month earlier, Kaela and I had held a pity party for ourselves at her house on the night of the Back to School dance because no one had asked us to go. Now, seemingly everyone in America had an opinion to share on whether or not I could do better than Elliott, or he could do better than
me
(there were a
lot
of those, which was my introduction to how very vicious girls my age could be online). There was an overwhelming sentiment online that we were simply perfect together.

What I had been least expecting in terms of a reaction about our ice cream outing together were the two text messages I received on the way to the studio the next morning.

LEE 7:21 A.M.

Um is that guy your bfriend or something

NICOLE 7:15 A.M.

Srsly I thought you were going to introduce me to him!

I sighed. Even something as simple as a trip to get ice cream with someone who was practically a stranger could produce layers of consequences now that I could be classified as a celebrity.

“Our next performer is a girl who you voted to the number one spot on Team Two for the first consecutive two weeks of this season. Tonight, she challenges Robin Karpov to reclaim that spot after a week spent in second place. Please give a warm welcome to our hometown girl, Allison Burch!”

What followed Danny Fuego’s voice on Friday night were not the introductory chords for
any
of the three songs that I’d been practicing throughout the fourth week of the show. An expression of distress crossed my face as I strode across the stage, which I’d watch again and again online later that night after getting home from the studio. By the time I hit my mark on the stage, I’d figured out that the song the band was playing was
“You Don’t Know Me at All.”
It was a
pop ballad by Tawny that had been a big hit over the summer, the very same song that the girl who had auditioned before me had sung back in September. Good old contestant #66, who’d been lambasted by the coaches.

I steadied my voice even though fright flooded my nervous system. Surely, this couldn’t have been an innocent mix-up. Someone must have intentionally switched my song list. As usual, I had purposefully not been paying attention back in our prep room while everyone else took their turns on stage. But nobody else had returned to our room after their performance complaining about switched songs. The sabotage had been on me, alone.

Fortunately, I’d been served a song that Nicole loved. Every time it had come on the radio when we’d been driving around in Nicole’s car before school started, we’d sung it at the top of our lungs. I assumed that Nicole would tell anyone who’d listen that she sang it better than I did when she watched this broadcast in a few hours.

As I sang, I caught a glimpse of Marlene out of the corner of my eye and did a double-take. She appeared to be pitching a fit just off-stage, hitting a production assistant with her fists in a pinwheel motion that looked comical from where I stood. The abrupt ending of the song caught me off guard. Since contestants never performed songs in their entirety on the show, and I hadn’t known where the band would stop, my voice soared beyond the last note. Although I felt pretty confident that no one would have guessed I hadn’t practiced the Tawny song,
I
could tell how awkward the ending sounded. There was deafening applause, and I smiled as brightly as I could. I was grateful for the audience’s enthusiasm as well as relieved that I’d survived what was probably the worst trick played on me yet. I’d anticipated that Robin would do something underhanded, but this stunt seemed a little out of her league.

“Allison!” Lenore began. “What
was
that ending?”

I wasn’t sure whether or not I should admit to having been forced to sing a song that hadn’t been assigned to me. I didn’t want to incur the producers’ wrath by suggesting a production mishap. But the cameras were all on me; I didn’t have much time to deliberate. Nelly’s eyes were on Lenore, waiting. Scheming. I would have gone home that night in a murderous fury if I were voted off because Nelly had somehow convinced the band to play the wrong song. “That song wasn’t one of the ones that I’d been assigned. I don’t know what happened,” I said, pretending to be completely ignorant.

“Not your song?” Lenore repeated in disbelief. Chatter swelled in the audience. “Well, whose song was it?”

I shrugged and tried to smile as if the whole turn of events were amusing to me. “Don’t know. But I tried to make the most of it. Fortunately, I know that song by heart because I sing it all the time with my friend, Nicole.”

More applause from the audience. I scored major points with them for being a Tawny fan.

“Well, girl,” Jay Walk cut in, “I would never have known otherwise if you hadn’t said anything. You sang the hell out of that song,
especially
if it was a cold run.”

The audience cheered. There was stomping in the rows of seats. For a second I thought it
just might
have been possible that Nelly’s trick had backfired. I’d surpassed the obstacle she’d thrown in front of me… yet again.

Chase looked over his shoulder and then stood. He raised his arms, encouraging the audience to clap harder. My mouth started to crumple. I didn’t want to cry on that stage and I didn’t want Chase to enrage Nelly even more by rallying the audience to my defense. “Do you hear that, Allison?” Chase asked. “Hear that applause? That’s love. For you. You earned that. Being able to improvise when you unexpectedly encounter some technical difficulties shows your professionalism. Nice job tonight.”

At last, my eyes shifted from Chase over to Nelly sitting next to him. She wore a warm grin offset by one raised eyebrow. My anxiety got the better of me. I chewed my lower lip, just waiting for her to skewer me for something arbitrary. “Well, there, Allison. You’ve got a great voice, and you’re prepared for anything, it seems. As always, it’s a real pleasure having you on my team.”

Surely, the audience viewing at home hadn’t detected the layer of black ice that coated Nelly’s feedback for me. I trotted off the stage as quickly as I could to where Marlene waited for me. Without saying a word, she led me past the entrance to the Group 2 prep room and into an empty production room toward the end of the hall near the elevator bank. She flipped on florescent lights, revealing an ugly, abandoned space with tape stuck on the carpet, holes from thumbtacks punched in the walls, and long plastic work tables scattered at odd angles.

“Marlene, do the producers know what Nelly’s trying to do to me?” I exclaimed. I was so outraged that I was having difficulty catching my breath even though I knew I’d outwitted Nelly by managing to perform decently.

“I don’t know; I really don’t,” Marlene said, trying to calm me down. She pulled some tissues from a dusty Kleenex box left behind by whatever production company had last used that room. “I’d like to think that tonight’s screw-up with the songs was just an accident. But it seems like either Nelly’s got someone high-up looking the other way as she’s playing these little games or the producers are afraid to put her in her place.”

“I’m not imagining things, right? That was really, really messed up?”

Marlene leaned against a file cabinet and crossed her arms over her chest. Thick silver rings flashed as she tucked her hands under her elbows. “You’re not imagining things. I didn’t think she’d take it this far. After tonight, if Nelly succeeds in getting you voted off, then the other coaches can fight each other to the death to get you on their team with the Wild Card.”

Marlene was right. The first four weeks of the show were the toughest. From the fifth week until the ninth week of the season, the coach who drew the Wild Card could use it to keep all of their contestants in the running.
Or,
they had the option of poaching a contestant from another team in exchange for sending their lowest-scoring singer home.

I blew my nose into the tissue she’d handed me. “Would they even
want
me? I mean, if Nelly has the executive producers on her side, then who’s going to help me win?”

“Sure, they’d want you! You’re star material!” Marlene was quick to assure me. “Allison, if you wanted to throw in the towel on all of this
tonight
and try to find a record deal, you might be able to do that. I’m pretty sure I could even get you some back-up gigs if you just wanted work. But trust me, you don’t want to be
just
a back-up singer. And I shouldn’t have to tell you how much more power a winner has in this industry than a quitter.”

The tears simply wouldn’t stop. I felt so cheated; I hadn’t sent in an audition tape ever imagining that I’d have to go through
this.
“Why can’t I just go talk to Tommy and Susan and ask to be switched to another team?”

“Oh, Allison, you don’t want to do that,” Marlene discouraged me. “If there’s anything people in the television world hate, it’s a whiner. And if they think you’re collecting evidence for a lawsuit, they’ll be in an even bigger hurry to get rid of you than Nelly is.”

“
Should
I be collecting evidence for a lawsuit?” I wondered, feeling vulnerable and naïve.

Marlene placed her hands on my shoulders. “Listen, Allison. We can work together to get you into another group. Alright? And mum’s the word—please don’t say anything to Nelly or any of the other contestants about this.”

I
wanted
to believe that Marlene was going to make sure everything worked out okay for me. But I was growing highly paranoid. What if she, like Nelly, had a secret agenda? What if
everyone
was trying to make sure I lost? The way the show operated, it didn’t matter much that I hadn’t slipped far from first place yet; one awful performance could land me in last place and result in my expulsion.

While earlier on in the competition I might have cried over being kicked off the show, by that night, I knew that expulsion would devastate me. Winning wasn’t the only thing I cared about anymore; staying connected to Elliott had become just as important, even though I
knew
losing focus wasn’t good for me. I placed my hand on the door handle leading to the Group 2 prep room and hesitated before entering. Elliott’s soulful voice filled the hallway as he performed on stage.

Nothing would be worse than getting kicked off the show and having to watch Elliott compete for the rest of the season from the couch in my living room. Then I’d just be another adoring fan. One of millions, no different from anyone else.

After that night’s Expulsion Series, when all the votes had been counted, I’d returned to first place, and Chet was sent back to Maryland. I found Claire having a word with my parents in the hallway outside the Group 2 prep room.

“…check in on Monday morning and ensure that her accommodations are suitable,” Claire was saying.

“Hi,” I said, interrupting what was clearly a rather serious conversation in progress.

“We’re just talking about next week,” Mom informed me. “About where to drop you off on Monday morning when you check in at the Neue Hotel in Studio City.”

My entire body locked up. Naturally I remembered
weeks earlier when Claire had mentioned the requirement that I move into the hotel along with the other contestants after the fourth week of the season. Back then, it seemed so far off in the future—and so much like the kind of complication my mom would have objected to—that I’d banished it from my thoughts. But now it was time. It was bad enough that I had to spend each weekday with my competitors in an environment where Nelly could sabotage me at her every whim. Starting on Monday, I’d also accompany everyone to and from the studio on the bus from the hotel. I’d sleep on the other side of walls from them.

The mere thought of being in constant danger was enough to make me flinch when my parents turned to smile at me. I could see in their eyes that they were excited I’d survived the first four weeks without being voted off the show. I considered asking Claire if there was any way I could continue to live at home for the rest of the season. But if I dared to ask that question, my parents would have wanted to know what was wrong. Then I would have had to explain everything, and I’d have either sounded crazy or my parents would have freaked out and wanted to confront the producers. “Great,” I said, pretending to be happy about my big move. A pathetic but desperate hope entered my head, “Will one of you be moving in with me?”

“Oh, heavens no!” Mom exclaimed. “Claire’s assured us that there will be staff on hand at the hotel around the clock in case any emergencies come up. Besides, we’re just twenty minutes away.”

“Over the hill,” Dad joked, elbowing Mom in the ribs.

“Hilarious, Dad,” I murmured.

Mom continued, “Just think of it as summer camp, but without the bugs, the sunburns, or the campfires.”

Or the fun,
I thought bitterly to myself.

“You always did want to go to summer camp,” Dad added.

I stewed in my anger as I packed up my stuff in the prep room. Leave it to my dad to remember that when I was twelve, I had cried for weeks because Taylor was going to a prestigious violin camp for two months (paid for by Chase Atwood). That same summer, Nicole’s parents sent her to a
real
summer camp in Wisconsin near where her grandparents lived, with a big lake and cabins and everything. My parents had thought, at the time, that I was being ridiculous, since we lived in Southern California and owned a pool. My mom had insisted that one day each week would be a family adventure day. Between June and August, she took me and Todd to Magic Mountain, to Malibu for surf lessons, and even to the zoo in San Diego.