More Than Music (31 page)

Her mother huffed. “You have one more song tonight, and you better not mess it up. You are
going
to win this thing. Don’t embarrass me out there.”

The woman walked off, glaring at me as she passed by. Lacey took a moment to compose herself, wiping at her eyes, and she looked so young. I’d forgotten she was only seventeen, since she seemed so much older when she was on stage. And now I couldn’t yell at her because I related all too well to having a difficult relationship with your mother, even if mine seemed nowhere near as bad now. No, I had to remember why I was here. I cleared my throat, and she turned, eyes narrowing at me.

“You stole our song,” I said.

“Have you come to gloat?” she asked, as if she hadn’t heard me. “That was a nice publicity stunt back there. I knew all your ‘we’re just friends’ crap was an act.”

I clenched my fists. She was just trying to distract me. “You stole our
song
,” I repeated, louder.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I shoved the schedule in her face. “You were supposed to be doing a Carrie Underwood song.”

“I covered Carrie Underwood last week. Why would I do one of her songs again? Besides, that’s the song you’re supposed to be doing.”

She handed me her own schedule, and there it was. “Radioactive” was listed as Fairy Lights’ song, and “Jesus Take the Wheel” was listed as ours. We’d been given completely different schedules. As had the rest of the show, I was sure. The world seemed to close in on me, tighter and tighter, pressing against my chest, and no matter how much I gasped for air I still couldn’t breathe.

“Did
you
choose ‘Radioactive’?” I finally got out.

“No, the producers suggested it. I thought it was a weird choice, but whatever.”

Everything clicked. The leaked photo of me and Jared. Our last-minute song change in the semi-finals. My broken guitar. Steve encouraging me to leave the show. And now this. It had never been Lacey or any of the other contestants on the show; it had been the producers all along. They’d been sabotaging us for weeks, either for more drama and higher ratings or because they wanted America’s sweetheart to win the show. Or both.

They would never let us win.

I rushed off to find the rest of the band. In the lounge, Dan argued with Steve, waving the schedule in his face, while the guys watched it all unfold. I joined them, too stunned to tell them what I’d learned. I needed to hear what Dan said first. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe there was some other explanation for all of this. Maybe there was a possibility we could still win.

Dan threw up his hands and stomped over to us. He dragged us out of the room and into a corner of the hallway, away from the cameras, where no one could hear us.

“This is bullshit. The producers fucked us over. I can’t believe it.”

I closed my eyes. It was all true. I explained what I’d learned from Lacey and what I’d just figured out—that the show had been sabotaging us for weeks; that we’d been doomed from the start and could never win the show. For a minute, the guys were silent, taking it all in, their faces frozen in horror. And then Hector erupted with a long stream of obscenities in both English and Spanish.

“I can’t believe this,” Kyle said. “This is so unfair.”

“How could they do this?” Jared asked, his voice anguished. I’d known he would take this harder than anyone.

Dan paced back and forth, his movements stiff and jerky. “I’m so pissed I can’t even tell you. They did this last season to Angel’s team, but I was never sure if it was her incompetence or if the producers were actually manipulating things. I guess now I know.”

Kyle rubbed his face. “What are we going to perform? We don’t know ‘Jesus Takes the Wheel’ but we can’t do ‘Radioactive’ now either.”

“They’re probably hoping you’ll still do ‘Radioactive’ and that you’ll look like you were copying Fairy Lights,” Dan said. “Or they think you’ll choke and not even go on stage.”

Neither of those was an option. Jared and I looked at each other and something unspoken passed between us, the same idea popping into both of our heads at once.

“‘Bad Romance,’” we said together, but the guys just stared at us.

“We have to do ‘Bad Romance,’” I repeated. “We already know how to play it, and we even recorded it the other week before they changed the song on us.”

“Exactly,” Jared said. “They didn’t want us to do that song before, so we’re going to do it now as one big middle finger to them.”

Hector rubbed the back of his neck. “We haven’t practiced that song in over a week. But I guess it’s the only song we
can
do.”

Kyle nodded. “We might be a bit rusty, but we can make it work.”

“Do it,” Dan said. “It’s the last show anyway. What are they going to do—kick you off?”

We were scheduled for the last performance of the night, and we spent every minute until then brushing up on the song while Dan discussed the changes with the sound and lighting people. We didn’t tell the producers what we were planning in case they tried to stop us.

As we waited backstage for our cue, Jared pulled us all in for one final group hug. We laced our arms together, facing each other in a huddle, holding on to each other for support.

“The producers might not want us to win, but we’re going to make it damn hard for them to stop us,” Jared said. “And even if we don’t win, look how far we’ve come in the past few weeks. A little over a month ago, we were lucky to get a gig, and now we’re going to be touring the country and playing in giant concert halls. We have thousands of fans, who make signs and T-shirts and camp out all night to see us. As far as I’m concerned, we’ve already won.”

I smiled at him, warmth spreading from my heart to the rest of my body. He really had changed since last week. But there was something I had to say to all the guys before this was over. “Whatever happens tonight, I’m really thankful you all took a chance on me. It was a huge risk letting me into the band, and I have loved every second of it.”

“We couldn’t have done this without you,” Kyle said.

“I love you guys,” Hector said to all of us, sniffing.

“Hey, don’t get all weepy on us now,” Jared said, shoving him a little. We all laughed, but we each choked up a little, too. Win or lose, our time on the show was over, and it was bittersweet.

We broke apart and took our places on the revolving stage, ready to face the audience one last time. Jared grasped the mic, his blue bass around his neck, looking dangerously sexy with his black leather jacket. I stood beside him, running a hand along my sea foam green guitar, the one the producers had tried to destroy. Behind us, Kyle hovered over his keyboard, and Hector twirled his drumsticks. My new family, all preparing to go to battle together.

When the stage turned, Jared spoke into the mic again, his voice soft. “This is for all of the fans who believed in us, who voted for us and downloaded our songs and came to see us tonight. Thank you.”

The crowd cheered and waved around their signs, and he started the opening to “Bad Romance.” We let his voice carry the song alone at first, hypnotizing every person who heard it. I joined him on the guitar when he started the first verse while Hector provided the steady beat that kept the rest of us in sync and Kyle added the perfect atmosphere. Our version was harder and darker than the original, promising a night of leather and lust, of pleasure and pain. Jared imbued the lyrics with all of his passion, giving them almost a desperate edge, filling each word with yearning and need. He sang to the audience, but in my bones I knew he was singing this for me, another reminder of what we’d shared and what was to come. And when the song ended, he grabbed me for another kiss, leaving the audience with that one final image of us.

Jared was right. Whatever happened with the show, we had already won.

A
t the results show, when Fairy Lights was announced as the winner of
The Sound
, we weren’t surprised. Disappointed, yes. Angry. Sad. But not surprised.

In the morning, we would pack our bags and leave the hotel forever. The show was over and it was back to reality—except everything had changed since that first audition and our lives would never truly be the same. We had Comic-Con next week and the tour right after that, and then Kyle and I would start our senior year at UCLA in the fall. I still wanted to write movie scores, but I was going to hold off on graduate school for now and see what happened with the band first. One day I would find a way to do both like my hero, Danny Elfman.

But before we left the theater for the final time, our mentor asked us to meet with him in an empty dressing room.

“I quit the show,” Dan said.

“You
quit
?” I asked.

“I’m done. The producers put your cover of ‘Bad Romance’ on the website too late so the downloads couldn’t be counted as votes. Or that’s the excuse they gave me anyway. Such bullshit. Everyone knows you should have won.” He gave a bitter laugh. “The Internet is going to go crazy with this one. You have some pretty devoted fans out there.”

“But why?” Jared asked. “Why go to so much trouble to make sure we didn’t win?”

“The record label wanted Fairy Lights from the beginning, so they pressured the show to make it happen. They plan to turn Lacey into some new Taylor Swift or something. And after the headache with Addicted to Chaos, the producers thought your band was too risky. With the network threatening to cancel the show, they wanted to make sure they had a winner who would keep out of trouble. And someone they could easily control, too, I’m sure.” He shook his head, disgusted. “But forget about the show. That doesn’t matter anymore.”

Kyle exchanged a glance with his brother and asked, “What do you mean?”

“It’s actually better that you didn’t win because the show’s contract is shit. Fairy Lights will be their slave for the next seven years, making no money and giving up all their rights to their music. But you’re still free, and everyone wants you. My phone has been ringing off the hook since last night.”

“Everyone?” Jared asked, raising an eyebrow.

“All the big record labels. Trust me, you’re hot right now, and they want to sign you fast. Which is why I have a proposition for you: let me be your manager. My band is retired and I’m done with the show, but I know the industry, I know who you are as a band, and I’ve actually come to enjoy this crazy mentoring thing. Let me get you the best deal I can, and I’ll make sure you become the next big thing. What do you say?”

We all looked at each other as we processed what he’d said, a hundred emotions flickering across our faces. Finally, I laughed. “Well, I vote yes.”

“The lady has spoken,” Jared said. “I vote yes, too.”

“Yes!” Kyle said. “Hell yes!”

Hector slapped Dan on the back. “C’mon, was there any doubt we’d say yes?”

W
e went out and celebrated, just the four of us. After the live show, we’d gone out with Dan and his husband, plus our families and friends, but tonight’s dinner was only for the band. We laughed about everything we’d been through, we ate off each other’s plates, and the guys teased me and Jared about our relationship. Jared held my hand the entire time, not caring who saw us together, like he was afraid I might run away if he let go. But he was done pretending, and I was done running.