“Sienna Walsh,” Kaley says, sneering at me like I’m stupid for not knowing the answer. Sienna. Of course.
I give Kaley a tight smile. “Ex-girlfriend.”
I can’t believe she’d do an interview against Cam’s wishes. But why wouldn’t she? Why would she assume that cameramen would show up and itwouldn’tbe approved by Cam? He’s on national television;of courseshe’d think he had approved this.
“Why are you doing this?” I don’t think it through before the words tumble out of my mouth and roll around on the table like a handful of loose marbles.
Jenn looks up from the pile of papers in her hands. “I assume you saw the last performance.” It’s not a question. “It was their first time in the bottom three. They could have been cut. We need to drum up support, give them a boost.”
Kaley holds her laptop up for us all to see. “There’s a dicey-looking mug shot of Gary we can leak,” she says. “It’s from years ago, but you can tell it’s him.” Gary is the oldest performer in the competition. He’s in his late fifties with peppered hair. He’snot half bad looking for an old guy, and he’s been a fan favorite from the start.
Jenn is still looking at the pile of papers. “Do it.”
“But if Future X isn’t who the fans want—” I don’t know why they’re doing this. I can’t understand why they give a shit if it’s Your Future X who wins, or Caustic Underground, or Gary and his Merry Band of Old Guys (also known as Broken Sparrow).
“The fans don’t know what’s best for them,” Jenn says. “Sure, they love the band with the quirky sound now. Or the band of fifty-year-old accountants and financial advisors making a comeback. But six months from now, when their album drops? Fans won’t care. That loyalty goes out the window when they have to put their money where their mouth is.” She taps one fingernail roughly on the table, like she’s testing the shiny black lacquer.Tap. Tap. Tap.“Marketing. That’s what sells albums. Catchy lyrics, pretty faces.” She looks at me apologetically. “Don’t get me wrong, your band makes amazing music.”
Notmyband.
“Theyshouldbe the ones to win this,” Jenn says. “We just need to make sure America makes the right choice.”Tap. Tap. Tap.“This isn’t personal, this is just how it works. A high school love story… a love triangle… it’s not what we want to do, Vee, it’s just the business we’re in.”Tap. Tap. Tap.“Don’t youwantyour friends to win? That’s all we’re trying to do here.”
I nod. “When?” The next show is three days from now in Cincinnati.
“We need some time,” Jenn says. “We’ll run a special segment before next week’s show in Chicago.”
I cringe at the thought of this train wreck happening so close to home. “And what if there’s another way to create buzz?”
Jenn doesn’t look at me. “There’s not.”
“But if there was?”
“Like I said, I don’t care what does it. If you can somehowprove that Reese is the modern-day Mother Teresa, I’d be more than happy to run with that story.” She smiles and straightens her jacket before standing. “I’d be shocked. But I’d do it.”
“What do you need from me?”
“Prepare him.” Her face is sympathetic. “It’s going to come out eventually. Make him see it’s better this way. He can make the most of it and get something good out of all that pain and suffering.”
Something good.I can’t believe she just said it. I nod, and excuse myself, because she’s right about one thing; I do need to prepare Cam. I know what I have to do, and I’m going to need a lot of help to make it happen. I pull out my phone. Luckily, I know 1.5 million people who will be happy to help me, and all it takes is one posting:
SURPRISE LIVE SHOW FRIDAY IN CINCINNATI. VENUE ANNOUNCED AT 6:30.
CAM
I’m sitting backstage, scribbling some lyrics down, when Vee sits next to me. She’s been back from Riverton for a whole day, and we’ve both been so busy we’ve barely spoken. The three days she was gone from the tour somehow felt longer than the year I went without seeing her before all of this. Maybe I had gotten used to the dull ache after so long. Now the feeling of having her close to me is fresh in my brain, and her absence—even this distance between us since her return—feels like it’s amplified. When she sits down next to me, I feel like the breath I let out has been trapped in me for days.
“We need to talk,” Vee says.
I nod.
“It’s about your parents.”
I swallow. Take a deep breath. Fidget in my seat. I set the guitar next to me, so I can turn to face her. I’ve been preparing for this since the day I met her, and I still don’t feel ready for it. For this moment when she sees me differently, treats me like the broken asshole I know I am. “I don’t really know where to start.”
“They’re going to run a story about the fire.”
They shouldn’t, but her words shock me. “You know about the fire?”
“I have the internet, Cam.” She looks at me apologetically. “And I was heartbroken and curious when you left.”
