"You’re one of the only people on this tour who understands what this life feels like. You really think I would jeopardize that because my feelings got a little hurt?" She shakes her head. "I’ma big girl, Olive. Besides, you know everything I went through on my road to this level of success."
She’s right, I do. Not that our journeys are even remotely similar. She got signed at a too-young age, and her label made her sign a five-album deal. Then they went bankrupt, and she couldn’t release anything aside from free songs online. When she was finally set free, her new label made sure to dip her toes in the water first. To see if her fan base was as strong as they’d hoped.
Now, here we are.
"How do you do it?" I rub the back of my neck, feeling the heat of the sun burning my skin, realizing just how heightened my symptoms are now that we’re outside and my nerves are exposed.
I wiggle my toes to make sure they have feeling, and so far, there’s movement. I do wish I had brought a hat with me, though, because if we stay outside for much longer, who knows how and if my body will be able to function.
"Do what?" She fiddles with the latch on the woven basket, pulling out a tub of fresh fruit.
"All of it. The tours, the fans, the constant need to be in the studio recording while simultaneously putting music out so people don’t get bored with you and forget who you are. How do you have the time to write, be present, take photos with people who cross you in the street, and not long for the life you once had before?" I stab a chunk of watermelon with my fork and nibble at it.
"You mean the life where I was basically chained to an attic, unable to live out my dream?" she teases.
I feel immediate guilt. "That’s not what I meant."
"Touring is fun. I like being in a new place every single night. The label hires writers for me, and once they have a song they like, they send it to me. I learn it, come in, lay down my vocaltrack and leave. I think, because of the way my career started, people will never forget about me," she admits. "Do I wish I could live a life of peace? Every day. But I wish I could sing songs I love more. I want to be proud of the music I put my name on."
I let her words simmer for a heartbeat as I take in my view around me. The beige, empty seats make it feel like we’re not alone in this life that we chose.
I understand what she means, I really do. Though I think the difference between us as artists is that she wants to be the voice, first and foremost. If you were to ask me to quit performing and focus on writing songs for the world’s best singers, I would do it without a second thought.
My voice suits the music I write, and that is because I know how to write to cater tomyself. But would it suit much else? I really don’t know. And truthfully, I’m kind of nervous to try. Which is why when the label told me I either needed to change my sound or make myself seem more exciting, I chose the latter.
Because nothing would feel worse to me than knowing I took a step away from something I know I’m good at, and failed miserably in front of the whole world.
I nod in understanding. "The label has told me that my songs are too boring. They gave me an ultimatum. Make my music more enjoyable and put a beat behind it, or spice up my personal life. They’re adamant I won’t get to keep the fans I have unless I make myself seem more relatable. They like to remind me thattheyare the reason I’m on this tour, and it could be taken away from me if I don’t become their version of perfect." I roll my eyes with a huff, taking my frustration out on another chunk of watermelon that meets the jagged end of my fork. "But I like to think I’ve done enough to prove myself. If I were to leave this tour before it ended, I believe people would still want to seeme."
"Firstly, that’s not true. You being my opener was a condition of the tour." She flashes me a smile, and my chest squeezes at her admission.
I owe it all to her, but I think I kind of always knew that.
If I’d figured it out on my own, I could’ve told the label—and Josie—to shove their fake marriage where the sun doesn’t shine.
But then, I would’ve never met Avery, and Ilikethat I’ve met him.
"And secondly, I have a feeling if you keep going the way you’re going,I’llbe opening for you someday."
I choke on my saliva. I don’t believe for one second that I’ll ever have a name as big as Akira Rain. And yet, I can’t find it in myself to tell her that I doubt it. Once this tour is over, I plan on hibernating for a long time to focus on my health, while writing a song or two here and there if my brain even allows me to remember how.
Her words keep circling in my head, refusing to let go.
I take a breath and ask softly because I need to understand. "What do you mean you wish you could sing songs you enjoy? Do you not like the music you make?"
She snorts at my question, and it catches me off guard.
Akira Rain, the world’s biggest pop star the world has seen in decades, hates the music she puts out.
I never would’ve guessed it.
"Have you ever listened to the lyrics in any of my songs? Like, reallylistened? IwishI had the songwriting capabilities that you have. Maybe then I’d be on stage and mean the shit I say. Sure, my voice is solid, but that’s where my talent ends, I’m afraid."
"Maybe I could write a song or two for you one day," I say, ignoring the sun scalding the top of my head. "Or we could work on one together while on the road."
She bolts up right, and her eyes widen. "Don’t even joke about that, Olive. I will do literally anything for you to write somethingfor me. I wanted to ask you all tour, but I didn’t think you’d be interested in it."
I get to my feet, wiping my sweaty hands down my jeans, but heat has overpowered me, and my legs no longer want to cooperate. I know they’re attached to my body, I canseethem there. But it feels like I’m floating with absolutely no part of me touching the ground.
