Page 12 of Disharmony

My idea of a pampering session involves slathering a cheap sachet of mud all over my face, looking like an alien for thirty minutes, and then, more than likely, ending up with an allergic reaction. I haven’t even had my nails done before… Brick wouldn’t believe how extravagant this place is. He’d lose his shit if he found me nestled in a comfy spa with a French manicure and a glass of champagne. As soon as the thought comes, a stab in my gut reminds me how he doesn’t want to speak anytime soon.

“If you think that’s something, wait until you see this,” Cookie says. She breaks out into a light jog. The bangles on her arm jingle as she runs. She turns back and gestures for me to follow. “Come on, Ash. What are you waiting for? We have one final stop.”

Usually, I’m not a jogger, but I cave and join her. I’ll do light exercise if it’ll distract me from the weird situation Brick and I are in right now. We’re not running long before a lighting rig peeps over the top of the leafy canopy.

We break through a clearing and come to a halt.

“Well?” Cookie extends her arms. “What do you think?”

Camp Harmony’s main stage stands in front of us in all its glory. It’s raised over fifty feet off the ground and looks way bigger than on the TV. I’ve binged countless videos of aspiring stars performing here before going on to make platinum record deals. Camp Harmony’s end of summer final shows are legendary.

“Holy shit,” I say. “It doesn’t seem real.”

“You better believe it.” Cookie nudges me in the ribs. “Because it could be you up there performing in a few months.”

The thought is daunting and exhilarating. Seeing it helps me understand why some campers would do anything to get under those giant spotlights.

A loud bell rings out and echoes through camp.

“That’s the dinner bell,” Cookie says, linking her arm through mine. Even though we’ve only just met, we seem to have an instant connection. Surprisingly, it doesn’t feel weird. “Even superstars have to eat.”

We join the other campers making their way toward Rec Square. On our way, Cookie acts as a tour-guide and points out the recording and mixing suite where she spends a lot of her time. She also shows me the studio where the singing lessons take place. Although the site is spread over a large piece of land and the cabins are further away, the teaching and recreation spaces are close together to fit with our grueling schedules. The close proximity means there’s no way of avoiding anyone else, either.

The two of us enter the mess hall—the hub of camp—which looks like an old barn with wide beams overhead to brace the loft. Fairy lights dangle in decoration, and framed records cover the walls. From the names on the cabin doors to the main stage, you’re constantly reminded of the success Camp Harmony alumni have had… and how it might be within your reach too.

Wooden tables and benches are lined up in rows in front of a stage with a podium, which Cookie tells me is the location of open-mic sessions. At the far end of the hall, serving stations resemble an old-style cafeteria. However, one look at the food tells me this is anything but a normal cafeteria. Imagine stepping into an all-you-can-eat buffet that caters for every dietary requirement, with a fine-dining edge.

“Welcome to the watering hole,” Cookie says, then adds under her breath in a mock-scathing tone, “where you can see all the wild animals in their natural habitat.”

One girl in particular stands out. She looks oddly familiar. Her bouncy blonde hair is immaculately blow-dried, and she wears Gucci from head-to-toe. Oversized sunglasses cover half her face, making her look like a bug, in a way that only celebrities pull off well. The girl waves her hand, and a small crowd around the drinks fridge parts for her to pass. She doesn’t acknowledge them or say thank you.

“Cookie, is that...?”

“Tiffany Lockhart? Daughter of Rita? Yep, that’s her,” Cookie says. “This is Tiffany’s second year at camp. She’s eighteen and in her final year, like us, but she missed first year because she was modeling in Paris.”

Of course, that’s why I recognize her. Rita Lockhart is an Oscar-winning movie star. Tiffany regularly features in magazines and makes appearances on the red carpet with her mom. Being in a camp with her is like entering an alternate reality. I know celebrities are real people, but no one famous has ever come to Meadow Springs. It’s completely different to see someone on paper or on a screen to be rubbing shoulders with them in the flesh.

Suddenly, I see my own reflection in Tiffany’s glasses.

“Shit!” I panic as Tiffany struts toward us like she’s walking a runway. Did she notice me staring? “She’s coming this way.”

“Act cool, Ash,” Cookie says, thrusting a red tray into my hands. “Remember, she’s just a regular person.”

Yeah, a regular person who mixes with A-Listers.

“You must be Ashley,” Tiffany says. She engulfs us in a cloud of sickly-sweet perfume that catches in the back of my throat, but I manage to hold in a cough. She props her glasses on her head and gives me a once over. “I’m Tiffany. Tiffany Lockhart.”

Tiffany resembles a human Barbie doll. She has flawless skin with a glowing tan, a petite-toned body and blue eyes that look like they’ve been photoshopped. Next to her, I’m an ugly, pale giant.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, hoping I don’t give away this is the first time I’ve met someone famous. “Thanks for coming over to… say hi.”

“I thought you should know that all vocalists sit together,” Tiffany drawls. Her snotty tone instantly puts me on edge. “We don’t sit with people like her.”

“Nice to see you, Tiff,” Cookie mutters sarcastically. “It’s always a pleasure.”

Tiffany sniffs like she smells something bad, flicks her hair over her shoulder, and ignores Cookie entirely.

“Let’s go, Ashley,” Tiffany says, like I’m a pet dog that’ll roll over at the click of her fingers.

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