Page 19 of Legendary Rock Star
I love being with him and I hate how I am right now. But I couldn’t let go of his hand either. I must have the word sucker on my forehead.
I smiled and said, “He’s nothing but talented.”
As if I’d given a stupid answer, the host then asked, “That’s it?”
I glanced at our clasped hands and then said with a smile, “And it’s like a dream come true to share the stage with my twelve-year-old crush. He’s cuter in person than he was in my imagination.”
“Cute?” the host joked. “That’s not what most people say about him.”
Rumors were just that, rumors. And the past was the past. I didn’t want to stop whatever was happening with Phoenix over old mistakes. I’d end this because I couldn’t handle it, if I even survived. I shook my head and said, “They haven’t spent time with him.”
Then the host put on his fake, mock-sympathy face as he said, “Unfortunately, I’m going to need you to go stand with Joe, as you’re in the bottom three.”
I let go of Phoenix and walked over to join Joe, who hugged me right away.
The host was somehow popular, I guess, but I thought he was rather smarmy. And he hugged Rihanne a little too tight when he said she, too, was in the bottom three.
She joined us, and I patted her back while we all hugged.
If I survived, I’d figure out how to stop seeing Phoenix. I needed to be on my own if I intended to win.
I held hands with the others as the host said, “Joe, Maggie, Rihanne, tomorrow night you three sing before final elimination.” He then turned to Phoenix and the others and said, “The other five are safe, but we’ll have you practicing a group number for the eight of you.”
I had twenty-four hours to perfect my song, to learn a new routine and to change costumes.
And to tell Phoenix I can’t hold his hand anymore.
This was happening too fast.
The lights went off and I knew we were done.
Joe and Rihanne left. I stood alone on the stage for a minute until I walked off too.
Phoenix waited for me and we headed back to our camp backstage where we all lived now.
Phoenix placed his hands in his pockets and brushed against me when he asked, “Can I help?”
I glanced around. This needed to be said alone. So I grabbed his arm and led him to the same closet we’d been in earlier.
This time I flipped the light on, as there was no one on stage. I stood as tall as I could in the stupid thigh-high boots and said, “No. I don’t think we should have been public about anything. No more holding hands.”
He backed up and said, “I did it because I wanted to help you.”
Or his own image. My lipstick was still on his lips. I cringed. My parents would assume the worst since I couldn’t talk to them. I put one foot forward and asked, “Help me? How?”
He spoke like his words were a foregone conclusion. “You’ll be safe. Final judges are gonna want to see how the ratings play out. It gives you another week.”
Wow. Did he think about TV all the time like this? My skin still reverberated as I asked, “So you expect me to believe you held my hand to save me, and not to help reform your image?”
He reached behind his head and massaged his scalp while his brown eyes pierced right through me, like he saw me when no one else did. He said, “Not in that outfit you’re wearing. You read Mark’s text, and he knows the business better than we do.”
“Right.” I turned away. I put my hand on the door and refused to look at him. “Look, I don’t need saving. You and I are never doing that again—on stage or off.” Finally I’d said it. I turned toward him and added, “I’ll win this on my own.”
He didn’t say another word.
I stormed out before I lost my nerve.
I showered and the water washed off most of the horrible makeup.
