Page 163 of Debts and Desires
“Are you sure?”
“I—” I cut myself off, thinking. “Yes, I’m sure.” She gave me a pointed looked.
“I think you should take it anyway. Just to be safe.”
“I’ll think about it.” But I already had. I planned to take one as soon as she left the room.
“Okay. And if you do decide to, let me know. I’ll stay with you if you need me.”
“I appreciate that, Mimi. Thank you.”
“Of course. Now, get some rest. Dinner’s almost ready. Cal made Tuscan Chicken.”
I waited a few moments after she left before getting up and heading to the bathroom. With shaky hands, I opened the box, carefully reading and following the instructions it gave.
Part of me prayed I wasn’t. I wouldn’t know what to do if I was. Then there was that small shred, hoping I was. I shook that one away. It would be horrible if I were. I’d always have a reminder of Carter, and I couldn’t bear the thought. Plus, I knew I wasn’t. It was my nerves. Ithadto be my nerves. My career was possibly taking off soon. I didn’t need anything to do with Carter messing with that.
Those few minutes of waiting were the absolute worst. I paced, looking at everything and anything instead of the plastic test on the bathroom counter. But when the timer on my phone went off, I practically leaped for it. My hands wouldn’t move as I held it, not yet ready to flip it over. I needed to know. After some deep breaths, I turned it, immediately dropping it like it was a poisonous snake. I backed up, my breathing coming out uneven, gasping for air.
I sunk down the wall, covering my mouth as I sobbed.
66. CONTROLLED CHAOS
January 16
Twenty-Three Days Gone
Everyone here was so nice. Not the fake nice you’d expect from a record label company, but a genuine kindness that had me smiling a tiny bit. But then I’d remember everything and the smile would be gone.Ifelt like the fake one.
Today I was meeting Zac Belmont in person. I was sad when I should’ve been celebrating. I’d been brought into a conference room to wait while he finished up his meeting with the other contestant. I had looked her up, just to get a feel for what I was up against. Her name was Chelsea DeLore. She was from Tennessee, looked like a supermodel with big brown eyes and auburn hair, and she had a voice like Patsy Cline, if Patsy sang the blues. The song she had uploaded for the contest was a cover of “Make it Rain” by Ed Sheeran, and it gave me chills.
The door opened and Zac Belmont came in. A man, who I assumed to be his assistant, followed. Both were smiling.
“Emmy!” Mr. Belmont greeted, shaking my hand. “It’s so nice to finally meet you in person.”
“Likewise, Mr. Belmont,” I smiled.
“Call me Zac, please.”
Zac looked just like the photos I’d seen online. He had kind blue eyes that crinkled in the corners and a big smile that felt warm and inviting. If I remembered correctly, he was close to fifty but didn’t look a day over thirty.
“This is Tony, my assistant.” I shook his hand, too, both of us exchanging polite greetings before we all sat.
“Congrats for making it this far! How’re you feeling?” Zac asked. I grinned wide.
“Like I’m dreaming,” I admitted. He laughed.
“Well, this is real, sweet pea. And you’ve earned it.” My lip wobbled, but I kept my features calm.
Zac spent the next twenty minutes going over everything with me, explaining how this part of the contest worked. There would be more meetings just like today, where we would sit and discuss where we were with everything, whether it be lyrics or getting ready to actually record. We’d have a few practice rounds in the sound booth, too, to make sure I was comfortable there.
Then it would be submitted to hundreds of radio stations in the country. The voting process would last two weeks and the winner would receive a contract to work at Starry Records with him and his team. My brain felt fuzzy and full from information overload, but he promised I’d receive an email outlining everything. The only thing I needed to do was give my availability and prep some songs.
Which brought Zac to ask, “So, do you have anything you’ve been working on that you’d like to use for your final song?”
“I have a few.” I let him look at the completed songs in my notebook. He read them over slowly.
“These aren’t bad,” he said.
