Page 14 of Collide
My dreams could begin here, right now.
The audience fell into a hushed silence, hanging on Dax’s last words. My heart thundered in mychest, my stomach thick with knots. I glanced at the judges—they were all as tense as I was.
Dax took a long, deliberate breath, stretching out the suspense. He repeated the sentence, drawing it out longer than felt necessary.
“And the winner is…” He paused. “Elena Montgomery!”
A wave of shock and disbelief rushed through me as the crowd erupted in applause. Jai Silas, my mentor, leapt from his chair, a broad grin splitting his face. He grabbed me into a fierce hug, lifting me off my feet as if I had just won the world. My knees were weak, my whole body trembling with the rush of emotion.
“I won,” I whispered to myself, the words almost too surreal to believe.
“You won!” Jai shouted, his voice nearly drowned by the deafening roar of the crowd. He spun me around in his arms as the applause continued to thunder.
“Oh my God, I won!” I whispered again, my breath coming in shallow gasps. My knees buckled, and I collapsed back into Jai’s arms, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the moment.
I scanned the front row, searching for a familiar face. And then—I saw her.
My mom.
Her face was streaked with tears, but her eyes shone with excitement, her grin stretching from ear to ear. She raised her arms in celebration, and beside her, Jack held her close, his expression filled with pride as they both cheered for me.
The sight of them—proud, emotional, here—sent a fresh wave of tears streaming down my face.
In that moment, everything I had ever wanted felt like it had come true. A hefty cash prize, a recording contract with Pacific Records Australia, and eventually, a deal with Pacific Records USA.
My hair isthick with clip-in extensions, and I’m wearing way too much lip gloss. I glance at myself in the mirror, trying not to cringe at the reflection staring back at me. Inga’s work is impressive, I’ll give her that. I scrub up alright. My long raven hair is styled in luscious, voluminous waves, layers of silky curls that could probably sell shampoo. My bright blue eyes are winged with black liquid liner, a hint of glittery shadow on the lids, and heavy lashes that make my eyes look like they’re about to fly off my face. My cheeks are pink and rosy, complementing my nude glossy lips. I look innocent—sweet, even—but with a bit of an attitude problem; looks like a doll, will slit your throat.
Riley and I are dressing together, and she looks hot.
“Your hair is amazing.” Helping her with her zipper, I notice how sleek and straight her normally wild curls are. It’s a total transformation.
“You excited for tonight?” she asks, her fingers fussing with her hair, probably not used to how smooth and flat it is.
“Nervous.” I sigh, shoving my phone and ID into my borrowed designer clutch. The butterflies in my stomach feel more like an actual swarm, and I can’t shake the thought of how unprepared I feel for everything that’s about to happen.
The car pulls up in front of Bungalow 8, its headlights briefly blinding as the driver makes his way through the crowd that’s formed out front, hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite artists.
Riley links her arm through mine as we make our way inside, discreetly sneaking past the crowd. It’s surprisingly open once we’re in, with lush potted plants framing the striped booths. There are a fair few famous faces here tonight, along with some selected media representatives and some bigwigs from Pacific Records. I spot Mark standing around with a few others, and the only familiar faces are those of Kylie Turner, my Public Relations Manager, and Sonia and Michelle, my album co-producers.
After a round of pleasantries and some brief introductions to a fewkey players, as Mark calls them, Riley and I grab some champagne from the passing waiters, clinking glasses with strangers who probably won’t even remember our names by tomorrow.
“We need to talk about your social media presence as well as a bit of media training for interviews,” Kylie practically yells over the booming music.
I nod, taking another gulp of bubbly. It tastes sweet but sharp, warming me from within.
Bleh, social media.
A concept I haven’t fully jumped on board with. Comes with the territory, I suppose.
“Kylie, easy with the shop talk, let Elena have some fun and network.” Mark winks, taking a sip of his drink. “We’ll talk strategy another time.”
The night rolls on—casual, easy banter, and a constant stream of drinks. Riley and I have long moved on from champagne to hard liquor cocktails. I will regret this in the morning, but for now, I’m doing my best to forget about my gnawing anxiety.
We mingle with a few fellow artists, most of them new to me, but all signed to the same label. Mark insists on introducing me to people, so that I can network for future collaborations and producing opportunities, as if I don’t already have a million things on my mind.
“Have a good night. We’ll talk soon, okay?” Kylie beams, her face slick with perspiration from the heat of the club. She hugs me, and then she’s gone.
I head to the ladies’ room, hoping for a moment of peace, but when I come back, I see Riley getting way too cozy with Mark. Oh, this is not good.
