Chapter 18

Parking in Atlanta was a lot harder than I thought it would be. I ended up blocks away from the auditorium where the contest was being held, in an area where I wasn’t one hundred percent sure even my crappy car would be okay when I returned.

The area in front of the arena was a madhouse. People were lined up halfway around the building, waiting to get their tickets to get in as part of the audience. The side of the building, where they were directing contestants, wasn’t much better. Near the side door was a roped-off contestant area, the inside of which held long fold-out tables with workers checking IDs and handing out contestant numbers, which were needed to get past the security and into the building.

It wasn’t as bad as the New Year’s Eve event we’d played, but that was the only thing I’d experienced that was more chaotic. People were literally everywhere, going in every direction. I’d read the instructions we’d been sent after my application with the filled-out question and audition tape had been approved, but without the posted signs I would still have had no idea where I needed to go.

After what felt like an hour of shuffling forward a few feet at a time, I finally made it to the front of the line. The woman at the table checked my ID against her list, made me sign a few forms, and handed me a laminated number one-twenty-seven on a lanyard.

“Go through those doors and follow the signs to the contestants’ waiting area. There will be more signs in the waiting area telling you where to go when they call your name. Next,” she said, already looking past me to the next person in line before I could respond.

I followed the signs pointing me toward the waiting area, which was really just a large empty room with rows of chairs. There were easily a couple hundred people crammed in there, fiddling with instruments, reviewing lyrics, or staring at the walls impatiently.

I found an empty seat near the back and settled in, trying not to let my nerves get the best of me. I wasn’t nervous about playing since I’d done that in front of audiences enough times that it was never a problem. I think it was more the stakes involved here, which were the highest of anything I’d done yet. When I’d auditioned for the scout from MAC, I hadn’t really expected to get it, and I didn’t have so much riding on it. This time, everyone was counting on me making it, which really piled on the pressure.

Thankfully, I had enough experience to know practicing at this point wasn’t really worthwhile. It wouldn’t settle my nerves, and I’d almost certainly not be focused, which might lead to getting into my own head by the time I got on stage. I had prepared for this the same way I had for the Charlotte or New Year’s show, and I knew that once I got on stage, I’d be fine. So I just sat there patiently, thinking through various things I’d been working on, just to keep my mind busy.

Every now and then, a camera crew would come through, and it was like a switch flipped in the room. People who had been just sitting nervously, staring straight ahead, suddenly popped up and started vocalizing and “warming up.” It was incredibly transparent, although I’m sure the show would edit it to make the waiting area look busy and exciting instead of nerve-wracking.

As soon as those cameras moved on to another part of the room, the people practicing went back to just staring straight ahead, only to repeat their antics as soon as the cameras came back. The judges were almost certainly not watching this, so I wasn’t sure what they thought was going to happen. Maybe they thought it would get them some TV time.

During one of the downtimes when no cameras were around, a producer strolled through the rows casually suggesting that “it might be a while until you’re called; you should chat with some of the other contestants to pass the time.”

While it was obvious they were just trying to make for good TV, the way several of the others practically jumped their neighbors in order to start a conversation, you would have thought it was a requirement to get on stage or something.

I noticed that a girl a few seats down from me kept glancing my way until, after a few minutes, she finally moved, plopping herself into the empty seat right next to me.

“Hey there,” she said brightly, flashing me a wide smile. “I’m Amber. What’s your name?”

“Charlie,” I replied.

“Nice to meet you, Charlie! Are you nervous? I’m so nervous I can barely sit still. But also super excited, you know? This has been my dream forever. I just know I’m going to make it big one day. Everyone always tells me I should be famous. My church is always asking me to sing solos, and all my friends are just obsessed with my voice. I posted some of my songs online and got hundreds of views. So I just know the judges are going to love me!”

All of it came out in a tumble that I barely followed, like someone had turned a spigot on and left it.

“Well, let me tell you, I’ve been singing forever,” Amber said excitedly. “My mom always said I have a natural talent. By the time I was five, I was getting solos in my church choir and doing little talent shows and stuff.”

“That’s grea...” I started to say, but she barreled on.

“Oh my gosh, and high school was so much fun. I totally loved being in the choir. The teacher said I have a really good voice. And I did musicals and talent competitions outside of school, too. Those were a blast, although I never won or anything. Those things can be kind of political, you know?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but she kept talking over me.

“I mean, I don’t want to brag, but I think I’ve got a good shot here. The other people, well...” She glanced around disparagingly. “Let’s just say I’m not too worried about the competition. Did you see that one girl? She’s a freaking whale. No one’s going to want to put her in front of a camera. And that guy with the mullet? Don’t even get me started. Like, did they even think about how to present themselves before coming out here? I talked to my mom and singing coach, and we worked everything out so I’m ready for the camera. Stylish but not too much, you know?”

I’d been annoyed by her when she started, but now I actively didn’t like her. There was no call for being a bitch to other people like that. Not that it was worth making a scene. That would definitely end up on camera and might give the producers a reason not to let me on stage. A bad element or whatever.

I looked down at how I was dressed. She hadn’t made a snide comment about me, so maybe what I’d picked out was okay. I’d gone with my normal stage outfit, the one that I’d bought when we first started getting MAC money. Boots, a nice pair of jeans, a tight but not too tight white T-shirt, and a dark brown, worn leather coat that said stylish but not too fancy. I’d gone with it because it worked for country, rock, or pop venues and stuck with it because it was comfortable.

Amber only stopped talking when a camera crew made their way through the seated contestants toward us, her chatter cutting off mid-sentence as they approached. She sat up straighter, tossed her hair back, and turned so she was facing the aisle and the oncoming cameras.

As the camera operators drew closer, Amber launched into song, belting out a few wobbly, slightly under-pitch lyrics of one of Ronnie Ralston’s songs. She was staring right at the camera, throwing in over-exaggerated facial expressions and hand gestures like she was already center stage.

Desperate was the only word I could think of for it.

The camera crew slowed as they reached Amber’s row, and one of the operators swung his camera in her direction for a few seconds. Amber grinned wider, stretching her face almost comically as she increased her volume. But after only a moment, the camera moved on, the operator looking for something else to record.

Amber’s face fell instantly as the crew moved further away down the aisle. She slumped back in her seat with a huff, the diva attitude disappearing as quickly as it had emerged.

“I’m gonna grab some water,” I muttered, taking the opportunity to escape.

Without waiting for a response, I picked up my guitar and hurried away down the aisle. Finding an empty seat on the other side of the large room, I dropped down with a sigh of relief.

“Howdy,” a voice drawled next to me.

I looked over to see a guy about my age sliding into the vacant seat beside me. He had shaggy blond hair tucked under a black cowboy hat and was dressed in a pearl snap shirt and worn jeans.

“Name’s Cole,” he said, offering his hand.

I shook it. “Charlie.”

“Good to meet ya,” Cole said, settling back comfortably in his seat. “Sure are a lot of folks here. You nervous at all?”

“Trying not to be,” I said.

“I hear that. Trick is not letting the nerves get to you before you even start,” he said, eyeing me curiously. “Play many shows yourself?”

I hesitated. I wasn’t sure I wanted to publicize that I’d had a record deal or played any serious shows. My gut said Cole was a good guy, but you could never be too careful.

“A few here and there,” I hedged. “Bars, clubs, whatever I can get.”

“Man, that’s real cool,” Cole said earnestly. “Way I see it, getting up on any stage takes guts. I bet you’ll do just fine once you’re out there.”

“I hope so,” I said with a small smile. “You play many gigs?”

“Nothing too fancy, just local joints. But let me tell you, once you get that first taste of playing for a real crowd, it’s addictive.”

“No doubt,” I said. “It’s a pretty great feeling.”

“‘Course, I’m hoping this show will get me some bigger gigs, maybe even that record deal if I win,” he chuckled self-consciously. “Probably dreaming big saying that out loud. But a guy can hope, right?”

“Hey, you never know,” I said sincerely. “Gotta chase your dreams. Just focus on doing your best out there.”

“You playing anything while you’re here in town?” he asked.

“I’d like to, but I don’t have time. I have to hustle back home tonight ‘cause I have school in the morning. It was a pain to get out of it today.”

“College?” he asked.

“High school,” I said, almost sheepishly. “I’m a senior.”

“Damn,” he said. “I don’t think I would have had the balls to try this when I was in high school. Hell, I’ve barely got them now.”

“You’re here, right? That’s all that matters,” I said.