Chapter 25

We were just finishing breakfast when one of the producers, a short guy with a Bluetooth headset perpetually attached to his ear, came hustling into the room.

“All right, everyone, let’s gather in the main room in five minutes,” he announced, before spinning on his heel and rushing back out.

A collective groan rose up from the group seated around the two large dining tables. Most seemed blurry and a little hungover from all the partying last night. Breakfast might have helped, but it would take a little while for that or the painkillers someone was passing out to start working. That was the other thing I didn’t understand about their decision to party so hard last night. We were here to compete; the competition was obviously going to be stiff, and handicapping yourself out of the gate wasn’t the way to do it. Sure, the first performance wasn’t until tomorrow, but we only had one day to get ready for it. I, for one, wasn’t planning on screwing up my shot like that.

Chairs scraped against the tile floor as we began dragging ourselves up. I rinsed my plate and glass before following the small herd of contestants shuffling toward the main room. We filed into the expansive main room, which was all polished wood floors and floor-to-ceiling windows offering views of the surrounding hills. Plush couches and armchairs were arranged in a large circle, and everyone found their seats. The room buzzed with quiet chatter as we waited, everyone wondering what they had in store for us.

A few minutes later, our four judges showed up, followed by the producers and a few others wearing headphones, and stood in front of the semicircle.

“All right, listen up, everyone,” Dexter Heart called out, clapping his hands together sharply. “It’s time to find out what your first competition challenge is going to be.”

A ripple of excitement passed through the group. So far, it had felt more like camp than a competition, and I think everyone had just been concentrating on that aspect of it until right now. Now, it was real.

Hal Steiner held his hand out, and one of the other people handed him a small box, “In this box, I have pieces of paper with musical genres written on them. You will each draw one at random and that will be the genre you must perform for your first song.”

Murmurs swept around the circle at this news. Performing for judges in a competition was hard, but performing a random genre that you may or may not be good at was something else entirely. A few of our number were rappers, which seemed really unfair. Me playing big band was hard, but a rapper being given country or something was another level. But who knows? There were talented guys out there who predominantly rapped but could sing when called upon.

“That’s not all,” Hal continued, holding up a hand for quiet. “We’ve also assigned each of you a mentor, a performer with years of experience in their genre. You’ll work closely with them to select one of that performer’s songs, picking the best fit for you to cover ... in their style. Then, you’ll have the rest of today and tomorrow morning to rehearse with your mentor before performing it tomorrow night. The five performances judged the lowest will be sent home.”

The murmuring grew louder, partly because they were having to actually perform outside of their genre, partly because the idea of going home was scary; but also because of the excitement over getting to work with a big name in the industry. If the other seasons were any indication, “The Stage” did a good job of getting real A-list talent, and not just washouts and one-shot wonders.

While everyone talked, three cameras stalked around us, trying to capture as many of our reactions as possible.

Dakota Rayne held up a hand to quiet the murmuring and said, “I know this first challenge is a big one, but that’s by design. We want to see right away who can step up and who can’t hang. Just remember, the key things the judges will be looking for are staying true to the genre you’re assigned while still making the song your own. They want to see your artistry and hear your voice come through, not just a karaoke cover.”

“Most of you will be loading into the vans and heading to the studio lot where we have a bunch of small recording spaces for you to meet with your mentor and work on your cover,” Hal Steiner said. “However, for the first round, there are just too many of you to all fit in the space available there, so some of you will be headed off to recording spots around town.”

“Now, one last twist. You’re not going to get to know who your mentor is until you get to your practice space,” Lexi Durant said, giving one last glance around the room. “All right, let’s get this started.”

Reaching into the box, Dexter pulled out a slip and said, “Cole Lawson, you’re up first.”

Cole stepped forward and took the slip of paper.

“R&B,” he read out loud.

“A country singer doing R&B,” Dakota said. “Great pick. That’s a classic combination that really works.”

“Vince Fiore,” Dexter said as Cole went to sit back down.

Vince sauntered up, clearly trying to look unfazed as he took the paper from Dexter.

“Folk,” Vince read. “Aw, come on. That sucks! Can I draw again?”

“You may not,” Hal said firmly. “That is part of the challenge. You have to figure it out and make it work.”

Vince scowled, crumpling up the paper.

“Man, this sucks,” he repeated as he went to sit down.

“Okay, Candi Cox, your turn,” Dexter said, ignoring Vince’s complaining.

Candi bounced up excitedly, her long hair swishing behind her.

“Jazz! Oh, wow, jazz! I don’t know the first thing about jazz, but I’m so stoked to learn!” She clapped her hands eagerly.

Very different from how she acted last night, but at least she had a good attitude about it. Six more names were called, mostly of contestants I didn’t really know, and some whose names I was hearing for the first time when they were called.

“Charlie Nelson,” Dexter said, surprising me.

I’d been just watching everyone else; for a moment, I forgot that I had to compete too. My legs were shaky as I got up and walked over. I tried to look cool and confident, but who knows if I pulled it off.

“Bluegrass,” Dexter said, handing me the slip. “Also, you’re our first performer who’s going to one of the recording spaces other than the studio lot. The car’s already waiting outside, so why don’t you go ahead, grab whatever you need and meet them out front? Your mentor is already waiting for you, so I won’t take too long.”

Since the last thing I wanted to do was keep whoever my mentor was waiting, I practically ran up the stairs to grab my guitar and backpack, which had notebooks, both new ones and ones with notes I’d written to myself when working with Mr. French and Rowan on songwriting, plus some notes I took from Willie. I didn’t know if any of it was going to be useful, but I’d ‘rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it.’ Hustling back down the stairs, I went outside, where there was a black SUV waiting. I thought it was a lot of car to drive just me, until I opened the door and saw a producer and a camera crew already sitting inside. I felt a little twinge in my stomach when I realized I was going to have to make the whole ride with a camera in my face. I’d agreed to be recorded for this thing, but this was a lot more intimate than being up on stage or in a house with twenty-nine other people.

As soon as the car started moving, the producer pulled out a little book, I guess with questions she wanted to ask, and got started.

“So Charlie, you’ve been assigned bluegrass for your first performance. How are you feeling about that?” she asked.

I shrugged, “I mean, it’ll be different, but I think I can handle it all right. Some of my stuff already trends a little towards country and folk, and I like a decent amount of bluegrass. Never performed it on stage, but I’m used to faster, technical playing from classic rock and slower country-style ballads, which covers a lot of the skills in bluegrass. So I should be okay.”

The producer nodded along as I spoke, “Any guesses who your mentor might be for this genre?”

I pursed my lips, thinking. “Hard to say for sure. Alison Krauss would be amazing to work with. Or someone like Hank Allison or Hattie Belmont.”

I knew more bluegrass performers, but at the moment, desperately trying to look at her and not straight into the lens of the camera, they were the only ones I could think of.

“We’ll see soon enough,” she said with a knowing smile. “So, first night in the competition house, how was it? Looked like some of you were partying pretty hard.”

I hesitated. I didn’t want to sound judgmental, but they also had shots of me sitting off from everyone, working on homework.

“I mean, it was fine. I’m just not really the type to party hard like that. Especially not when we’ve got our first performances coming up, you know? But I’m not judging them or anything; people can relax however they want.”

She cocked her head curiously. “I guess it’s hard being underage and not allowed to participate when everyone else is.”

It was all I could do to keep from scoffing. Yesterday, the producer practically ordered me to join in the drinking. He hedged it, but I got the message, and I was damn sure that if I had wanted to, they wouldn’t have stopped me.