Chapter 28

Throughout the day, I tried to get Amanda to practice, but she always had something better to do. I tried to practice on my own, but there was a limit to how far I could improve things without her. A duet was all about keeping everything tight, working as one singer. It was more than just harmonies; it was timing and energy levels. If you seemed out of step with your partner, even if the song itself was in sync, you’d fall flat.

And if that happened, we were both going home.

So after my last attempt, I’d gone upstairs to do some homework in quiet for an hour and then tried again hoping, probably futilely, that she’d finally realize how much time we were wasting.

I found her sitting on the couch, joking with some of the other contestants who hadn’t been taking this as seriously as the rest of us. They were all drinking, and looking at the empty liquor and beer bottles on the table, they’d been at it a while.

“We really need to practice,” I said, walking over to her. “The performance is tomorrow and we haven’t gone through the song once together.”

“Oh relax, we’ll be fine,” she said, waving her hand away dismissively before taking a drink.

“No ... we won’t. I can’t believe we’ve had to have this conversation twice. You get this is a competition right? There are others who’ve been practicing all day, and they want to stay here. I don’t care if you go home, but I sure as hell care if I go home.”

“Look, I know the song. We can go through it a few times tomorrow. If you can manage your part, we’ll make it through to the next round.”

“You almost got sent home yesterday. How are you taking this so casually?”

“That was bullshit and the genre I got sucked. We’re doing pop now. Sure, it’s kind of boring pop, but it’s still what I know. I’ve got my end. You worry about yourself.”

I took a second to keep from exploding at her. There were maybe ten people here who’d taken the whole thing seriously, and the other twenty seemed to have been cast more because they were going to be entertaining on camera than for their musical ability. Everyone here could sing, but it took a lot more than that to make it in the industry, and two-thirds of these people never would.

Of course, it was a TV show, so how entertaining they would be on camera may have been the whole point. I’d only watched a little of the show in the past, but in the episodes I had watched, there’d been those who you knew were going to make it, and those who made the drama better. So maybe this was just how the show was.

The problem was, with duets, that could mean sending home some people who knew what they were doing because they got paired with the idiots. Cole had Marissa, one of the others treating this as a competition and not party time or fifteen minutes of fame. Why couldn’t I have gotten someone like her?

“It’s not about if you’ve got it or if I’ve got it. It’s a duet. We still need to work out timing. We need to work out harmonies. And we need to practice it together. If we don’t have everything tightened up, we go home.”

“Ugh, you’re such a buzzkill,” Amanda said, taking another swig of her drink. “Here, have a beer and lighten up.”

She thrust a can into my hand. I eyed it for a moment before setting it down on the coffee table.

“No thanks, and I really think you should lay off too. We can’t practice tomorrow if you’ve got a hangover all morning.”

“You’re so lame,” she said, stretching out the last word and leaning her head back. “No wonder you don’t have any friends here.”

“I don’t care if I’ve got friends here or not,” I said evenly. “I’m not here to make friends; I’m here to win this thing and go home with a record contract. If you came to party and then go home empty-handed, that’s on you, but I’m not going to let you take me down with you. So, can we please just practice? Even if it’s just for an hour.”

I could feel the camera pointed at me and was trying my hardest not to absolutely lose my shit. If I made it through this week, I’d have the final to think about, where the audience got to vote for me. I’d hope anyone watching this would see I was right and she was an idiot, but who knows what they’d do in editing. If I blew up and started yelling at her, they could easily make me out to be the asshole, just to create a little drama later on.

“Blah blah blah, that’s all I hear from you,” she said, her words really slurring. “Get lost.”

She wasn’t really talking to me. Vince and a few others had been watching this back and forth, smirking and laughing every time she told me to get lost or called me lame. She was playing to them, although why anyone would care what people like that thought was beyond me. What was clear, though, was that nothing I was saying was getting through to her.

I threw my hands up in frustration. “Fine, forget it. Throw both our chances away.”

I turned and started to storm off. Before I took two steps, I heard a thud behind me. I turned back around to see Amanda passed out on the floor, her drink spilled across the carpet.

For a second, everyone in the main room, including her drinking buddies, just sat there, staring at her, unconscious on the floor. After a moment, the shock wore off and I rushed over to her while her drinking buddies kind of gathered around, staring at us blearily.

“Hey, can someone help me here?” I yelled at them as I put my hand on her wrist to check her pulse. “Seriously, someone go get somebody!”

I looked past my fellow contestants to the two cameramen in the room, but neither stopped recording. Instead, they converged on us, continuing to film. Finally, one of the drinking guys snapped out of it and kind of wobbly ran out of the room.

I gently rolled Amanda onto her back. Her skin was pale and clammy.

“Amanda, can you hear me?” I asked loudly, giving her shoulders a shake. Her head lolled limply to the side. She was completely unresponsive.

“You, call...”

“We’ve got this,” a producer and one of the set medics said, running in.

The drunk guy who ran out hadn’t been gone that long, so maybe they were watching the feed and came on their own. At least, I’d hoped so. Amanda wasn’t looking good.

The site medic knelt beside Amanda, checking her pulse and shining a light into her eyes. His brow furrowed and he put his ear next to her face, I guess listening for breathing.

“This isn’t good. Her respiration is dangerously slow, and her skin is clammy,” he said to the producer. “We need to call an ambulance and get her to the hospital. There’s a good chance this is alcohol poisoning.”

The producer looked annoyed more than concerned, but pulled out his phone. The rest of us stood by helplessly. I think it might have even sobered up Vince and the rest of the drinkers a little bit.

About ten minutes later, we heard the approaching siren of the ambulance. The paramedics essentially repeated what the set medic had done, checking her vitals, shining a light into her eyes, and checking her breathing before loading her up onto a stretcher and hauling her out of the house.

“Okay, guys,” the producer said loudly, hands up, trying to get everyone’s attention. “I know that was exciting, but she’s going to be okay. She might have to get her stomach pumped, but she’ll be fine after that. Odds are, we’ll see her in the morning.”

I guess he figured that his job was done because he turned and started to head back to the production guest house.

“What about our performance tomorrow?” I asked, stopping him. “She’s clearly in no shape to be singing after this. What are we going to do?”

“It’ll be fine,” he said, giving me what he probably thought was a reassuring smile and a pat on the shoulder. “Like I said, the medics will pump her stomach, get her sobered up, and have her back here by morning.”

“Even if she’s physically okay, there’s no way we’re going to be able to get any practice in tomorrow. I hope she’s okay, but this kind of screws me.”

“Are you sure she was going to practice tomorrow? We’ve watched you two, and so far, you haven’t practiced yet.”

“Because she was drinking all day. I’ve busted my butt so far in this competition, and she and a few others have been treating it like a dating show or something. I came in second last night. Are you guys really going to let me go out like this?”

“These are called challenges for a reason. I’m not sure what you want us to do.”

“Find me a new partner.”

“That’s not the way this works. The duets were all planned out ahead of time, and everyone’s already started practicing. I get you don’t think this is fair, but it also isn’t fair if we change things for another team.”

“So I’m on my own?”

“If you’re going to make it in the industry, you’re going to have to work with other people who aren’t as motivated as you. If you really want this, I’m sure you’ll find a way around it.”

He gave me another pat on the shoulder and turned his back on me. I just stood there, staring at him as he walked away.

I was totally screwed.

The next morning, I woke up feeling like crap. I’d tossed and turned half the night, worried that this was going to be it. That no matter how good I did or how hard I worked, I was going to be shut down for something completely out of my control. I lay in bed a long time, just staring at the ceiling. Finally, it was late enough that I could go and find out if Amanda had made it back. Hopefully, she hadn’t been up all night in the ER and we’d actually be able to practice.

I asked the handful of people who were up, but no one had seen her yet that morning, and couldn’t remember her coming in from the ER. I didn’t actually know who her roommates were, so I went to the production guesthouse instead. Finally, I found the balding producer who’d given us our last two challenges.

“Hey, is there any word from Amanda? I haven’t seen her and I really wanted to get started practicing. Did she get back from the hospital yet?”

“Amanda has been withdrawn from the competition,” he said. “She’s ... not going to be able to continue.”

“What? Why? Is she okay?”

While I didn’t actually like her that much and was pissed she’d let herself get into this position, she was still a person, and that sounded a lot like she was somehow seriously ill.

“I appreciate you’re worried about your friend, but we’re not able to talk about her medical condition. I’m sorry.”

My friend? Wow, they really weren’t paying that much attention.

“Okay, so what does that mean for my duet? Who am I going to partner with?”

He at least had the good manners to look embarrassed when he said, “We’re not sure yet. We’re too close to showtime to switch things up on any of the other contestants. We’ve talked to the executive team and they’ve okayed bringing someone in from the outside, but we’re still working on options. We should know something in a few hours.”

“We head to the studio at three,” I pointed out. “Am I not going to get to practice?”

“It’s unclear at this point, but we hopefully will have someone in time for the two of you to get some practice in before you go on. Look, I know you’re worried, but you’re going to have to bear with us. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, and just walked off before I could respond.

All morning, I waited for word of who my partner was going to be and heard nothing. Most of the producers turned and walked the other way the moment they saw me coming, and when I did corner one, they all said I needed to talk to someone else. If I did get a partner, who knew what song we’d do, let alone if we’d be ready to perform it? I got that things happened, but they had to have encountered a problem like this before, so why did it seem like everyone was clueless?