America's Next Star Read online

  Mr. Hille straightened his tie and gave a sharp laugh. “What was the answer to the question on last semester’s exam?”

  Huck dabbed at his face with a black towel before he answered with the precision of an army recruit.

  “The show must go on!”

  “And in this case it really has to. If I refund everyone out there, then that means we can’t even afford to do a play next year. And just because one person—well two if you count the understudy—decided to flake, it wouldn’t be fair to you all. Blake.”

  Mr. Hille pointed towards a senior with flour splattered over his red apron. “Would it be fair to you to not get to perform when you’re the best baker in Into the Woods in all of Florida?”

  Then I felt an itching in my throat, one that dared me to speak, that told me I could save the day if only it weren’t taking everything I had just to keep from sobbing. Instead, I appeared focused on my fingernails, shrinking in between the other techies like a slice of cheese in a giant sub.

  Huck returned the headset back to his head, and straightened his starched black-button down shirt. I couldn’t help but think about how much more panicked I would feel if my world hadn’t already collapsed around me.

  But that’s the thing with people needing you, it often comes when it’s hardest. Huck’s dream was to get into NYU and become a big shot theater stage manager on Broadway one day. How could I really call myself his best friend if I stood in his way?

  “So no one here even knows the words for little red riding hood? We’ve been rehearsing for four months, listening to the Broadway soundtrack in class. Hell, I even managed to get the Principal’s approval to watch the movie in class a dozen times, and all so no one would know the part?”

  Huck looked like he might cry. Then he fixed his gaze on me, and mouthed, “Sorry.”

  For a second, I thought he was issuing the worst apology ever to someone whose mom had just died, until I remembered that he didn’t know. In the heat of backstage, I could feel reality pull away from me in beads of sweat.

  He stepped forward like a swordsman about to deliver his final flourish of death.

  “I know who can do it,” he said.

  Oh God no , I thought.

  Mr. Hille crossed his arms. “Look, Huck, I really appreciate your dedication as stage manager and willingness to dress in drag, but—”

  The actors laughed nervously, throwing their breath into the already hot room like boiling tea kettles.

  “No. That’s not what I meant,” Huck said, as he stuck his neck out and fixed his gaze on me for what felt like forever.

  It was the first time in my life, outside of the handful of parents at a chorus recital, that everyone in the room was looking at me. If it had happened only the day before, I think I would’ve felt kind of flattered instead of totally terrified. I couldn’t believe it had only been a few days ago that I was dreaming of making a grand entrance to prom. Backstage, all the eyes falling on me bit like mosquitoes.

  “Ella?” Mr. Hille asked. “Can you even sing?”

  I opened my mouth, but itchy bugs were there.

  Mr. Hille cocked an eyebrow, snapping me back to reality, and making me realize I had to say something.

  I cleared my throat. “Yes?”

  “But…but you’re a senior that has never auditioned for a single play. You know the lines, the notes, the blocking?” Mr. Hille began to take rapid steps towards me, until Huck thrust an arm out.

  “Ella literally has perfect pitch! She has been at every rehearsal with me and is so dedicated that we pulled an all-nighter last night here!” The techies on all sides of me rolled their eyes. “ She listens to Into the Woods all the time, and trust me this girl can sing better than anyone on America’s Next Star !”

  “Really, Ella?” Mr. Hille began pacing the dressing room. He began to laugh. “Well, I guess this is another twist after the air conditioning breaking down on an eighty-five degree night and my star not bothering to even call.

  Mr. Hille pulled me up from the couch, his eyes resting uncomfortably on my hips. Yesterday it would’ve led to me crushing even harder on him, but now all of this attention made me feel like a caterpillar forced too early from her cocoon. I didn’t want anyone to see my wings—if I even still had them.

  “Her costume should fit you?”

  Mr. Hille asked the question as if to a higher power—one that would have the ability to make me drop six sizes in an instant. “Everyone try to guide Ella along with the blocking. Get to your spots. Curtain’ll be up in five minutes!”

  I stood in front of the couch, trying to force my legs to step to the side of the room only occupied by the actors—my bug-eyes always made it look like I was trying to form a question—even when I didn’t even have the ability to do that.

  “What’re you waiting for, Ella?” Mr. Hille asked, as he gave me a little shove to my new side of the room.

  The actors scattered like ants under the threat of rain.

  Chapter Six

  ♪ Blackbird ♪

  * * *

  O nce I was alone, I slid my phone from my pocket as I pulled off my black jeans.

  Group Text: Mom, Dad

  Oh wait , I thought. What kind of stupid person starts to text someone that’s dead. That’s when I realized that Huck was right behind me.

  “Are you seriously considering not telling your parents?!”

  I forced a weak smile.

  He took my phone from me, and he sent the kind of message that I would have felt giddy about sending if only it had been to two living occupants. I doubted dad would be looking at his phone anyway.

  I slid the peasant costume over my head—but before I accepted that it was never going to zip up around my frame.

  “Glad you didn’t run away,” Huck said. “Look, I know you seem kinda mad—I probably should’ve found a way to tell you before I turned you into the lead actress—but let’s just get this over with, then you can yell at me all you want.” He surveyed the wide open gap between both sides of the zipper on my back.

  “That’s not going to work. Being a good stage manager, I of course already realized that you weren’t a size four, like she-who-will-not-be-named. I brought you this.” He handed me a white tank top in his size, and I took off my dress.

  “No, no, no. What are you going to do? Go on stage with just a tank top? You’re not Beyoncé.”

  For the first time since he’d been in the room I turned from a scowl to a laugh.

  “Your boobs look huge in that.”

  I couldn’t help thinking that it wasn’t just my boobs that looked huge, but all of me. Nothing makes you feel quite as fat as being forced to try to wear a dress many sizes too small—except perhaps remembering how the real lead looked like a Barbie at dress rehearsal.

  “If I rip off the top part, the bottom was loose on her so it should fit you fine and most likely stay with this safety pin.”

  I couldn’t help but think how awkward this moment would have been with any other male I knew.

  “What? How are you still wearing those fugly sneakers I keep trying to get you to throw away? There’s old school and then there’s ancient school.”

  He pushed me into the chair behind the mirror, pulled off my shoes, then grabbed a brush and layered hot pink powder onto my puffy cheeks—even though they were already flushed.

  I studied my frizzy brown hair, my gray eyes. They were right, my eyes seemed to take over my face. I was bug-eyed.

  “Girl, any whiter and you should be playing the baker’s flour.”

  “But I don’t want to be playing anything—or anyone at all.” Or pretending that mom didn’t just die , I thought.

  I rushed towards the door, but Huck jumped in front of me.

  “Look, Ella, last night when you spilled—”

  “You’re right, I’m sorry,” I said.

  I turned away from him, and fiddled with the satin bow of the red cloak.

  “To be honest, I’d always though
t you’d wanted a chance in the spotlight. This is our chance.”

  I nodded. Up until this afternoon, that had been true I guess. But the only thing I wanted more than to disappear at that moment was for Huck to have a great opening night that translated into him getting into NYU.

  “So enough sass.” He forced my shoulder length brown hair into a messy side braid faster than even Mom could do it. “And to sweeten the deal, I’ll pay for your share of the limo with the techies to prom.”

  “I didn’t even say I was going yet.” And now that Mom was dead, there was no way in hell I was going. I would’ve looked beyond stupid in the red dress anyway.

  “Well that poofy red dress hanging up in your closet says otherwise, but we’ll tackle that after the show. Now wear those character shoes over there.”

  “Those?” I stared at the towering stacked stilts in the corner. “But they’re high heels. You know I don’t do high heels.”

  “Girl, you’re five-foot-four. You don’t have a choice when it comes to heels. Plus they’re like barely an inch.”

  How was I going on stage in front of a packed auditorium? Everyone there was expecting to see the homecoming queen play the lead. Instead they’d find the girl they’d called “bug-eyed” and “pitch pipe” flailing about on stage.

  I worried that they would think that I wasn’t playing little red riding hood, but instead the wolf that ate her.

  Huck wiped a tear from my cheek.

  “Look I wouldn’t have ratted you out if I didn’t know you could do this. You might not have Michael Jackson’s ass…” He slapped me on the behind. “But you’ve got a killer voice. All those times we’ve made fun of girls on America’s Next Star and I’ve dared you to do better. Well you can. Now’s your chance. Get out there and own it!”

  I slipped the red cloak over my shoulders, and the velvet momentarily soothed me. Huck tied the perfect bow as I pulled the hood down so low on my face that it covered most of my freak eyes and the single tear I allowed myself in missing someone that I had yet to accept was gone forever.

  Chapter Seven

  ♪ There’s No Business Like Show Business ♪

  * * *

  A nd then, instead of being firmly hidden amongst the black of offstage, I was behind the edge of the red curtain.

  A much more masculine version of Huck’s voice boomed over the audience from backstage as the lights came up. He sounded like the guy that does thriller movie trailers.

  “Once upon a time…”

  On stage, vines strung from far above draped around the trees as if to strangle them. I’d made the trees over many afternoons with the techies.

  We’d made the trunks with chicken wire and papier-mâché , then splattered them with brown and green paint. But under these lights, in front of the packed house, the trees looked real—like I was on the edge of a creepy forest with leaves strewn covering the ground in a thick layer. The fog machine was spitting out waves of swirling mist.

  One of the trees held a big platform—where I’d do the big number with the wolf. The tree shielded a disguised ladder, where we’d sing the number high above the stage.

  How I was supposed to do this in giant heels? Come to think of it, how could I do this even if I hadn’t strapped those skyscrapers to my feet?

  Suddenly most of the principal actors were singing for the opening musical number.

  And as I ran my hands along the velvet of my cape, I let myself slip out of my new, jagged reality. Everything would be different after this performance, but I still had these couple of hours before I had to look straight into the eyes of the beast.

  Huck made a shoving motion to me while his voice resumed narrating my part of the fairy tale over the loudspeaker.

  I forced my iron legs to skip on stage, my cape making huge shadows on the trees.

  For this moment, I didn’t have to be Ella Windmill: bug-eyed girl whose mother just got killed in a car accident. I didn’t have to be just another molecule of sand, forgotten on the beach.

  I could only do this if I could believe—for a moment—that I was a certain size-four actress, that I was little red riding hood.

  The stage lights engulfed me in a lake of yellow. But I refused to drown like a bug, because even if I was a bug to everyone, I could at least be a dragonfly.

  I sang as I shoved the baker’s bread into my basket on stage. I didn’t know how many rolls I was supposed to shove in there so I decided to just go for all of them.There was an occasional gasp from the audience, most of whom must have been shocked to see someone that was not the homecoming queen.

  Come to think of it, I may have been more believable in a role that involved trying to shove loaves of bread and cookies in my mouth than she could have been.

  I sang (pretty well I think, considering that I’d literally never even practiced the part with others) as I skipped across the stage in my best attempt to be a small girl in a red cape. At least I could count on knowing the right notes. No one was laughing—were they buying it? And as I closed the number, I caught Huck smiling offstage, the way he would smile when he picked correctly which Comet on America’s Next Star was going home and I didn’t.

  As I closed out the opening number, every eye was on me, and after I hit that last note, the lights went down a couple seconds after they were supposed to, but I stayed in character—just a happy little girl with a mission as I saw hundreds of hands clapping for me.

  Chapter Eight

  ♪ Blowin’ in the Wind ♪

  * * *

  I grabbed a sip of water from Huck’s bottle, as he slapped my hand away, and clicked a button to mute his mic.

  “Just because you’re the new lead, don’t start acting like a diva!”

  He hugged me.

  “Just kidding, you killed it out there! I feel a standing ovation coming on for you at curtain call! Look, for your next scene, make sure you really get into it when the baker cuts you out of the wolf’s stomach. I mean that’s the defining moment of freedom in the whole first act. And don’t trip when you climb up that ladder.”

  I stole another sip from his water bottle, shaking the thought of mom creeping into my head again.

  “I’ve got this Huck.”

  “You’ve always had it, just nice for someone besides me to see it for a change. Now get ready for your cue!”

  I entered stage right, and held onto a vine strung with tendrils of gray moss. I squinted out at the audience—possibly trying to scan to the back to see if maybe Dad showed up, or somehow it had all been a hallucination and Mom was there, holding a bouquet of themed flowers.

  Then I had only a few moments to run up the ladder between lines, otherwise I would have been somehow singing with no one on stage. I had made it to the top of the tree, while singing, without even stumbling!

  After I sang the line about being eaten by the wolf, I jumped behind the big bed up in the tree, which I knew from being on the techie side, really did make it like I had been swallowed by the wolf. I switched on a fan under the comforter on the bed to make the sheet inflate like I imagine they would if he had really eaten me.

  As I sang, supposedly from inside of the wolf’s stomach, the lights began to strobe between black and red.

  Having only experienced this effect from offstage, I had no idea how dizzying that could be, but luckily I was out of view behind the inflated bed sheets.

  Maybe it sounded even better because I was supposed to be freaked out—having just been swallowed whole—and I was freaked out—being ten feet up in the air, with my feet only inches from the cliff of the fake limb. The strobe light made it so hard to think about anything but Mom, because it was like my whole life was flashing off and on.

  The baker clopped up the ladder in his clogs, then I hear the tap of his feet only inches from me on the side of the bed that was hidden from the view of the audience.

  I strained to hear my cue, but when I jumped on the bed to deflate the air-filled comforter, one of my heels caught on the
brass footboard. I kicked my leg to free myself, but reared up like a horse about to break out of its stable.

  And then I wasn’t on the bed at all. My cape flew over my head, and my eyes locked on the fake leaves strewn ten feet below on the stage floor, then on the fog that was somehow growing closer to me.

  I hit the ground like a tree-limb defeated by the wind of a hurricane.

  CHapter Nine

  ♪ Closing Time ♪

  * * *

  T he audience was on their feet, everyone smiling, clapping for me amidst cries of, “Bravo,” and,“Encore,” and then there was an intense, high F whistling, like someone had left one of the stage doors open a crack.

  “Ella, can you hear me?”

  “Ella, say something! Nobody touch her!”

  Was that Huck?

  “The emergency’s at Cocoa Beach high school, a girl’s fallen, she’s unconscious. Send an ambulance!”

  I strained to open one of my eyes, like a cat scanning the darkness while half asleep. I saw the red blur of the stage curtain.

  So I must have been dreaming of that standing ovation. But why was I on the ground? Why couldn’t I really open my eyes?

  I don’t know how much time went by when I heard an announcement, perhaps from an even bigger narrator than Huck.

  “If Ella Windmill’s parents are in the auditorium, please come up to the stage.”

  “Well I guess they aren’t here. Huck, where’s her cell phone? I need to call her parents.”

  “I already tried, and both went to voicemail.”

  Fade to black.

  Flying high above Solar Stadium on America’s Next Star , I was singing high above the audience of a hundred-thousand people. It was the finals, and I was wearing my red poofy prom dress.

  My parents were in the front row, a single joyous tear on Mom’s cheek.

  But then the lights inside were too yellow to be in the Universe, like staring into the sun. A woman peeled open one of my eyelids, and shined a torch in my eye. As I tried to move away from the light, my neck felt like it was stuck in cement.