How to keep singing even when your fingers went numb from the cold and how to recognize when someone thought you were nothing. She'd been nothing before. Plenty of times, but she wasn't here to beg this time. She was here to flip the whole damn board.
The lounge was everything Amara had imagined rich kids' spaces would be. Leather couches the color of caramel. A flat screen TV mounted on the wall playing highlights from previous seasons. And a buffet table. The buffet table was loaded with sandwiches, fruit trays, cookies, bottled water, soda cans, sweating condensation.
Amara stood in the doorway. Nobody looked at her. Five contestants sat scattered around the room, ranging from 15 to 18 years old. All of them looked polished, with styled hair and finished makeup, outfits that coordinated without looking like they tried too hard. One girl wore a white sundress that probably cost more than Amara had earned in six months of subway performances.
That girl was Madison Blake. Amara recognized her from the contestant board she'd seen earlier, 18 years old, from Connecticut. Father was a corporate lawyer. Madison had that kind of beauty that looked effortless but wasn't perfect skin blonde hair with highlights that caught the light just right posture that said she'd never doubted her place in any room. She sat on the couch beside a boy with an acoustic guitar laughing at something on her phone.
A makeup artist touched up another contestant's foundation. You're going to be stunning out there, honey. Amara took a step inside. A production assistant different from Philip's assistant. This one younger, maybe 22, glanced up from her clipboard.
Her smile was automatic. Professional. "Hi there. Are you here to support someone?" "I'm performing," Amara said. The assistant's smile flickered.
Her eyes dropped to the clipboard, scanning quickly. "Oh, you're"? She found the name. Her expression shifted just slightly. "You're Amara, right?" "Um" she glanced at the buffet table, then back at Amara.
I'm Chelsea, so just so you know, this lounge is technically for our official contestants. I'm a contestant. Well, you're more of a special guest. Chelsea's voice was still friendly, but there was something underneath it now. Careful, like she was navigating around something fragile.
The food here is really just for the main lineup, but I think there might be vending machines downstairs or it's fine, Amara said. She wasn't going to fight for a sandwich. Not in front of everyone. Chelsea seemed relieved. Great.
Okay, so just make yourself comfortable. Anywhere is fine. Anywhere that wasn't the couch. Anywhere that wasn't near the food. Anywhere that kept her separate.
Amara walked to the far wall and leaned against it, sliding down until she sat on the floor. She pulled her backpack into her lap. Everything she owned fit inside it. She unzipped the top just enough to check that the envelope was still there. It was.