You and Me (Plus Everyone In Between Us)

Big Brother's Rival

The line was only a line because the big double doors leading to the theatre hadn't been opened yet. Only forty people from all the cities made it here. Mom and I stood anxiously in line. I couldn't tell if she was anxious or not.

"If you don't want to go, you can," Mom assured. Kind of. "We can go home right now."

"I'm fine," I kind of snapped, but not so much that Mom would call me out for having an attitude.

My mind went to the individual cameramen stationed just about everywhere, zooming in everywhere to get the shorts of all the contestants. One big camera so ominous it could've put Big Brother to shame, stood on a platform in the middle to grab footage.

I made eye contact with the void-like, all-seeing lens and averted my eyes. How come there were so many cameras?

There was something electric in the air. There was a unique blend of nerves and confidence that bounced off everyone. There were soloists, groups, and people with instruments. It all felt so... big. So intense.

These weren't people singing for fun. Everyone was here to win something. Above us were big posters above the theater, showing the big faces of judges Brian and Fairouz. Dilemma was in one poster too. The poster was like a promise, that with this show, you could potentially be like Dilemma, maybe insufferable like they were.

The line finally began to move and it moved quickly. By the time we got to the door, some people sitting at tables handed out long stickers with a string of numbers on them. Cameramen were flanked behind the tables too.

"What's your name?" a woman with bright fiery red hair asked.

"Ezra Thompson," I said, more confident. She scanned down a list before marking my name off and handing me a sticker. "Head inside the theatre take your seat in your designated number, and wait for your number to be called. Don't lose this please."

I nodded at her and stuck it onto my hoodie. We entered into a small waiting room, where people sat in neat rows across a grey carpet. There was a huge jumbotron that dawned on us with its ever-looming presence and a huge seating area with more comfortable chairs. Everyone was wide-eyed, and hopefully, clinging to the last shreds of their dignity that would be destroyed or boosted.

"Here we are," I said to myself, as we both sat down.

"Yes," Mom agreed. "Are you sure you practised hard enough?"

"Of course," I said.

I'd been practising my newest song, singing it every chance I could. Now that I think of it, it was probably a safer option to do a song already out there. Originals were always so risky because of the unfamiliarity.

"All these people look so weird," Mom observed, gripping her purse.

"They're just unique," I defended. "Don't let anyone hear you or they'll put it on TV."

"Right," she said.

I found it jarring that for the past three weeks, Mom and Dad had been invested in my music, asking about songwriting and caring about my singing. It was a continued glitch in the matrix, one I wasn't sure of.

I slowly ran through the lyrics of my new song, solidifying my memorization even though I memorised it to death. I'm pretty sure I could sing this in my sleep if I wanted to. Hell, I even started dreaming about singing this song!

I looked at everyone else, seeing large groups, young little kids, old people, white people, people of colour, and just about everyone in between. Everyone looked interesting, not strange like Mom thought. They had this vibe that I wanted to rock with. Did they think that about me? Wait?