You and Me (Plus Everyone In Between Us)

Machine Pt.2

When I was sitting inside the practice room again, it felt so empty. Both literally and figuratively.

There were only seven of us here. Me, Ray, Alex, Lina, and the guys from Insomnia.

Grace and Janelle drove up back to Fresno this morning. My throat somehow felt lumpy and hollow and my face was streaked with leftover tears. Just thinking about it revved my emotions up again.

I didn't care that Ray and I had won last night. I didn't remember smiling genuinely or meaning what I said in my stupid speech. I somehow left the theatre and came home somewhere in the mix.

It didn't matter anymore. My only friends were out of the competition. The week of finals was a daunting and lonely one. I would have to come back to visit them.

Halle stood over us, practising her influencer-certified smile before the cameras started rolling.

A riot of emotions mixed within me. I was in the goddamn finals of Finding Solstice. By the end of this week, I could be leaving with half a million dollars and a record deal. I was grateful to Maria for making me come to the audition in the dead of day. But I felt bad.

I probably should've made more of an effort to socialize, but it scared me. Maybe it didn't matter. I couldn't be friends with them too much. There were record deals on the line. Maybe it was selfish for me to just want them to stay because they were the only people who liked me.

"Welcome acts to the finals of the Finding Solstice!" Halle announced suddenly, and we all cheered. It was a small, yet joyful noise.

"You guys have all worked hard this past month, singing in challenges and rising above elimination," she exclaimed. "Now it's time for the finals and this week requires all your blood, sweat, and tears to make this happen. This final round is like no other. It will occur in three parts.

"This week's theme will be original songs," Halle revealed, and my eyes lit up. "All of you will write an original song for the finals. It should show your journey on the show and who you are.

"For the next part, all the acts will be performing in a concert in Los Angeles on Thursday, showcasing all the songs they've done over the season.

"For the last part, each of you will get to perform with famous pop stars," Halle announced. "You will be performing on an iconic track with them."

My jaw dropped in anticipation. This week sounded like it was going to be big. I looked forward to it, but I also dreaded it. It sounded like a lot. One week to practise an original song, a concert, and a celebrity performance? Would I drop dead?

"I wish you all the best of luck," Halle said. "Good luck to everyone!"

We all retreated from the big practice room to our individual ones. To my surprise, Lennon was already waiting there for me.

"Looks like you've made it this far," Lennon deadpanned. "I'm surprised. I may have underestimated you. I'm glad I made it as your personal manager this week."

"What about the other girls?" I asked. "Why me?"

"I chose you because I believe you can win," Lennon said. "We need to mould and shape you into being one of the best if you're going to win. We work really well together. The other girls got someone else. Don't worry."

"Okay?" I wondered, but then excitement took over me. "Anyway, since it's the original week, I would like to perform one of my original songs."

"What is it called?" she huffed.

"Uncomfortable," I said. "Can I sing it for you?"

"Sure."

Suddenly I was back at the audition in front of all the stone-faced producers. It seemed like such a long time ago, even though it was like last month. I sang it for Lennon. This time not caught off-guard or nervous. When I finished, she eyed me down again.

"What do you think?" I asked.

"I actually like it," she admitted. I smiled. "But it doesn't seem like you."

"What do you mean?" I wondered. "I wrote it."

"I know," Lennon said. "Ezra, let me tell you something. You need an image. A persona. If you want to make it in this industry, people need to know you for something. Right now, you're boring."

"I was hoping I could give a bedroom pop kind of vibe," I told her, smiling. "What do you think?"

"I don't think that's who you should be," Lennon admitted, sitting across from me.

I raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

She pursed her lips. "When I look at you, I see someone who might create a summer song. Something more like R&B or maybe even rap."

"I'm not a rapper," I huffed. "I don't think I write R&B either."

Lennon sighed. "Your voice is perfect for rap. I like your accent."

Accent? Since when did I have an accent?

I asked Lennon about this. "It's the very urban and hip Toronto accent. Like Drake."

Something about this was terribly off. "You just want me to rap because I'm Black."

Somehow, I regretted the words as soon as they left, because her eyes went as wide as half-saucers, which was pretty wide for Lennon.

"Me?" Lennon laughed manically. "Racist? I'm not racist, my own brother is Black! You can't just pull the race card every time something doesn't go your way, Ezra. Sorry for just wanting you to try something new. If you want to succeed in this industry, you need me. My help. I'm giving advice to help you."

It didn't sound like that. But I didn't want to fight with Lennon again. Something about us had been strained.

"Okay," was all I said. "I just think rapping might throw people off. I sang this entire time."

"If you want to be successful, we're going to need to change some things up," Lennon told me. "I'm not trying to change. I'm just trying to make you more marketable. You do want to win."

"Of course," I timidly affirmed. "I want to win."

"Good!" she suddenly exclaimed, contrasting her anger from like a minute ago. "For the originals week, since you're busy, you don't have to write the song."

"Isn't that dishonest?" I wondered.

"Who's gonna check us?" Lennon laughed. "Anyway, you'll be listed as the writer, but we can get ghostwriters."

Like Andre.

If it could happen to superstar Andre, why would I be any different?

But I wasn't just a singer. I was a songwriter, too. I didn't just want to be one thing.

Lennon reached inside her bag and pulled out her iPad. "Here are some demos I was assigned to show to you. Since we bought the rights, we can do what we want. This one is called 'Pretty Like'. It was written for Doja Cat, but she rejected it."

The song blasted off in a heavy trap beat. It was already more energetic than what I wanted. It was catchy, though. There were some iconic one-liners I was sure were written to go viral on TikTok or something.

It was catchy. But it wasn't me. It was flat and boring, and it sounded devoid of anything full of soul. Lennon seemed to be impressed, though.

When it was over, Lennon smiled at me. "I think this is the one."

"But it's not my original song," I protested. "I don't know about it."

"No one's going to know," Lennon assured. "I think if you want to win, you should sing it. Show people more than just the soft girl image. Show them you want to win. This song is probably going to go viral and make you very famous. You want to be famous, right?"

I wanted to sing, and I guess being famous was the one way to make that happen. "Yeah."

"Then I think you should sing it," she pressed. "Well, since that's settled, we can go to the studio. We have three songs to record."

"Three?" I questioned.

"Yes," she agreed. "I sent you your schedule. This week is going to be very fast. Try not to drop dead."

"I won't," I said.

I would.