Behind the Spotlight

1

Voices surrounded me.

'Did you see Alyssa's latest TikTok? You can totally see Aurora in the back!'

' I think it's so sweet they're still besties. I always thought they must have hated each other on the show!'

'I'm so convinced it had to be her!'

'I don't know, why would she be back? Hasn't it been like ten years?'

The conversations grew louder, an influx of unfamiliar voices flooded my mind. Was this a bad idea? Did I just undo years of closure I tried to gain just for my life to be what I tried so desperately to escape?

"Hey." A voice, oddly familiar, rose above the chatter. I blinked open my eyes, taking in my true surroundings. I wasn't trapped in some college dorm room with a group of 'get ready with me girls' who cringed at the thought of drugstore makeup. Instead, I found myself in the back of an SUV with my best friend. Alyssa's hand gripped mine, a touch that always brought a sense of calm. She was right; I didn't have to do this. I had spent the past ten years in Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania—a town with a population of roughly four thousand people. Four thousand individuals who didn't really know who I was, and those who did, well, they didn't care. Not much happened in Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania, and that was exactly what I needed.

"I know," I said matter-of-factly, my eyes fixed straight ahead. I never comprehended how Alyssa stood by my side all these years. I wasn't a kind person by any means—blunt, impatient, often self-centered. Call it trauma bonding, call it her blindness to my true self. Call it whatever you wanted; it didn't make sense to me either way.

We sat in the back of the car for what felt like an eternity, enveloped in a heavy silence. The only audible sounds were the meticulous checks by security guards, ensuring no lurking paparazzi could spoil the anticipated scoop. Abruptly, the car door opened, causing me to flinch. I leaned towards Alyssa, tightly squeezing her hand, a gesture reciprocated with a reassuring squeeze. "Ladies," a deep voice boomed. I was uncertain whether he belonged to the studio's security or the private team I had hired, he remained a stranger, and my guard remained firmly in place. "The area is secured; we are ready to head in whenever you are." Trust was a rare currency in my life. People tended to exploit and manipulate, attempting to cheat money off of me or bask in borrowed fame. Security guards, however, were different. They were merely doing their jobs.

"Thank you," I exhaled, nodding politely at the stranger. The gravity of the situation hit me; despite Alyssa's encouragement, there was no turning back now. A decade of experiences had led to this moment—stepping out of the car and entering the studio. The apprehension gripped me. What if no one cared about the girl who was famous a decade ago? What if, in the public's eyes, I was just a washed-up star clinging to her final grasp at fame? The what-ifs flooded my mind, and though I knew these thoughts couldn't harm me, they did. You would think after years of being alone with your own thoughts you would be okay with them but yet I think time did more damage than I could comprehend. I released my seatbelt, sliding out of the car. Alyssa's hand remained in mine, and the unfamiliar security guard shielded me with a thick black umbrella. Flashbacks to being sixteen and heading to some club I shouldn't have been at flooded my mind. Never did I imagine, as an adult, that I would find myself reenacting moments from my past.

I had forgotten what a meticulous process interviews were: the hair and makeup, the careful consideration of talking points, the delicate mic'ing up, and the patience required while waiting for the host to finally grace you with their presence. Depending on the host, this could be five minutes before you're supposed to start or three hours after you were supposed to finish.

Seated in the white armchair, I could feel my anxieties suddenly amplify. What if I was embarrassing myself? Perhaps I shouldn't be here. A fleeting thought whispered that literally nobody cared. But deep down, I knew these words weren't the truth. Everybody cares. Nothing captivates people more than witnessing a trainwreck unfold on television—watching a former celebrity cry about the hardships of their life. People revel in tearing women down, making them regret every move they've ever made while telling them it was entirely their fault it had happened. While I had made it a habit to avoid searching myself on the internet, I suspected I wasn't beating these individuals to the punch by tearing myself down.