This was originally going to be the first book. Instead, I wrote Fixing Noah. Sometimes that Brock O'hurn thick body just couldn't be denied. Everyone is appearing in this book again from the Fixing Noah cast except a few characters. I wanted it to feel like a TV series or Webcomic.  

Tags: Chick Lit, Erotica Romance, Musical, Jukebox musical, New Adult

Sabali by Normani

Asher by Stephen James

Blurb - (early draft)
Sabali Lora is in college to be a music teacher for disabled children, like her mother. Her best friend drags her to the YouTube Red Project World Tour audition. It's a singing competition for a spot on a world tour to appear at almost every music festival in the world. Including the biggest of them all the Youtube Red Project world Tour with an estimated viewing audience larger than the world cup. The two best friends see it as one last adventure before they go their separate ways. It's an audition what does she have to lose?Asher Kells and his dead brother sold their souls for music. And when he lost his brother he figures out that the music wasn't enough. Fame comes at a price and so does happiness. I wonder what will happen when these two meet.

-Excerpt- "Instant fame, instant success, instant fans and instant expectation," the announcer turns to the camera. He smiles toothily, "all you need to do is win."

~

0 - Overture [The Hymn of Joy] |

An endless line of people crowds the Sacramento Arena parking lot. The line spills out of the audition area and inches forward step by step. A hot Sacramento sun bakes the parking lot. But the party atmosphere can't stop for over 100-degree weather. Each failed contestant walks out, conveyor belt style chewed up, and spit out.

"This isn't a good idea." I turn to my best friend, who gives me a slight shove forward. She lifts one eyebrow at me to save her voice for singing. It's a silent conversation I understand all too well from the years of our childhood to adult friendship. We're totally doing this. She says with her eyes.

I'm at the front of the line. The large LED TV comes back from the commercial. The host of the show announces, like a carnival barker who sells his wares, "this is the biggest singing competition ever. We have over twenty million entries from all over the world." He fixes his tie while in his slick suit. Then he pushes out his snakeskin shoes to take a dramatic pose. In the most comically slow walk with the camera, he walks from backstage onto the main stage.

His perfectly overly white teeth flash. Like the carnival barker he is, he puts on a show and brings the mic back to his mouth. "The audition is the beginning. Once our contestants are selected they join in teams of two chosen by our three judges." The camera swings over to the three judges in fancy chairs. A large 'YouTube Red The Tour.' contest sign lights up above their heads. The light shines down from the sign to illuminate the stage below. The host travels across the stage and moves through the light. "This is how they know they are chosen," he stage whispers into the mic.

"We have three judges. But only two audition contestants can be chosen by per judge," the host makes a production of that insignificant fact. The sign for team pop lights up under the shadowed judge. Team Broadway sign lights up the next judge. Also, deep in shadow brings more drama to the moment. The last sign lights up team rock. The host stands under the main sign The Tour light shining down on him with all three of the team signs pop, broadway, rock illuminating him from below. He looks up at the tour light from the sign as if it's a benediction instead of a bunch of light bulbs. A big fat smile spreads across his face and he hits his mark. "The winner gets top billing on a major Tour. Fame, success, fans, and fortunes await for the winning team's contestants." He stares dead into the camera and theatrically. "This is The Tour." The lights go out suddenly and hide him from the arena audience.

At the end of his words, backstage, everyone moves like a wasp nest. The stage manager calls out for "NEXT, places."

I lick my dry lips as my best friend squeezes my hand. Next was me and I wasn't understanding next. What does next mean again?

"Two slices of sweet potato pie as a bribe," my best friend for once doesn't budge at that pie bribe. Pie works 9 out of 10 times with her. I tug her hand forward, trying to get her to go ahead of me, but she shakes her head. She pushes me forward and I walk like a zombie on to the dark stage, to the grand piano. My heels click on the lonely stage. The audience was in shadow. It was like staring into the depth of space with a few phone screen lights for stars.

Seated at the piano and my fingers brush across the cold keys. It's not like the Hammond organ at my house, but it has that sense of homeness.

I lean into the mic. "My name is Sabali Lora, I'm in college at UC Davis as a music major. Oh, almost forgot, I'm twenty from Sacramento, California," damn, voice cracked on Sacramento. I take a big breath and center myself. The audition wasn't my idea. My best friend wanted us to go together and try out. It doesn't matter doing this. Come on, clear your head.

Tune everything out. I coach myself with whispers of my mother's voice at the edges of the world. The past blends with the now.

Just sing. The faint touch of my mother's thin hand hovers over my heart, reminding me silently to sing from here.

My fingers play across the icy black and white keys of the piano. The introductory phrase of The Hymn of Joy with bits and pieces of Joyful, Joyful mash together to lift it. The sound rolls out from the grand piano smoothly.

Stillness floods into me as I remember my mother seated next to me. On her other side is my best friend in the world. We three sit together at the organ, ready to play. She smiles down at me "sing baby."

"Joyful, Joyful," I let the lyrics spin-out from me.

The scarf wrapped around her head tightly keeps her warm. She moves slowly as she rocks like an ethereal being to the music. The old wooden organ has everyone in my family's name scratched into the wood. When I scratched it in it ruined the pretty old wood but as a kid, it made it lovely to me. The marks aged with time and the wear is still visible.

Vocally I follow the notes, pushing out the sounds as my finger works across the keys. The little pinkish peach ribbon on her wrist flitters. Her dark skin sallow now and not the dark pearl lust of her life before the sickness came. The ache in my gut tells me what is to come. Her hand makes me nervous about all my imagined teenage fears that come for her. The sickly feeling that my imagination might be more right than I'm ready to believe right now. Her hand moves weakly to redirect mine for a more efficient path. The next note rings clearly. My mother's small gentle correction makes the song smoother. Mother first but always the music teacher second.

My eyes lift off the keys, looking into her dull brown ones for a moment. She can no longer teach kids in music therapy classes these days. My best friend, her brother, and my brothers are her last students.

I fill my lungs with the sweet scent of sweet potato pie my mother always smells like. The second sent a mix of the all too familiar metallic tinge. The smell lingers around her like a ghoul from the ​hospital.

"Hearts unfold like flowers before Thee"

My voice mirrors that long ago song. The notes winding around the vein of the sorrow that pours from my lips. It should be a joyful song. But I fill it with so many different emotions, joy but also sorrow. Spreading the notes through the silent audience and judges. The sound rises to the roof of the packed arena in silence except for the song.

Thoughts wander through the notes of the song. I remember the feel of the worn-down little tied pinkish peach ribbon held clutched in my hand. I sing the words to the song, "Giver of immortal gladness." Missing is her voice telling me to sing to her as my mother's coffin is lowered in to the ground. I sing my moms' soul up. My small family is crowded around the gaping black hole as she is lowered down. The tiny ribbon leaves my hand, fluttering after her. My older brother takes my right hand and my best friend takes my left hand. Her brother touched my shoulder as the last notes of the song came out.

My voice breaks out into the audience of today, the last words.

"Oh, fill us with the light of day......"All sound is dead for long moments. I breathe in and out slowly in my own world on the last note that's ricocheting through time and space for me. But the piano keys couldn't take me back. I was instead left with the phantom of my mother's smile. She always did at the end of everything I've ever played, even when I did it wrong. With the vague sense of a hole that couldn't never be filled. A hole that should never be filled.

The lights come up on the stage. The large logo of The Tour shines down on my brown skin, bouncing off the oil in my dark hair. A man covered in tattoos stands from the judges' area. His blue-gold eyes locked on me while the other two judges clapped. Team Rock light beams up at me. The other two judges clap with the audience's roar fills my ears. The Team Rock man isn't clapping though which makes no sense because his was the only light that came on. If he liked the song enough for me to join his team why isn't he clapping? My brain is catching up, processing his familiar face through the adrenaline, but parts of his face is still in the shadows. The host appears from nowhere to congratulate me on winning. I've become a contestant.

Even that small phantom of her smile fades from me. My hollow heart only hears the echo of my mother's words, "good job baby, you sang it beautifully."