SEASON ONE, EPISODE FIFTEEN

NICHOLAS

NICK

          "FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT!"

          The initial notes of Panic! at the Disco's Say Amen echoed in the auditorium and Nicholas St. Martin tapped his foot against the wooden floors to the rhythm of the music. In a few seconds, he'd have to step forward and the spotlight would shine down on him as he walked forward.

          It was incredibly simple, yet, at the same time, it was also ridiculously easy for him to screw up. Leave it to him to mess up even the slightest directions, especially while performing on a stage smaller than he was used to. They usually rehearsed in the Vogelstein Center as they were supposed to, but, since the auditorium was undergoing some restoration processes, they'd been shoved to the dance theater in Kenyon Hall, which was much, much smaller.

          Janet García gave him a slight push forward, hinting it was time to sing, and he jumped in his place. She furrowed her brows, but said nothing. They both knew how distracted he had been during the entire week, especially that afternoon, and she had made him promise it wouldn't get in the way of rehearsal.

          Unfortunately, it did.

          They also knew why he was so distracted and, truth be told, Nick had expected Janet to understand. After all, they had all been close friends once, going everywhere and doing everything together, and he knew Janet, too, missed those times—back when everything was so much simpler. She was just pissed off and being petty, but, deep down, she still cared. Deep down, she understood where he was coming from.

          To say that Friday's rehearsal was a disaster would be the kindest understatement of the decade. Although Nick didn't have to do anything besides sing, look pretty, and stand on the middle of the stage while doing so, there were background singers and dancers who weren't used to not having enough room to move freely.

          His frustration was gradually increasing. He knew he couldn't snap at his teammates out of fear it would ruin the group dynamic and seriously backfire, hurting their rehearsals and subsequent performances. That didn't make it any easier to deal with.

          Janet was making it a lot harder than it should be. Nick often caught her giving him the side-eye and quite an impressive glare, almost as though she wanted to melt him on the spot, and that, along with everything else, ruined their productivity. Nevertheless, he sang the song until the very last note and did so with the knowledge he was giving it his all.

          "Alright, everyone," he said, once the music faded and everyone stopped in their tracks. "That was good, but we can do better. I know the circumstances aren't ideal, but they're what we have at the moment." He fixed the lapels of his blazer. "We've dealt with bigger step-backs before, but we've always, always, come out on top. This won't be any different." He searched for support and renewed enthusiasm in the faces looking back at him, but he mostly found skepticism. "Guys, come on. It's a small stage, but we've never sounded better than this. We can do this."

          "Sorry to disappoint you, boss," Janet intervened, always snarky, "but it's kind of hard to believe what you're saying when you don't believe your own words. Even you know this was an utter disaster."

          "I didn't say that." He rubbed his cheek. "Let's not put that on those terms."

          "Well." She shrugged. "Could have fooled me."

          This wasn't Janet—not her usual self, anyway. She was being petty because she was hurt and because she didn't know any other way of showing it. To everyone else, she was just being catty, but Nick knew her so much better than that.

          She felt left out. She feared that she would be left behind if he and A.J. patched things up—which he highly doubted would happen—just like how it went down last time. No one had ever referred to them as the Spring Awakening trio—it had just been A.J. and him, with Janet tagging along like the quirky third wheel. That was the narrative his agent had been pushing on everyone, pushed by A.J.'s public relations team, and it got messy really fast.

          "Okay, let's take a break," he advised. "Take five, everyone. Get hydrated. Let's try High Hopes next."

          "Yay," Janet cheered, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Let's not miss out on yet another chance for you to make this group all about yourself."

          Nick tried his hardest not to roll his eyes and let the group leave the stage. He waited until everyone left the auditorium and watched Janet throw him one final glance over her shoulder, with her attitude momentarily dropping. Then, she was herself again, now that there was no one left for her to impress, and he was pleased to know that was the last he saw of her before the rehearsal break.

          He found himself thinking about why things between them were so complicated. That reminded him of Avril Lavigne's song and, since there was no one in the auditorium besides him, not even the ever-present band, he decided to just go for it.

          Janet had always said he could use some more spontaneity in his life. How was that for being spontaneous?

          He picked up one of the acoustic guitars, swung the strap around his torso, and tried his hardest to remember the chords. He had always been biased towards Canadian music, mostly because it was his own country of origin (people always commented on his lack of an accent), and Avril had been his first celebrity crush.

          Maybe he had always had a thing for girls who drove him straight out of his mind.

          "You know, that's the best you've ever sounded."

          Nick jumped, once the song was over, as he hadn't expected to hear another voice—especially that one. His eyes had grown used to the darkness in the auditorium long ago, and it wasn't easy to find her walking down one of the aisles.

          He knew she would rather be caught dead than wandering around the halls of Vassar College, NYSPA's eternal rival, but he needed to feel at home, to be somewhere comfortable if she wanted to talk.

          She didn't want to talk. Her best friend wanted them to have a proper conversation after months of zero communication that didn't have their management teams' fingers involved.

          "Doubt it," he retorted. "It's probably just the acoustics in here. They fool you."

          A.J. shook her head, chuckling softly to herself. "You have three national show choir championship trophies and titles under your belt. You played the male lead in Spring Awakening. You have thousands of devoted fans. What else will it take for you to stop being so modest and accept you're just that good?"

          "Did your team put you up for this? Is it time for us to . . . how do they put it . . . 'rekindle our relationship'?" A.J. visibly stiffened, in spite of the physical distance between them, and Nick felt disgusted with himself. That wasn't the right thing to say. "I'm sure the media would love that narrative—two star crossed lovers, fighting for the same thing and against one another. Show choir."

          "Actually, Miyu made me do it. She's the one who had been talking to you behind my back, not my team—who, by the way, has no idea I'm doing this."

          "Great. You wanted to talk, right?" She didn't open her mouth. "Let's talk. Or, like, sing about it. Whatever you prefer."

          "Sing about it," she echoed, walking up the stairs leading to the stage. They had kept up with each other through social media, even though their interactions were never voluntary and were always so meticulously planned, and he saw her. She looked different from the retouched pictures—the circles under her eyes were dark, her cheekbones were more prominent than usual, and she didn't bother to hide it. "As if that would ever solve anything."

          Nick sighed. He knew this would be difficult, as A.J. had never been an easy person to talk to, but he supposed he could get past all of her brick walls. Once upon a time, he had been the only person to be able to do so.

          "We've always made amazing music together," he argued. She bit down on her bottom lip. "Come on, A. No strings attached. Just like old times."

          A.J. stared down at her feet for a few moments. "Fine. One song." She raised her head. "But then we'll talk. I hate the stench of this place."

          Nick laughed. "Leave VC alone."

          One of the corners of her mouth twisted up into a small smirk as she made her way towards one of the synthesizer-enhanced keyboards. "The sweet scent of mediocrity is strangely inspiring, don't you think? I'm glad you still play, though." She pointed to his guitar with her chin. "I think you might want to switch to the drums for this one."

          "Pfft," he scoffed, but still set down the guitar. "We're doing Bastille, aren't we?" A.J. simply shrugged. "Good thing I'm so damn talented."

          They played Fake It, which seemed oddly fitting for their current situation, and Nick was aware they both knew damn well the only reason why they sounded so cohesive, so great together even without prior warning was because they knew each other that well.

          At least, he thought they did.

          It had been more than five minutes ever since he'd told the group to take a break. With the knowledge they wouldn't come back that soon, he sat on the edge of the stage and waited for A.J. to mimic him, which she did. They had all the privacy an empty auditorium could offer them.

          "I'm tired," she eventually confessed. "I'm tired of pretending I don't miss you. I'm tired of pretending this doesn't upset me. I'm tired of pretending I wasn't the one to screw things up." She took a deep breath. "I'm so, so tired of lying and pretending to be someone I'm not."

          "That was not your fault." Like, it was true. Both of them had contributed to the end of their friendship and, even then, it wasn't that simple. There wasn't just one reason or two behind it—in reality, it had been a group effort, greatly influenced by their teams. "It was for the best."

          "We were best friends, Nick. A lot of it might have been fake, but I've always loved you. I've loved you since the first day I met you. Just . . ."

          ". . . not the way you were supposed to." She sadly nodded and his chest tightened. He hated the way it was worded—supposed, as though any of them owed the other anything, as though they just had to force themselves to feel a certain way to please someone higher up. "Look, A.J., I get it. I know what it was, and I know we were both using each other. It's not something you need to apologize for."

          "I didn't—"

          "We used the relationship for publicity—both of us." She pressed her lips together. "I miss being your friend, though. Sometimes, something happens, I grab my phone because my brain is like 'you have to tell A.J.', and then I remember we're not speaking to each other. I'm not going to lie and tell you it doesn't suck, because it does. It hurts."

          "Yeah." She exhaled through her mouth. "It only ended because I asked. You know that. I was a coward and wanted out of the contract."

          "It was hurting you. You said it so yourself, just now—you're tired of lying." They didn't look at each other. Instead, they stared at the other side of the auditorium, right at the door. "I'm not going to crucify you for wanting to do what was best for you. I'm guessing Miyu knows the truth; otherwise, she wouldn't have tried to convince me to talk to you. I've always wanted to talk to you, so it was kind of strange to know she saw me as the villain here."

          A.J. looked at him with tear-filled eyes. "Because that's how my team chose to paint you as. They couldn't come up with a peaceful way of us ending things, a way of letting us stay friends, and forced me to act like there had been a massive fall-out. Instead of arguing more, instead of forcing them to let me have it my way, I gave up. It was a lie, Nick. It was an act. I just . . . didn't reach out sooner because I knew you were pissed at me for disappearing without saying a word. I should have told you. I'm sorry."

          "I know." Nick reached out for one of her hands. "It's okay."

          "It's not. It's really not. I shouldn't have let them do that to you—to us. You were my best friend."

          "I still am." He squeezed her fingers. He supposed he should be a lot angrier than he actually was, but, strangely, he felt relieved. It was incredibly satisfying to have someone explain things to him instead of being forced to guess them on his own or, even worse, being left in the dark. It was satisfying to know who to blame. "I never stopped loving you."

          "She knows."

          "I figured that much."

          She stared down at her knees. "I've never liked anyone as much as I like her, Nick. I have no one to talk to about it and it's not like I can tell her, either, because going public with it would mean . . . you know. I'm not ready for it. I'm not ready for the world to know, even before my own family. If she doesn't like me back, all of it would have been for nothing, and my team would run after her and force her to sign an NDA. How's that for screwed up?"

          Nick sighed.

          He had never been good at giving relationship advice and A.J.'s case was more complicated than what he was used to dealing with. He usually abstained from giving his opinion on the matter, as it was not his battle to fight or his place to say something, but he could sing about it.

          He pulled her up. "Come on."

          "What?"

          "One more song."

          She groaned, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of her free hand. "We've already—"

          "Alanis. We're doing Alanis."

          She puckered her lips. "Why?"

          "It's cathartic. Thank u."

          "Next?"

          He gasped, with a hand set over his heart, faking being offended. "You hurt me. Let's do it."

happy new year eh