SEASON TWO, EPISODE TWO

THE LUCKY ONE

MIYU

          TIME PASSED. Slowly, but surely, even though some days felt longer than forever.

          November slipped away easily, fading into the heavy snowstorms of December, but even those left eventually. The temperatures dropped progressively right before Christmas and Miyu feared she, along with her poor immune system, would be bedridden with a nasty flu if she kept being exposed to the cold weather.

          That, too, was gone.

          When January came along and classes were back in session, so was glee club. Everyone was still buzzing with adrenaline following their win at Sectionals and were ready to start rehearsing for Regionals, but no one chose to acknowledge the massive elephant in the room.

          No one knew what they were doing.

          There were barely any people with show choir experience there—Miyu only knew about Gwen and Isabella—and even them seemed somewhat lost. High school show choirs couldn't possibly compare to the toxic competitiveness of college show choirs, and Isabella's previous group had been disbanded after losing a competition.

          It felt like Sectionals all over again—the uncertainty, the desire to do more, the confusion.

          To make matters even worse, A.J. still hadn't returned to their dorm room. She only came to NYSPA to attend her lectures, leaving immediately after, and, on the rare occasions anyone managed to convince her to stay for coffee, she never hung around for a long time. Miyu didn't blame her for not wanting to stay, as it was certainly hard for her to constantly be on edge, searching for any signs of betrayal around her.

          She'd also chopped half of her hair off, making it a lot harder to hide from anyone who stared, but it also enhanced her recent weight loss. She still dressed the same, albeit darker colors were more common now, along with combat boots instead of ankle boots or Converse sneakers. It was symbolic in a way, but no one dared to make any comments about it.

          In fact, A.J. herself hadn't said a word about the entire situation besides a perfectly crafted Instagram post. She'd called out the people who had outed her—she only hadn't done so by name because the identities were still unknown—and ranted about backstabbers before begging people to respect her privacy (and Miyu's) and announcing a generous donation to various LGBTQ+ charities.

           The next order of business was to disable comments on her Instagram, but Miyu knew that had been a decision coming from her publicist. After all, the show choir world could be vicious and brutal and some people were still reeling over her supposed betrayal after she performed alongside Descant Get Enough at Sectionals.

          Miyu didn't really see things that way. There were things regular people would never understand—they should feel glad they didn't understand—and she was certain there had been a lot of work done behind the scenes.

          A.J. wouldn't betray NYSPA, not like that. No matter how hurt or disappointed she was.

          "So," Miyu began, as they stood in the cafeteria line, "I'm guessing you're not staying after lunch."

          "No," A.J. replied, never bothering to pick up a tray. Miyu wasn't sure if she should be concerned; after all, A.J.'s parents and her entire team had been watching her like hawks and, whenever they weren't present, there was always someone. "Probably not. I need to study."

          "Study for what?"

          "I have a Script Analysis paper I have to turn in next week and I haven't started it yet." She let out a small sigh. "I'm completely swamped."

          "You hate analyzing scripts."

          "I had to pick an elective, though."

          "Oh."

          "Yeah." They both reached out for the same empty cup at the same time, but A.J. quickly drew back her hand right after their fingers brushed, as though the physical contact had burned her. "Sorry. I'm so sorry."

          "A.J., it's okay—"

          "I should go." No one was paying them any attention, yet she was still frantic. "I need to go."

          Miyu's fingers curled around her wrist before she could stop herself and something in the air seemed to shift. A.J. didn't try to break free from the grip, still too shocked to do anything about it, and Miyu held on to her with everything she had.

          "I understand you're terrified," she said, keeping her voice low so no one could hear them, "but I need you to trust me on this one, okay? You're okay. You're fine. You're safe. You're right here. You're with me." Miyu tentatively set her other hand over A.J.'s, fearing it might be too much, too risky, but she still didn't move. "I got you. No one thinks it's funny anymore, I swear. Everyone's been dedicating so much time to figuring out who outed you, especially people from the club."

          "You know I can't—you know I can't go back there." Her voice cracked right at the end. "I can't. Not after Sectionals."

          "I think you should, at least, come watch today's rehearsal. We've been doing this really cool weekly assignment, where we dedicate songs to people and ask them to be there. Levi even proposed to his girlfriend via FaceTime and—"

          A.J.'s face fell. "I don't think that's a good idea."

          "But—"

          "I just can't." She finally took a step back, firmly crossing her arms, and Miyu dropped her hands, defeated. "It's not as easy as getting over it and showing up to rehearsals unannounced as if nothing happened."

          "I understand." Miyu glanced back over her shoulder and found the table the NYSPA blog team usually sat at. Angelina was strangely absent from there, whereas a few people returned the stare before resuming their conversation. "I just think it'd be nice if you went there, just this once, because I know at least one person wanted to dedicate a song to you. Gwen," she added, when A.J. raised an eyebrow. "She kind of sees you as a mentor, you know."

          A.J. shook her head. "A mentor. What a joke." She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "If she wants a mentor, there are a bunch of other people she can follow. Even Sasha would be a better fit."

          "Yeah, well, she wants you." Miyu shrugged. It wasn't the best idea, as A.J. was already pissed off, and the gesture alone only made her go as stiff as an iron board. An ice-cold iron board. "Give it a go, will you? For her."

          A.J.'s eyes narrowed, looking like shards of ice. "Whatever. I'll think about it."

          SHE DID IT.

          Even though she sat alone, refusing to look at anything besides her crossed legs, she was still there. The blog team didn't shut up about it, because of course they didn't, and Miyu wanted to slap some common sense into every single one of them; they were the reason why she had left and were making things even harder for everyone involved.

          Sasha was the only one A.J. didn't manage to run away from. As stubborn as a bull, she occupied the seat directly to her right and refused to let anyone come near them, even though A.J. was being as attractive as a slice of cake to a bunch of flies. Sasha leaned towards her to fall into a monologue—mostly because A.J. scowled during the entire conversation—and Miyu wasn't certain she wanted to know what it was all about.

          She had other worries, anyway. Her parents were there to watch the rehearsal, as she wanted to sing for them, but she didn't exactly know how to break the news to them.

          They could deal with her not being straight. To be fair, they honestly didn't care about that.

          However, they'd certainly be pissed as soon as they found out she wasn't interested in following a musical theater career—or anything that involved performing on a stage, really. It felt like a waste of time, money, effort, and patience, but she preferred working behind the scenes. She even preferred writing.

          She wasn't sure how they'd take it. She expected anger and, worst of all, disappointment. That had always been something she'd never handled well, courtesy of her crippling desire to please everyone, and the fear of failing had settled rather comfortably in the gaps between her ribs.

          Miyu felt close to suffocating.

          "You okay there, buddy?" Zara questioned. She'd swung the strap of an electric guitar around her just for the kicks, which wasn't pleasing the band that much, but Miyu didn't mind. It was nice to have a nice, familiar face backing her up. "You're looking awfully pale."

          "I am pale," Miyu blurted out.

          Zara's lips stretched into an understanding smile. "Let me reformulate; you look green. Are you going to pass out during the performance?"

          "Hopefully not. My parents are sitting in the audience."

          She mentally cursed Isabella for choosing to hold this week's rehearsals in the auditorium instead of staying in the choir room like they were supposed to. That way, all the spotlights illuminated her instead of allowing her to fade into the background, whereas her parents were immersed in the dark and preventing her from seeing them. They saw her just fine—way too well, even.

          Miyu would also like to know what she was thinking when she decided to cover an Aerosmith song. It was hard, totally out of her comfort zone, and totally out of her vocal range. She couldn't hit those high notes regardless of how hard she tried and, if she went too low, she'd easily ruin the song.

          Zara chuckled. "Girl, you really should start believing in yourself."

          "I'm going to tell my parents I've spent the past four years of my life studying something I'm not that interested in and that I only followed their footsteps to make them proud. I don't think there's an easy way to disappoint your parents and feel relieved or happy about it." Zara played some random chords, nodding and humming. "I'm starting to regret this."

          "Why? Don't you think it's better to tell them the truth instead of lying even more?"

          Miyu threw her a deadpan look. "Have you ever been in a similar situation?"

          "No, not really. My family has always been super supportive, but I've also always been really open with them about my feelings and all that. Guess I'm lucky." She briefly paused, glancing at the audience. "If you don't want me to play, I can go back and let the band handle it. However it makes you feel more comfortable."

          Miyu followed her stare. Gwen paced back and forth along the middle aisle, probably trying to gather enough courage to talk to A.J., but, even if she found it, Sasha would never let that happen. A.J. herself was focused on her phone, incessantly scrolling down the screen, while Sasha spoke.

          Her parents were nowhere to be found, but she knew they were there. Her mother's perfume was intoxicating and she could smell it all the way from the center of the stage, covering every uncovered inch of her skin in goosebumps.

          "I want you to play," Miyu said. "Thanks for doing this."

          Zara winked at her. "I got you."

          "Hi, everyone," Isabella greeted, clapping once to get the attention of everyone in the auditorium. A.J. never looked up. "This is our last rehearsal of the week and the last day of dedications week. You all know by now how this works; you choose a song you want to dedicate to someone, and we'll try to have them come here. If they want to, they can sing something back to you. Some of you got lucky, others used technology"—she nodded towards Levi, who raised a fist a la The Breakfast Club—"and others . . . well. It's the thought that counts." She turned to face Miyu. "Do you want to do the honors?"

          Miyu curled her fingers around the microphone, shivers running down her spine. She saw red. "I . . . I guess?"

          "Whenever you're ready, then."

          Truth be told, Miyu would never be ready for something of such caliber. These were four years of her life she'd be tossing aside, but she could deal with that; she simply didn't know how to deal with the consequences it would bring to her relationship with her parents.

          Miyu took a deep breath. She tried to find A.J. again, in the middle of all the people staring up at her, but she failed to do so.

          "Okay, so . . ." she began. "I wanted to sing for my parents, even though it's kind of on short notice, but I'm really glad you two managed to be here today." Her heart thudded against her sternum. Someone in the crowd snickered and she knew everyone thought she was being ridiculous. "I personally think it's really important to follow your dreams, even if . . . even if those dreams end up changing. Even if they're not what everyone else expected them to be. I struggled a lot with coming to terms with that, but my own approval is the one I needed the most; hopefully I'll get some external support. Hopefully."

          She nodded towards Zara, who flashed her a thumbs up before playing the first chords of Dream On.

          It hurt like a goddamn bitch. The fear of failure lingered for a lot longer than Miyu would have liked and a gnawing voice in her head insisted it was never good enough. She couldn't hit the right notes, her voice wavered too much, she'd gotten the lyrics wrong, everything was a mistake.

          The temperature in the auditorium dropped and Miyu's eyes scanned the auditorium, frantically searching for a flash of gold, her lifeline, ultimately failing.

          "I don't want to do musical theater," she confessed. Even though she kept her voice quiet, calm, collected, it was still amplified by the microphone. "I want to write. I want to work behind the scenes. Musical theater and stages have never been my dreams. They're yours." She gulped, trying to decipher her parents' expressions as they both stood from their seats, but they remained blank. "I want to follow my own dreams now. I took enough electives to know what I'm doing."

          A beat. Miyu exhaled.

          "We've always encouraged you to follow your dreams," her mother began, "whatever they were. We spent the past four years thinking this was your dream; we spent way longer than that believing it. That was why we did everything we did—all the theater companies, all the summer programs. For you. For what we thought had been your dream all along."

          "I think it was, at some point," Miyu retorted, wiping a stubborn tear from the corner of her eye. She wished she was better at reading people. "It changed eventually. I didn't know—I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to tell you guys the truth."

          "We're not mad at you," her father reassured her. Miyu finally found A.J., just as she shifted in her seat. "Whatever your dreams are, whatever you want to do—we want to help you."

          With lighter shoulders, Miyu slowly made her way back to her seat, sitting between her parents. Gwen chose that opportunity to almost skip towards the stage, as she always did whenever her nerves got the best of her, and Miyu wanted to encourage her, but no words came out of her mouth.

          Gwen might as well be suffering from a terrible case of hypothermia thanks to how badly she was shaking. She'd been nervous before Sectionals as well, but she had done just fine, in Miyu's humble opinion; if she hadn't, perhaps they wouldn't have even won.

          Miyu risked a glance back over a shoulder mid-performance—The Lucky One by Taylor Swift, which was strangely appropriate—and found A.J. looking straight at the stage, arms still crossed, scowl still present. She was beginning to regret having dragged her to today's rehearsal, as it wasn't doing her any good—it was just reminding her of the reasons why she had left.

          Your lover in the foyer doesn't even know you.

          Your secrets end up splashed on the news front page.

          When the performance ended and Gwen had brought herself nearly to tears, the air was thick. People expected a reaction—something, anything—but handling A.J. in her current state was as safe as reaching out to touch a live wire. You kind of wanted to because it looked pretty and was sort of your main source of energy, but it could easily kill you.

          Then, she stood up. People turned to look at her, waiting, trembling in anticipation, and part of them expected her to storm out of the auditorium. The performance was the only reason for her to be there, after all.

          "Give me the piano," she said, shrugging off her leather jacket and throwing it to Sasha's lap, who shot her a glare in incredulity. "I sincerely hope you'll all stop wasting my time after this."

          "I didn't mean to—" Gwen blabbered, face flushed crimson, but got cut off by whatever look A.J. answered her with.

          A.J. looked tiny as she sat at the grand piano, like a kid sneaking into their parents' office to act like a grown-up. Her hands briefly hesitated before she lowered them over the keys, getting used to the notes all over again, then she played. It was the first time Miyu was hearing her sing ever since Sectionals, excluding classes, and it felt close to seeing the sun for the first time.

          That was until she realized what the song was. Dying in LA was the perfect response to The Lucky One coming from someone who was as furious—no, as hurt—as A.J. currently was, but it'd only hurt Gwen's feelings in the process. Miyu didn't think A.J. cared enough about that, not now, at least.

          When she was done, she didn't wait for anyone.

          "Don't make me do this again," she asked. "Don't try to relate to what I'm going through. Be glad you can't relate."

          For a split second, Miyu thought they'd be able to change her mind. Instead, A.J. jumped off the stage, yanked her leather jacket from Sasha's hands, and slammed the door on her way out. With a heavy sigh, Sasha sprung up from her seat as well to follow her, ignoring Isabella's protests, and the dry thud of the door closing echoed in the nearly silent auditorium.

          "Maybe you shouldn't have done that," Levi suggested.

          "Maybe," Gwen agreed, in a low voice. "Maybe."

this is probably the worst thing i've ever written i'm so sorry