SEASON TWO, EPISODE ELEVEN

REGIONALS (REPRISE)

MIYU

          TIME WAS A FUNNY THING.

          With it being a social construct and all, it never seemed to flow the same way in different moments. It passed by too quickly when all you wanted was for that particular moment to linger. Other times, it dragged on for an eternity, regardless of how desperate you were to escape.

          Sometimes, it just stopped flowing entirely.

          The world could have gone on without Miyu ever noticing a thing.

          One second, she felt about to burst with joy as soon as The Twilight Tone were crowned winners at sectionals. The next second arrived as catastrophically as an avalanche, when she looked to the side, instinctively, and saw A.J. so ashen she was reflecting the lights that hit her. After three demanding performances back to back, sustained by a mere donut, it was no wonder she was on the verge of collapsing.

          She couldn't let her fall, especially at Regionals. Not only because she would never forgive her, but also because that was what best friends were for.

          Everything fell right into place. A.J. moved, quicker than a flash of lightning, and stepped forward to forward to kiss her, throwing all carefulness aside. Allison goddamn Fleetwood, who never did anything without considering every possibility, who was always so paranoid about keeping her private life private, was now kissing her in front of an entire crowd.

          Maybe it was the rush of adrenaline brought by their victory. Maybe it was the hunger high, something A.J. had tried to explain to her quite a few times to no avail. Maybe Miyu just wanted to enjoy that moment, the first kiss they'd shared ever since Taylor Swift and One Direction week, right after a wonderful win at Regionals, but she knew that would have to wait. There were far more pressing matters at stake.

          She didn't want her actions to be seen as rejection. So, she kissed her back, but then stepped away, holding her wrists.

          "Later," she promised.

          Shockingly enough, A.J. quickly nodded, with the faintest of flushes tinting her cheeks, but even that faded as fast as it had appeared. Miyu wrapped an arm around her waist, suddenly aware of how many people were staring at them, even Nick and Janet, all the way from the crowd, and helped her sneak out of the stage. Steps behind her told her they were being followed.

          Risking a glance back over her shoulder, she found T.J., the only person she knew she could handle at the moment. Everyone else would be asking way too many questions, regardless of whether their intentions were good or not, whereas T.J. would only want to focus on getting his twin sister to a safe place.

          "Get me some water and something to eat," she asked T.J., headed off towards the dressing room. A.J. was surprisingly swift for someone on the verge of passing out, but that sort of thing was a created habit. If you got used to it, it got easier to deal with. "Preferably something that resembles an actual meal."

          "Can't you go?" he questioned.

          "Obviously not."

          "She's my sister, you know."

          "Tyler, I get that, I do, but she's my—"

          Miyu never got to complete that sentence. She didn't know how to, after everything that had happened between them, and it was scary not knowing where they stood. Even if that shouldn't be a current priority, part of her couldn't help but long for an answer to that question.

          What are we? What are we doing? What do you want us to be? What do I want us to be? Are we ready for this?

          "I brought food from the hotel," Angelina said, walking towards the small fridge in the room and pulling out a white foam container. Without Miyu noticing a thing, the dressing room had filled with people, including Isabella. "I thought I might get hungry after the competition, so I had them box it for me and brought it along. If you heat it up, it should be good to go. Thank God I did."

          "You can't microwave foam," Tommy pointed out, unable to hide the irritation in his voice. It was the way he spoke to pretty much everyone, so Miyu wasn't entirely surprised by that, but she also expected him to have some tact. There was a clear difference between Angelina and the rest of the blog team, namely Jolene, and the former had done plenty to prove there were no ill intentions behind her actions. "Unless someone has a glass bowl or a porcelain plate—"

          "Suddenly I'm so glad we're a show choir group instead of a debate team because, if we depended on your ability to not say something borderline offensive at any given moment, we wouldn't have even qualified in the first place," Diana dryly retorted. "If there's a fridge and a microwave, it's pretty safe to assume there are things where you can put the food."

          "This feels a tad bit unnecessary," A.J. muttered, in a slurred voice, being met with glares from the people standing nearby. She was wobbling, even while sitting down, and the only reason why she didn't fall forward was because Levi pulled her back, keeping his steady hands on her shoulders. "I'm fine. I'm okay. I don't need—"

          "Eat the damn food, Allison," Sasha scolded, as the microwave beeped and she handed her a bowl of mac and cheese. She nearly knocked Miyu aside to do so, giving her a full view of just how miserable A.J. looked. White as bone, glossy and unfocused eyes, with Levi being the only reason why she didn't fall over. "I saw her parents in the crowd. I could go get them."

          "No," A.J. protested, at the same time that T.J. said,

          "Go."

          Sasha bolted out of the dressing room, her heels echoing behind her, and the circle closed once more, like they were watching an animal on display. A.J. let out a shaky sigh, muttering something about how everyone was so lucky this didn't happen mid-competition, as it could disqualify all of them immediately. It sounded like someone else had now devoted some of their time to reading the show choir rule book, a feat usually reserved for Brody and Gwen, but people had complained A.J. didn't look that interested in competing anymore.

          Stupid Broadway.

          "You did great out there," Miyu said, in what she saw as a futile attempt of rooting her back into reality. Her head was already elsewhere, stressing over the Wicked auditions, stressing over potentially getting the role over Janet García, and the mac and cheese remained untouched. Levi noticed that and nudged her gently, making her reluctantly pick up the plastic fork before everyone got too distracted to realize she wasn't eating. "You were incredible."

          "Good thing she didn't face plant on stage, then," Billie went on. A.J. gripped the fork tighter. "Now we just have to prepare for Nationals, and then the season will be over."

          "We still have Showcase to worry about in a month," T.J. reminded her. "The main focus might be Nationals, but we'll never get there if we don't beat everyone else at Showcase. It's not something we should underestimate by any means."

          "It's already hard enough as is; we don't need the competition to spy on us," Waylon said, pointing towards the door with his chin. Nick and Janet were right outside, something A.J. saw, and she made a move to get up and go meet up with them, but Levi's hands pinned her down to her seat.

          Miyu agreed with him to a certain extent, even if it was a bit hypocritical of her. It was disconcerting to have them around, being leaders of their main competition, but it wasn't like they hadn't done the same to them. There was a difference between spying on your rivals and trying to check on a friend, but the lines blurred easily when it came to showchoir.

          She was sick and tired of it all. Even though she, as a senior, only had two more competitions to worry about, everyone else who stayed would have to go through this over and over again, as long as they won Nationals. Even if they did win, they'd have to carry that pressure on their shoulders for years to come, rinse and repeat, until the day they graduated or lost a competition. NYSPA never gave anyone a third chance.

          Miyu was immensely glad she'd, one day, be free of it all. Working backstage would be infinitesimally less stressful than being on stage, but it wouldn't erase the four years of intense stress NYSPA had inflicted upon her. The memories of breaking down during final exams, written and practical, were woven too tightly in her brain to ever vanish.

          "I think you've already done enough, Nicholas," Mrs. Fleetwood coldly chimed in, making him step aside to let her and her husband through. Sasha looked pretty proud of herself, but making enemies with Descant Get Enough wasn't a smart decision. Even if not for A.J.'s sake, everyone knew Vassar College's group was the favorite to win and no one needed the odds to stack up against NYSPA more than they already were. "Baby, baby. What has this stupid group done to you?"

          "I'm fine," A.J. repeated, for the thousandth time. That stupid group had just won Regionals, thank you very much, and it was about time people started to acknowledge just how good they were. "You can let Nick and Janet in, it's not—"

          "No," Sasha intervened, closing the door right on their faces, but being dramatically slow about it just enough for Miyu to see the incredulous look they shot her in return. They'd traveled to Pennsylvania just to watch A.J., and now they were being excluded. It made sense to not let anyone outside of Twilight Tone enter the dressing room, but still. "Besties only."

          "But he's my—"

          "I didn't stutter."

          "You shouldn't be eating that," Mrs. Fleetwood protested, her voice an octave higher than usual, and Miyu believed she spoke for everyone else in the room when she thought the woman's current priorities were a bit skewed. "That has little to no nutritional value. Is there really nothing in this place you can eat?"

          "Honey, this is Pennsylvania," Mr. Fleetwood added, keeping his voice low, but everyone in the room heard him. Luckily, no one got offended. "I hope you're not expecting any miracles."

          A.J. had never looked so glad to set aside a bowl of mac and cheese. It was barely untouched when she did so, and Miyu glared at Sasha. Even though she'd had good intentions when she went to get A.J.'s parents, everything had taken a quick turn for the worse. They weren't bad people, but there were certain things they had never really known how to handle properly, this being one of them.

          It was easier to pretend everything was fine until it blew up. Then, there would always be a doctor or a clinic to fix it.

          As they left, leaving a fuming T.J. behind, Mr. Fleetwood quickly introduced himself and his wife for those who had never bothered to Google their family. The whole family was part of the show business industry, in one way or another, and it was just one of those families that handled their careers as a legacy.

          "Wait," Landon said, after the trio exited the dressing room, never to return again. "His name is legit Malcolm? Like, Mac Fleetwood?"

          THEIR REGIONALS WEREN'T THE ONLY ONES BEING HELD THAT WEEK.

          They had already gone back to New York by the time Descant Get Enough got a chance to compete, with the rest of the group taking the same train to meet up with Nick and Janet, and Miyu could watch the stream from the comfort of her dorm room. However, it was also the week before midterms, and midterms week was the week before Wicked auditions, so the nerves and the stress in the room were at an all time high.

          A.J. had been writing a lot. She kept a journal, a small black notebook she carried with her everywhere she went, and she had it open over the textbook she should be reading, spinning a pen between her fingers. When questioned about it, she'd simply explain it was a therapy thing, something she used to write down her thoughts and face a concrete version of them instead of worrying about the abstract mess of it all.

          Miyu knew she had promised her they would talk about what happened at their Regionals, but that conversation still hadn't taken place. It was hard to even think about it with all the coursework she was falling behind in and A.J. certainly had other stuff to obsess over.

          "Do you think I'd look good with black hair?" she'd asked, earlier that day, staring at her reflection.

          Just in case, Miyu had browsed through all those show choir gossip blogs and assorted social media accounts, and no one had really cared about the kiss. Those who did were innocent LGBTQ accounts, happy to see more love in the world, but the show choir community was more focused on the competition itself, as strange as it sounded. No PR scandals had broken out during the past few days, so they were in the clear.

          For now.

          "It's almost time," Miyu said, breaking the silence in the dorm room. A.J., sitting at her desk, briefly looked back over her shoulder. "Do you want to watch Regionals or should I get my earphones?"

          A.J. wrinkled her nose, then joined her on the bed, legs folded beneath her. She moved carefully, like a scared cat testing her surroundings, and finally settled. The livestream had already started, with the hosts giving the contestants a brief introduction and summarizing their past performances.

          Descant Get Enough needed no introduction. With multiple national championships under their belt and two leaders with established Broadway careers, they were the group to beat and the fan favorites. The hosts themselves sounded biased, unable to hide the excitement in their voices as they went on and on about Sectionals, whereas A.J. purposefully looked away from the screen.

          "You know no one in the club resents you over that," Miyu told her. "It was out of your control."

          "Does that change anything? I still helped our main competition win."

          Miyu sighed, then turned to her, a hand tentatively set on her arm. "I love you, I do, and I know just how stupidly talented you are, but they didn't need your help. They would have won with their hands tied behind their backs." A.J. sadly nodded. "Everyone knows that. You being there was just an added bonus, but their Sectionals were won before you even stepped on that stage. You would never throw a competition."

          A.J. would rather die than admit defeat, so she went quiet instead.

          The lights in the stream dimmed, slowly at first, then immersing the arena in pitch black. They always did this, a clear staple in most show choir performances, but Miyu remembered their first Nationals win with Nick and Janet captaining it—they had done the opposite, starting off with a burst of light like the Big Bang, and that alone should have won them the championship. We're here, and you're going to acknowledge it.

          Miyu expected to see Nick emerge from the darkness, but then the initial drum notes from Sia's Chandelier started playing and Janet appeared. She looked stunning, wearing a sleeveless draped dress, black but still see-through enough to showcase the skintight catsuit she wore under it. Illuminated by the pink and purple lights behind her and the spotlight above her head, she was a bird, spreading her arms to the side during the bird through the night line, the thin fabric of her dress serving as wings.

          Next to her, A.J. gulped.

          The duet was Bon Jovi's You Give Love a Bad Name, which was . . . interesting, to say the least. It almost seemed to follow the PR narrative, speaking about games and playing parts, and A.J. seemed to be thinking the same thing, shuddering, but then Miyu stopped to think. They had given Janet the solo that should have been Nick's and, to make up for that, they had shoved an electric guitar into his hands.

          Everyone who saw past the voice and the face knew Nick was also a musician. He could expertly play various instruments, and the competition had reached a point where they needed to showcase people's talents instead of keeping them hidden to surprise their rivals. Nick was a damn good guitarist and, even if he couldn't have his own vocal solo, he'd kill his guitar one. It had even made Miyu shiver.

          The final number, the group number, the one that would tie both previous performances together, was Journey's Don't Stop Believin'. It was a crowd favorite, a song many, many people could sing along to, and it was the perfect way to end their set. The lights now blared in shades of red and yellow, victory colors, and Miyu knew they knew they had already won.

          It came as no surprise when the announcer declared them the winner. A.J. deflated significantly, despite knowing they would win, and Miyu feared the imminent meltdown. Someone ought to start preparing her for the future battle; even if she hadn't ever gone head to head with Nick and Janet, she would have to do so in a month. Though it pained her to admit it, Miyu feared A.J.'s nerves would get the best of her.

          "Is everything all right?" she asked.

          "I told my parents you're my girlfriend," A.J. said, quietly. Miyu sat up straight, with the shock of that revelation hitting her like a goddamn wrecking ball. Out of everything she expected A.J. to be agonizing in silence over, that most certainly wasn't it. "I didn't know how else to explain it when they asked. Is that okay?"

          "Um . . ." Miyu forced herself to stop her chest from bursting into confetti. "I mean . . . is that okay with you? I don't want to, like, start assuming things you're not ready for just so other people can be comfortable. It's not their life."

          A.J. leaned back against her pillow. "I haven't been in a relationship in a long time. In a real relationship. Last time I was, I still thought I was into guys. So, basically, this is all new territory and I don't . . . I'm not sure what I'm doing. Sometimes I feel like it's yet another thing I have to be perfect at."

          Miyu knew what she was hinting at.

          Even though the supportive social media accounts were, well, supportive, some of them felt like a little bit too much. The shipping accounts freaked her out a little bit when they tried to write their own narrative about how their private relationship must be like and how they should be like, and it felt like an invasion of privacy. They had dug up old photos of them, had found Miyu's ex-girlfriend's social media accounts and had been harassing her, and felt entitled to the right to over analyze every aspect of their lives.

          None of them had asked for any of that. A.J. had, obviously, seen those posts, as she was tagged in them with increasing frequency, and she'd been in the public eye for a while, so people expected her to shrug those things off. After all, in spite of the stalking and the obsession, they were still rooting for her happiness, right?

          "You don't have to prove anything to anyone," Miyu said, supporting her elbow on the same pillow. "It's not about them."

          "Yeah, I know." A.J. sighed, lacing her fingers over her stomach. "I wish they wouldn't do that, but I don't know how to make it stop. I don't know how to tell them to stop without sounding ungrateful and it might even make things worse." She groaned. "I'm sorry that they went after Lexie. That was really unnecessary."

          "Lexie's fine," Miyu assured her. Lexie Wang had graduated from NYSPA last year and had no time or patience for college drama. She'd left it all behind and gone back to North Carolina, spending most of her time in the Outer Banks. "She turned off comments on her Instagram and is pretty convinced they'll get tired of it eventually." Miyu's fingers timidly trailed up A.J.'s forehead to brush her hair back and A.J. softened. "Girlfriend, huh?"

          "I did kiss you on stage in front of hundreds of people, so, even if I hadn't told them, I think they'd still call us that. So."

          "So."

          "So"—she was grinning now—"you're stuck with me."

          "You say that like I mind."

* * *

the parasocial relationships people have with celebrities and the sense of entitlement some of them have when they think they get to dictate how these random people they have never met shoud live is something that has always interested me and i low key want to write my phd thesis about that, but i'm not a social psychologist, so.

it's something i low key wanted to explore in this book, especially when it comes to these two (see: larry, kaylor), but the main focus here is show choir and i don't want to follow side plots too much. i might write a book about it someday, who knows, but this is what you'll get for now. until i write that thesis. then you'll see.