SEASON TWO, EPISODE THIRTEEN

TEAM SPIRIT

A.J.

          "YOU LOOK LIKE A MILLION BUCKS," Malcolm Fleetwood said. A.J. was well aware of the pun in his name, which was why she absolutely refused to acknowledge it in public. "If this was a beauty pageant, you'd have it right in the bag. Darling, come tell Allison she looks incredible."

          "Dad," A.J. complained. She wasn't as bothered by the compliment as she was by the possibility of disturbing and upsetting her mother during one of her frequent migraines. What had started as a one-off thing was now a chronic problem, one that frequently rendered her unable to work and, consequently, had made her leave the performative side of show business. The lights, the noise—it had all become too much. "Mom shouldn't—"

          "Oh, shush, Allison," Serena Fleetwood scolded, removing her silk sleep mask. Even with a debilitating migraine, wearing a heavy winter coat over her nightgown, she still looked immaculate. "You look stunning. Though . . ."

          A.J. held her breath, biting her tongue. Though she knew her mother meant well, there were some comments that felt more like backhanded compliments, and every hmm and yes, but regarding her body made her want to crawl out of her skin and melt it. They were never direct, never a you should drop a few pounds or anything like that, but that was why they hurt as much as they did.

          Surprisingly, nothing of the sort ever came out of her mouth.

          Instead, she stepped behind A.J., holding two bobby pins between her lips, then used them to pin back some strands of her hair. The simple change matured her appearance, which, combined with the sharp contouring on her cheeks was an easy way to let everyone know she shouldn't be messed with.

          "Now you're perfect," Serena said, holding her by the shoulders and towering over her easily. A.J. risked a small smile at her reflection, not wanting to make any sudden moves. Her chest felt about to explode into a million shards. "I can't believe you're finally doing this. It's everything you've fought for your whole life."

          It was. It was also why she couldn't afford screwing things up.

          Winning Regionals had been major. She felt even better about it whenever she remembered she had greatly contributed to their victory, delivering solid performances, and, better yet, managing to not pass out on stage. NYSPA's blog team had even been forced to sing her praises and not even they had found something negative to say about her, a phenomenon that had spread to other show choir blogs and other social media. She knew she had been great, and everyone else knew it. What was there not to like about that? Was it so wrong of her to bask in her success once more?

          Then, midterms came and her happiness was flushed down the drain. The only type of pressure she thrived under was the usual stage fright, but even that was beginning to vanish. Her nerves were getting the best of her, risking throwing an entire group under the bus, and then came academic pressure.

          She was an okay student, maybe even good, but she wasn't the best. Academia had never been something she particularly excelled at, always performing better on practical courses than theoretical ones, and she failed to see the appeal in studying until sunrise.

          With all the stress caused by her midterms, she had barely had any time to prepare for the Wicked auditions, the beginning of the most important auditions of her life, and then there was all the rehearsals for Showcase and Nationals. A championship win was so close she could taste it on the tip of her tongue, feel the cold trophy on her hands, and she couldn't toss everyone's hard work aside for nothing.

          The freaking Wicked auditions were driving her crazy.

          This was only the first out of three auditions she'd have to go through to secure the role of Elphaba and, standing in the safety of her apartment, she was beginning to think she was ready to ruin all her hard work—her entire life's hard work, for that matter. Everything she had ever done had led her to this moment, her chance to land her ultimate dream role, and she felt it slipping away.

          "Where's that girl friend of yours, anyway?" Malcolm casually asked, probably sensing the sudden tension in the room. "You two always seem so . . . attached by the hip."

          Though she knew there was no animosity behind those words, it still irked her how they still thought her relationship with Miyu was purely platonic. After all, they'd had no problem warming up to Diana in no time and even tried to convince her to genuinely fall in love with Nick. Then again, they probably didn't know how to deal with it all, especially after the 'scandal'. Maybe they, too, felt like they were walking on eggshells.

          "Girlfriend," A.J. corrected, surprised at how easily the word rolled out of her tongue. "No space. She has her final midterm today, but she'll meet up with us at the auditorium. She promised she wouldn't miss the audition."

          "Wasn't she the one who promised she'd audition for that little show choir group of yours and then never showed up?" Serena pointed out.

          A.J.'s stomach sank to her feet. It wasn't a memory she was particularly fond of.

          "We sorted things out," she murmured. "It wasn't that big of a deal and she's part of the group now."

          "Yes, but last time I checked, it was a big deal to you back then, no?"

          "It doesn't matter," she insisted. No matter how hard she tried, Serena Fleetwood had always been someone she'd never been able to properly stand up to. That woman was a force to be reckoned with. "It doesn't, okay? Everything is fine now. In case you haven't noticed, that little show choir group of mine is headed to Showcase at the end of the month and we actually have a shot at winning Nationals, all of this in my senior year. Don't you think it will be an important thing for employers to consider later on? I could be the captain of the national college show choir champion."

          "You're the captain of a group you quit. A group that was disbanded years ago and that you only managed to revive out of sheer luck and persistence. What happens if you don't win?"

          "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence." A.J. reached out for her leather jacket. It was April now and the weather was slightly warmer, but her clothes still felt too light for the temperature outside. It was still the jacket closest to her and, if she had to spend another minute in this apartment, she would burst into flames. "Good to know you believe in me."

          She didn't wait for her mother to follow her. Her father did, however, rushing to keep up with her quick steps.

          She didn't know why she expected her mother to join them. Migraines aside, her support constantly wavered, depending on how she felt on any given day. Her opinion on show choir groups was somewhat consistent, seeing it as a source of unnecessary drama that was distracting her from what really mattered. Even with all the wins, it was still a notch in her resumé.

          Even after all the missteps, even after the scandal, she'd grown to care about the group. Her mother couldn't see past that, unfortunately, and she was stubborn enough to not let anyone change her opinion on anything; after all, she had taken full responsibility for the planning of T.J. and Diana's wedding, ignoring most of the latter's parents' suggestions and inputs.

          "Listen, I'm sorry about your mother," Malcolm said, when they were already inside his car. NYSPA wasn't too far from her apartment and driving in the New York traffic only made her lose precious time—she could not afford to be late—but it was brutally cold out there. Perhaps not objectively, but still. "She gets really protective over you and, during a migraine . . . you know she says things she doesn't mean. Both of us support you and whatever you decide to do."

          A.J. exhaled through her nose. "Is this about show choir or my relationship with Miyu? They're both staying, whether she likes it or not."

          "Look." He took a deep breath, whereas her breath got hitched halfway up her throat. Somehow, she suspected it had nothing to do with show choir. "We're happy if you're happy. You know that, right? The only thing we don't want is to see you get hurt again. Everything in your life is so public that you probably wouldn't be able to grieve and be upset in private. When those photos leaked, we were terrified. We saw what it did to you. We had almost lost you once; we couldn't go through that again. We couldn't let you spiral out of control again. You're our baby girl." She stared out of the window, hot tears prickling the corners of her eyes. No matter how hard she tried to forget about it, it would be impossible. "We don't want you to get hurt. That's all, Allison. We're here to support you when you're happy, but we're also here to pick up your pieces."

          "Because you don't think I can pick up my own pieces," she muttered, through gritted teeth.

          He rubbed his forehead. "Can you blame us for being scared? After freshman year?"

          Crying around her parents had never been a good idea. He wasn't lying when he said they got protective.

           She didn't talk about freshman year. She didn't think about freshman year. It was better that way, easier, and it didn't hurt if she pretended it didn't exist. Most of it felt like a blur by now, anyway, so it didn't take that much cognitive work to feign ignorance. No one ever talked about it, either.

          "That's in the past," she said, firmly. "I told you two it wouldn't happen again."

          "We were there at Regionals. We were summoned to the dressing room because you weren't feeling well. Imagine our shock when we saw you on the verge of passing out and not even touching your food."

          She turned to face him, incredulous. "Did you not hear what Mom said? The instant she saw I was eating, she got all prissy and started complaining about it—"

          "She meant it didn't have the nutrients you needed—"

          "It did its job just fine." He sighed in frustration. "It would have been better if she hadn't said anything at all. It made me feel even worse."

          "She didn't mean that."

          "Yeah, well, it still happened."

          They didn't touch the subject any longer. It was better for all parties involved. A.J. didn't doubt her mother's best intentions, and maybe some ends justified the means, but her means seemed horribly misguided.

          She had better things to worry about. The Wicked reboot had attracted such a large number of auditions that it wouldn't be feasible to fill offices with interested actors, even though that had been the standard procedure for Spring Awakening. She had met privately with the people involved and no one else had been allowed inside the office while someone was auditioning. Things were different now and, with so many college students wanting to try out for the roles, the production team was sending people to each college to hold mass auditions and speed up the process.

          Nick was auditioning too. Janet's audition had been scheduled for the following day, thanks to the scandalously big number of sign ups. She and Nick would be auditioning roughly at the same time, depending on how many people there were ahead of each of them, but the casting director had gone to Vassar. NYSPA was stuck with their second in command, which could either be an advantage or a disadvantage.

          Either way, A.J. had trained her entire life for this. She didn't want to bring out the big guns just yet, having two more auditions ahead of her, but those were the people standing in the way of her goal. She would knock them down one by one, wowing them, and saving the best for last, no matter what she had to do.

          She wondered when she had become so ruthless. Hadn't she been so concerned about her friendship with Janet and with whether it would survive these auditions? What happened to that A.J.?

          The auditorium was packed by the time A.J. and Malcolm got there, but, luckily, T.J. had saved them two seats. He didn't question Serena's absence, knowing damn well what the lights would do to her, and A.J. didn't feel like explaining anything else. She was nervous enough as is; talking about her mother would only stress her out even more. The room was spinning around her as she sat down and all she could think was not here. Not now.

          Her group chat with the Spring Awakening cast was blowing up. Nick felt overdressed and people laughed at his selfie, where he was wearing a white shirt and fancy pants, along with a blazer, while Janet urged them to show some respect towards the next male lead of Wicked. A.J. still didn't know which role he was auditioning for, as he had kept everything a secret from everyone, and he could very well be chasing either Fiyero or the Wizard.

          She hoped it was the Wizard.

          "You look so good," Diana complimented, leaning to the side to kiss her cheek. A.J. thought she'd be a great Glinda, but she'd been pretty clear when she declared she wouldn't be auditioning. She had other plans for the fall, none of them involving New York, so it was off the table. "How are you feeling? Nervous?"

          "A little bit, yeah," A.J. confessed. "I almost thought I was going to be late."

          "New York traffic," Malcolm added. Diana nodded. "We should have walked."

          "The New York air isn't good for your skin," Diana commented, twirling her milkshake. Luckily, she hadn't brought fries along, so no one would have to grimace at her lifelong habit of dipping them into milkshakes. "Even with the traffic, you're better off using a vehicle."

          Miyu got there twenty minutes later, grinning and announcing she completely aced her midterm. She hesitated around Malcolm, but relaxed when A.J. pulled her down by a hand so she'd occupy the empty seat next to her.

          People auditioned, one after another, and the sound of typing filled the silence between each one as the blog team struggled to keep up. It pissed her off to see them document everything, as any secrecy would be tossed aside for the world to see as they live blogged, but she forced herself to remember they had other things to do besides plan her downfall. They were past that.

          She'd prepared her performance carefully, being extra selective with the people she let watch her. Only people she trusted were allowed in the room or in her apartment, where her favorite piano resided, and she knew nothing had leaked.

          (She had Googled herself. That was how she knew.)

          "A.J. Fleetwood," the second in command called. Miyu gently squeezed her wrist in encouragement before she stood up, and then let her go. A.J. was used to this. She was used to the stares, to the walk towards the stage, but this was different. It was the beginning of the rest of her life, the first step towards her dream, and, if she choked, there would be no second chances.

          The grand piano was right there, waiting for her, rotated into a position that ensured any players would have to sit in a three-quarters position so they wouldn't block their face. She was good with eye contact, but she tended to get lost in the music, particularly while singing songs that resonated deep within her. She just had to remember she had an audience. Some of them wanted to see her fail, but others, the ones that truly mattered, were waiting for her to fly.

          "Which role are you auditioning for?"

          "Elphaba," she replied, in a breath. Her fingers were trembling as she tentatively brushed them against the white keys.

          "Very well." She got a smile in return. "We're ready when you are."

          She would never be as ready as she currently was. Taking a deep breath, she settled into the satin seat, fighting against the urge to sit with a leg underneath her as she usually did (posture!), and the lights dimmed just enough to make her stand out from the background. Her light-colored hair made her look like a floating head.

          All Too Well was one of those songs she'd always dabbled in, but had never had the courage to sing in public. It was one thing to hum it to herself in the peace and quiet and privacy of her apartment, where she could stare at her own grief over a ruined friendship in the face, but bringing those feelings into the public eye didn't feel that different from screaming it into the world.

          She knew she had fucked things up with Nick. Even though they had kind of patched things up months ago, they were now stuck in a rivalry thanks to their respective show choir groups, and that was something that couldn't be ignored. If anything, it complicated their relationship even more, adding complex layers neither of them needed or knew how to deal with. They had to keep each other at arm's length, especially after that stunt at his Sectionals; what kind of friendship was that?

          She was aware she was at blame for the majority of it all. She'd been the one to walk out on him without a word, ignoring all his attempts of reaching out, until they stopped. Even he had given up.

          How do you mourn someone who didn't die?

          She felt naked when the song finished. All those eyes on her—what were they seeing? The mask, or the person behind it?

          "Thank you, A.J.," the voice said, in the darkness. "We'll be in touch."

          Her brain fully switched into automatic mode as she staggered back to her seat. Miyu's hand on hers kept her grounded for long enough to register the names that were being called, including those of some of the members of Twilight Tone—that guy who had asked her out at the beginning of the year was one of them. She paid no attention to the auditions, however, knowing none of those boys would ever compare to Nick.

          No one ever did.

          She let the group chat know what song she had performed, and it was mostly received well. Mostly being the key. Janet responded with a grimacing emoji, sending her heart into overdrive, and waiting for the three dancing dots on the screen to turn into a proper message was agonizing.

          So, Nick actually just sang the exact same song

REALLY??

          Yeah, bestie. I'm fine, he's fine, you're probably fine

Love you?

          Delete that question mark.

          Bitch.

          Love YOU

          A.J. groaned. Just her luck.