SEASON TWO, EPISODE SIXTEEN

COUNTRY

MIYU

          "WE'RE LATE FOR CLASS."

          A.J. rolled to the side, covering her eyes with her arm, when Miyu pushed open the curtains in their room. Though it was still cold, it was a sunny day outside, too bright for them to have woken up in time for the first lecture of the day.

          "I don't think I'm going," A.J. groaned, hiding her head underneath her pillow. "It's dance class. I'm not in the mood for dancing at eight-thirty in the morning." When Miyu didn't answer, she lifted the pillow ever so slightly, just enough to leave half of her face uncovered. Miyu sat at the end of her bed, with a leg beneath her, all ready to go. "Aren't you going to drag me out of bed?"

          "Not at all," Miyu replied. Confused, A.J. tossed her pillow aside and propped herself up on an elbow. "It's not like I can force you to go to class, but midterms are done, and you have a doctor's note that excuses you from those final exams." Miyu regretted saying that as soon as she did, unable to not notice how A.J. stiffened and hid deeper under the covers. "You already dance enough in glee club, anyway, so the energy you're not spending in final exams is being spent elsewhere, so it works out just fine."

          A.J. sighed, not looking her in the eyes anymore. "Your point is?"

          "My point is that I think you're overworked and deserve some rest. Take care of yourself."

          A.J. fell back on the bed, hands folded over her stomach, and kept her eyes glued to the ceiling. "Miyu, I'm fine." She said it like Miyu hadn't heard those words several times before, more often than not followed by disastrous consequences—Regionals, the sing-off with Sasha at the beginning of the school year, freshman year. "I'm not tired. I'm just not in the mood to dance around a room so early in the morning. It's boring and I'm not a dance major to pretend it's not. At least show choir has a sense of purpose and the choreographies make the slightest bit of sense."

          It wasn't just about that. She was angry over her movements and actions being monitored and limited, even if it was for the sake of her health. Miyu knew she believed she was above all of that, her talent transcending her basic needs, even if everyone else saw just how delusional those thoughts were. She would never agree with it, regardless of how hard everyone tried to make her open her eyes, regardless of how dangerous it was.

          If she wasn't so goddamn stubborn, things could have gone a lot differently.

          "Have you heard from Wicked?" Miyu asked, in an attempt to ease the tension. Maybe mentioning something A.J. was actually interested in could help with that, but, then again, it was also a primary source of stress for her. "Like, at all?"

          "No. I asked Nick and Janet, and they haven't gotten an answer either. I think only the really, really bad auditions have heard a word from the casting director." She sat up once more, crossing her legs under the covers. For someone who had been forcefully woken up, she didn't look too bad; her bed head looked better than most people's. "At least I know I didn't completely bomb the audition, even though . . ." She briefly looked out of the window. "I found out Nick and I sang the same song. Word has already spread and some people have the dumbest theories about it"—she turned to face Miyu now—"but I hope you know it's all bullshit. We didn't talk about it. No one planned anything. It was just an unfortunate coincidence, but I guess . . . I guess we had the same idea. Maybe the song just means that much to the both of us."

          Miyu reached out a hand to hold her wrist. It was a good idea to keep her grounded before her mind went into overdrive. "I know. I know. It's okay. I haven't even thought about it."

          "I just don't want us to go back to sneaking around behind everyone's backs just to pretend a false narrative is true." A.J's arm twitched beneath her hand, as though her first instinct had been to move away as soon as the subject touched a nerve. "I'm not doing that to you again. I'm not doing that to myself, either. It's not fair. It's not fair that I can't even sing one song without people assuming what I'm feeling or who I'm thinking about. Remember Sectionals? That setlist wasn't mine, it wasn't meant to be performed by me, yet people still turned it into something it was not, all because of . . . some stupid PR stunt no one ever bothered to clean up. It was up to me and Nick to fix things, when we hadn't been the ones to break it in the first place."

          When Miyu's thumb moved and brushed against her wrist bone, it felt like scrapping a finger against a shard of glass.

          They had gone over the St. Fleetwood story multiple times and had concluded that, even though A.J. hadn't technically needed to completely ghost Nick when she wanted out of the contract, her management team had still been in the wrong for turning him into a villain and for dragging Janet to the middle of their mess. They knew that, but Miyu was so, so tired of having to think about it.

          It was A.J.'s problem, at its core, but it still didn't change the fact that she had also gotten involved, whether she meant to insert herself in the story or not. She was there, she was an active player, and there was no going back now. It had impacted A.J. deeply, against her will, but Miyu had been put through her own fair share of stressful situations thanks to it.

          Nothing would excuse the things she'd had to read. Nothing would ever make her forget the racist comments she had been forced to delete from her social media before her parents could see how the three of them were being asked to 'go back to their country'. Nothing would erase the homophobic remarks from her memory.

          So, yeah. Miyu didn't want to talk about it anymore. She didn't want to think about it a minute longer, not after all the damage it had done.

          "We're past that," Miyu said, even though her voice cracked a little bit. "It happened. We can't change it, but we can choose to move forward. We can choose how to move forward from it and I, for one, don't want to spend my days focusing on the pain and the suffering."

          "I—"

          "Moving forward includes having to listen to your doctors, whether you want to or not, whether you agree with their professional opinion or not. Listen to me," she insisted, when A.J. rolled her eyes. "You might think you're invincible, you might think your talent will protect you from ever going down, but you know what they say. The higher you go, the harder you fall. You need to listen to them before it's too late. You can't spend the rest of your life living at fifteen percent. You might get away with it in college, but what happens once you graduate and get more demanding roles? What will happen if you pass out on stage during Wicked?"

          "I'll get replaced by the understudy."

          Miyu groaned in frustration. "That's not the main issue. If you pass out, you'll show the world your health is at risk, which won't let you heal properly. You don't do well under public pressure, and you know it." A.J.'s bottom lip trembled. Miyu scooted closer to her, this time taking her hands in hers, feeling her entire body shake. "I understand you'd be miserable if you lost the role to an understudy, but that won't be the worst thing that can happen to you. You might not wake up. Your heart might stop. You might—"

          She cut herself off, refusing to complete that sentence. Completing that sentence would mean she'd have to confront a painful reality, one she'd been denying ever since freshman year, one she'd have to face more often than she would have liked, and it was better to live in denial.

          There really was no good way to try and come to terms with the fact that someone you loved could die. It was even worse when they didn't even seem to care.

          "Allison, I love you," she said. "I love you, and that's why I can't keep letting you do this. I can't keep turning a blind eye. I understand it might be the hardest thing you've ever had to do in your life, but you need that help. Go get a health check-up, just in case, and then talk to your doctors. I'll go with you if you'd like, but it can't wait. Not for Showcase, not for Nationals, and certainly not for Wicked."

          Just when Miyu thought A.J. was going to snap at her or even kick her out of the dorm room, the unthinkable happened. She burst into tears right then and there, with Miyu rushing to hold her through it all.

          They were in way over her heads. Miyu was no doctor, no psychologist, and there was only so much she could do. There was no way she could drill into A.J.'s brain and convince her to get help, to get better, not when every neural circuit was occupied processing show choir, musical theater, and stupid Broadway. It was admirable that she devoted so much effort to her hobbies, to her dreams, but her priorities were skewed.

          "I'll go," A.J. murmured, so quietly it could have been mistaken for a gust of wind. "I'll go."

          A.J. WENT FOR THE DAMN CHECK-UP THE FOLLOWING DAY.

          She got to rehearsals late, after three people had already performed, and when Isabella was just about to make an important announcement. She tried to walk into the choir room without being noticed, keeping her head down, which was so unlike her it immediately set off a few alarms.

          It was Country week, something Miyu definitely wasn't interested in, and she had only pretended to listen to the previous three performances. It was rude, she knew that, but there was something about those songs that just . . . didn't really resonate with her, so she had faded into the background, as easy as blowing out a candle, and sat there and waited for Isabella to spill the tea. Then, A.J. had entered the choir room, slipping silently into her seat, and she could no longer pretend to be oblivious to her surroundings.

          She was quiet, shoulders hunched forward and furrowed eyebrows. That was how she usually looked, ever since she came back to the club, with the good days being rarer than the bad ones, so no one questioned it. T.J., who was sitting right behind her, gave her shoulder a soft squeeze, as though he knew where she had been, and she returned the gesture by curling her fingers around his wrist for a brief moment.

          Miyu didn't want to ask. If she wanted to talk about it, she'd bring it up whenever she felt comfortable doing so, but now was not the time.

          "So, as I was saying, I have an important announcement to make," Isabella continued, as though she had never been interrupted. "As you might know, Showcase and Nationals are held just days apart from each other, so we won't have to travel from place to place to attend both competitions if we qualify. However, they will not be held in New York."

          "Shouldn't they be held in New York, though?" Angelina questioned. "I thought they were held at the current champion's hometown."

          "Yeah, well. It would be repetitive to hold it in New York for four straight years, wouldn't it? The Committee decided against it for that exact reason. This year, they'll be held in Atlanta. Yes, Georgia," she added, when Brody stirred in his seat. "Looks like you won't be flying home to your beau, Brody. If you have any family or friends flying over to watch the competition, you all should get started on that right away before any flights get cancelled because of the weather, or something."

          Miyu wasn't worried. Her parents, her number one groupies, would follow her anywhere.

          She felt momentarily guilty about making them not show up to work over her and her show choir business, though, and, for a split second, the thought of not inviting them at all crossed her mind. She was quite tired of having everyone around her bend and break themselves for her sake; her parents, who had had to work extra hours to help pay for her tuition, shouldn't have to ignore their livelihood just to watch her sing and dance on stage.

          "At Showcase, we won't be competing against three or four groups in particular," Isabella said. "It's everyone against everyone and only a select few will qualify for Nationals. Twelve groups total will move to the second-to-last phase, and then . . ."

          "The National Championship," Diana completed.

          "The National Championship," Isabella confirmed. Everyone in the room straightened. "Only three groups will compete in the finals. We will be there as long as we keep up the hard work and don't start slacking off and getting comfortable. Just because Michaela gave us a stellar review, it doesn't mean we can start getting lazy and basking in our success."

          Isabella certainly had a point there.

          Even though they could have easily screwed things up with Michaela Tate-Calloway by performing the song she hated most in the world right in front of her, she had managed to see past that and focused on the bigger picture. She had let each of the interviewed women share their views about show choir competitions and what it meant for each of them, without bringing personal drama or issues into the mix. She hadn't ignored other past experiences, though, highlighting Isabella's show choir redemption, Billie's second chance at NYSPA, Gwen's sudden popularity, and A.J.'s Broadway experience.

          No mention of the PR stunt. No mention of the outing situation. None. Nada.

          "I know I shouldn't have to be telling you this at this point, but part of me feels like I should." Isabella paced around the room. "I understand some of you might have . . . connections . . . with competitor groups." A.J. purposefully stared down at her knees. "That doesn't mean you should go easy on them, because they won't go easy on us. They have been doing this for longer, and they know we're at a disadvantage. They won't hesitate to use that against us." She softened considerably. "Remember what the real focus is. We need to win the championship and prove everyone wrong."

          A.J. shuddered. Miyu refused to think about the worst possible scenario.