They Mocked Me Backstage, Then I Took Her Lead RoleChapter 3

Dylan goes first in the solo showcase.

One guitar.

One microphone.

He knows exactly how to work the room.

He lets the audience settle before his first line. When he changes the rhythm in the second verse, it feels deliberate. When he holds a note, he gives it somewhere to go.

He's good.

That has never been the problem.

He finishes to loud applause and steps away from the microphone with a little bow.

During the changeover, Brooke steps up to her microphone for a quick sound check.

She asks for more of her voice in the monitor.

The sound engineer adjusts it.

She sings a line, stops, and asks him to turn it up again.

Then she comes back into the wings, where Connor is waiting with his guitar.

Although it's the solo showcase, each featured singer is allowed one accompanist. Brooke always chooses him.

"Try the chorus," he says.

She does.

The high note comes out tight.

"Again."

"Stop telling me to do it again."

"I'm trying to help."

From where I'm standing, I can hear him speeding up.

Maya taps the original tempo against her thigh, then looks at me.

Neither of us says anything.

The host comes backstage while the stage crew resets.

He's followed by a student with a camera.

"Quick check-in for the stream," he says. "How's everyone feeling?"

Connor immediately straightens.

"Ready."

"Any changes after the first half?"

"We've had some distractions," he says. "But we're working through them."

Brooke gives a strained laugh.

"That's one way to put it."

The host glances between them.

"What kind of distractions?"

"Personal stuff," Connor says.

He looks straight at me.

The camera follows his gaze.

My stomach drops.

Brooke notices.

"His girlfriend decided this was the perfect time to dump him."

"Brooke," Maya says.

"What? It happened."

The host lowers his microphone slightly.

"We don't need to get into—"

"She's been picking at us all day," Brooke continues. "Then she starts a fight during the break. Obviously that affects people."

Connor says nothing.

I look at him.

"Is that what happened?"

"Grace."

"Did I make you lose the first three events?"

His eyes flick toward the camera.

"No one said that."

"She just did."

"I'm trying to focus."

"Then tell the truth."

He exhales.

"Of course I'm affected. You can't expect me to switch it off."

The host steps back.

"Let's leave it there. We'll give you a minute."

But the camera has already been running.

On the monitor mounted beside the stage entrance, the livestream chat scrolls past.

Is that the girlfriend?

Why would you do that in the middle of a competition?

Westbridge was already losing.

Can we hear the music instead of this?

I step out of the camera's path.

Brooke looks at the monitor, then at me.

"Happy now?"

"You're the one who said it on camera."

"Because you keep acting like none of this has anything to do with you."

"It doesn't."

Evan shifts his guitar strap.

"Can we just get through the night?"

"Yes," I say. "Without blaming me for how you played."

Dylan appears on the other side of the stage entrance, holding a bottle of water.

"Everything okay over here?"

"No one asked you," Connor says.

Dylan smiles.

"Sound carries."

He looks at Brooke.

"Need another minute? Take two."

Then his gaze moves to me.

"You're not performing, right?"

I say nothing.

"I've only seen you carrying stuff."

Brooke turns away to check her makeup in her phone.

Connor starts playing the opening chords again.

I stand beside a stack of empty equipment cases and look at the monitor.

Another comment appears.

Didn't G beat Dylan in that online showcase last year?

Someone replies almost immediately.

YES. With an old keyboard and no face reveal.

I remember that night.

The crooked lamp on my desk.

My laptop balanced on a stack of textbooks.

Grandpa's blue mug beside the keyboard, even though he wasn't there to drink from it anymore.

I'd nearly deleted the video instead of submitting it.

On the monitor, another message slides into view.

Forget another guitar solo. Get G.