Hurricane State’s performance was over before I knew it, the DJ and his producer clapping and pushing the button to go to commercials. “Nice job,” the DJ said, slapping a hand on Alex’s back. “You’re a talented kid.” He nodded at all the rest of them. “All of you are.”
My skin was still thrumming like Alex had touched me. I wanted to jump up and throw my arms around him, show everyone how proud I was, but there wasn’t any time for that: thirty seconds later, we were back from commercial and the DJ was saying my name into the mic. I didn’t have the brainpower to be nervous. Instead I just closed my eyes, clamped the headphones over my ears, and sang.
“That was amazing,” Alex told me when I was finished. The rest of the boys had taken off, but he’d hung around, listening to me like I’d listened to him; the pride on his face now was genuine, and I knew I’d done a good job.
“You were amazing,” I countered.
“All right, we’re all amazing,” Guy said, rolling his eyes at us from his seat in the corner. Then, frowning: “Is somebody getting Olivia in here?”
When Juliet brought her into the booth, Olivia looked even worse than she had earlier, her movements shuffling and her expression not entirely alert. “It’ll be quick,” Juliet was promising as they came through the doorway; Olivia stopped, braced her hands on her knees, and let out a long, wheezy cough. When she righted herself, her eyes were wide.
“I can’t do this,” she said.
Guy snorted. “A little late for that now, sweetheart. We’re back from commercial in forty-five.”
“I’m too sick,” Olivia protested. “I’m gonna sound like total shit.” Her expression was panicked, like a spooked pony. “Dana,” she said, turning to me all of a sudden. “Tell him I can’t.”
I blanched. “Me?” I said.
“Thirty seconds,” the DJ told us.
“It’ll be fine,” Juliet promised, but Olivia shook her head rapidly.
“Olivia,” Guy said, sounding irritable, “pull it together.”
“I can’t,” she repeated, her eyes filling with tears—she was sick and exhausted and wrung out, I could tell, starting to lose it entirely. “I’m going to sound like shit, and everybody’s going to hear me. Dana,” she said again, “please.”
I hesitated for a moment, some small, nasty part of me fully aware that this could only be a good thing for me—my only competition, the girl who’d spent the last six weeks telling me I wasn’t good enough to be here, melting down in public seconds before she was supposed to go on?
But it was Olivia.
And she needed me.
“You got this,” I heard myself say quietly, reaching out and tucking her stringy hair behind her ears. Her skin was warm with fever; I wondered if she’d eaten today, if this was garden-variety sickness and nerves or something more. It unsettled me, looking at her and not being able to tell exactly what was wrong. I hated it, the not knowing. I didn’t want that to be how it was anymore. “Just take a deep breath and do the best you can, okay? I’ve heard you sing sick before. It’ll sound like you’re doing it on purpose—you’ll have a rasp or something. It’ll be over so fast.” Olivia shook her head, but I pushed on. “You can do it,” I said again, looking her in the face and trying to keep my voice as steady as possible. “It’s me, and I promise you can. I won’t let you look dumb, remember? Do you trust me?”
Olivia nodded.
“Okay. You gotta live your life forward here, just for a minute.”
That got a smile out of her, albeit a watery one. “Okay,” she agreed.
She sounded fine in the end, all things considered; the cold put a bit of a break in her voice, but not anything you’d notice if you didn’t hear her sing every day of your life. Still, I held my breath, wanting it to go well for her in spite of myself. As soon as the red light went off she doubled over coughing again.
“That’s a girl,” Guy said, nodding in approval. “That’s what you gotta do in this business, just push through. Lucky your friend was here to pep-talk you, huh?”
“I didn’t do anything,” I protested, but Guy had already turned his attention elsewhere, glad-handing the DJ and his producer while Juliet rounded up the boys. When I turned to Olivia, she looked like she’d just run a marathon, like it was taking every last ounce of her energy just to stay upright.
“You did it,” I told her, taking a step forward to hug her before I could stop myself, then freezing abruptly halfway through the motion. We looked at each other for a moment. I lowered my arms again.
Olivia nodded just once, vaguely. “Let’s go” was all she said.
THIRTY-TWO
Guy gave us the rest of the day off after the radio station performance. Olivia collapsed face-first on the couch and immediately fell asleep, Charla waking her up periodically to feed her cold medicine and tea. I spent the afternoon napping, too, sprawled on Alex’s bed, listening to the sound of his heartbeat tapping steadily away through his shirt. I liked how he smelled, soap and clean bedding and the faint sourness of sleep underneath it. I wished it could always be like this.
Olivia was still sleeping when I got back to the apartment. Charla and I ate dinner quietly, neither one of us wanting to wake her. I was lying on the bed listening to a tape of the songs Hurricane State had recorded when Olivia appeared in the doorway. Her color was better, though there were still dark rings under her eyes. “How you feeling?” I asked, pulling my headphones off.
“Better,” she said. She was wearing her pajamas, a pair of workout shorts and her Jessell Jaguars gym shirt, which surprised me. I hadn’t even realized she’d brought it. Olivia hated gym: last year she’d been late to dress so many times that Ms. Farano made her come after eighth period to do wall sits every day for a week to make up the time. “Hey,” she said now, leaning against the jamb with her thin arms crossed. Her dark, glossy hair hung in a fishtail braid over one sharp shoulder. “You did amazing today,” she said, not quite looking at me. “I just wanted to tell you that.”
I looked up at her, surprised and also feeling like a jerk. “You did amazing, too,” I said softly. “I love that song Guy has you doing, with the chorus that’s like, rise rise rise.”
Olivia shook her head. “It’s almost out of my range.”
“It’s not,” I told her earnestly. “It’s perfect.”
Olivia smiled. “Okay,” she said. “Well. Thanks.” She hovered in the doorway for another half second, and as she turned to go, a hot, briny panic rose in the back of my throat. Suddenly it felt like maybe I’d never see her again.
“I hate this,” I blurted before I could think better of it. “I hate fighting with you.”
Olivia stopped in the doorway, turned around. “I hate it, too,” she said.
“You do?”