I couldn't sleep because I was still thinking about the competition.
Not my performance. No. Ray's performance. I couldn't stop thinking about it, because she was somehow watching it for the last two hours, rewinding every moment and then pausing to analyze it. Somehow, Ray had missed out on the revolutionary invention of headphones.
"Can you please round this up so that I can sleep? Or at least put on some headphones?" I finally asked, pulling my head out from under the covers.
"I review my performances," she said dryly. "I'm not trying to get eliminated."
"I'm not sure if you heard, but the competition was hours ago," I said. "There's not much to do except hope and pray."
"Whatever," she scoffed. "I'll be finished soon. I left my headphones at the studio."
I huffed and left my bed and into the extensive hallways of the mansion. Everything was silent, even though nobody was sleeping.
I had to admit. I was scared too. But whatever happened, happened. I think the judges liked me enough to sway people to vote for me.
I found my throat quite dry so I made a path down towards the kitchen on the clear steps, walking slowly this time.
The lights were still dimly lit, so someone was probably still awake. Maybe we would have a conversation.
When I came downstairs, I kid you not, Andre was there.
He froze in the middle of eating a bowl of cereal. He was wearing red plaid pyjama pants and a tight white shirt that compressed his, well, chest, revealing tattoos that snaked up his muscled arms.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I shout-whispered.
"Eating cereal," he clearly remarked, jutting his chin at the cereal. "Duh."
"Okay, but why here?" I wondered frustratedly. "Don't you have your own house?"
"Three actually. I have my own house, the one my family lives in, and my vacation cabin in Banff," he smirked. "But this house is special. It has so many memories. Sometimes I come back to clear my head."
"Can't you clear your head in like Banff or something?" I joked. "Why would you need to come back here?"
"I have a love-hate relationship with this house," he admitted. "There's trauma and good memories in here too."
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh," I mumbled. What was I supposed to say to that? "I really believe you're following me. First, you spill coffee on me, then you show up where I'm staying. Are you tracking me?"
"What if I was?" he asked, eyes lowering on me. I leaned back.
"I would call the police on you," I muttered, staring back at him. "No one's above the law. Not even pretty-boy Andre."
He snorted out a laugh. "So you think I'm pretty?"
My eyes widened. "No!" I frantically deflected. "I mean, you're not ugly, but I mean—
My words fizzled out as he began to laugh. "Ezra thinks I'm pretty!"
I huffed in frustration. "It's not like it's the first time you heard it before. That's probably the least raunchy thing someone has ever said about you."
He snorted out a laugh. He seemed to laugh inwardly like he was trying to get it over as quickly as possible.
I walked past him into the cupboards and grabbed a glass of water before filling it with the tap. Andre had taken it upon himself to pour cereal into the bowl, and then milk (the wrong way).
"Are you nervous?" he asked.
I sighed. "You ask that a lot."
He leaned against the corner. "There's a lot of aspects of your life to be nervous about. So are you nervous?"
I shrugged. "I don't know."
"Come on," he nudged me with his elbow. "There has to be something."
I stood wide-eyed at him suddenly.
I'm nervous about the fact that I feel nervous right now.
I leaned next to him on the counter, taking a sip of water. "I don't want to leave," I whispered.
"Hm," he said simply. I turned to stare at him. His face, of course.
"At least you don't have to feel this now," I said, gesturing to my unfathomable feelings. "You get to just be Andre."
"I'm not just Andre," he mumbled, locking eyes to the ground. "Sometimes, I wish I could just be me."
"I get that," I replied. This conversation was getting strange. I glanced behind me. "Aren't you going to eat your cereal?"
"In a bit," he replied. "I'm waiting for it to marinate."
My face twisted into a grimace. "I'm sorry what?"
"I prefer my cereal moist and mushy," he responded, before grabbing it. The cereal had turned soggy and he mixed it with the remaining milk. I stared in strange awe.
"I think you meant tasty," he corrected. "It's good and I will die on that hill."
"Well, I hope you have a nice permanent slumber," I joked.
"Do you wanna try some?"
I grimaced again. He looked at me, trying to convince me with those eyes of his. "Only a little bit."
"I knew you'd do it," Andre said, moving to the cupboard to grab another bowl, pouring Froot Loops in it, and then pouring an influx of milk, creating a fruity mound.
We sat next across from each other on the vast dining table, and Andre began chowing down on his ball. I took a bite of mine, grimacing as it swished through my mouth.
How had I let Andre convince me to eat this?
"So," he began. I looked up at him."What brings you to Finding Solstice?"
"Air Canada," I said, and he chuckled.
"No, I meant like why did you do the show?" he asked, still laughing.
"I really like singing."
"So does everyone in this competition. Why are you here?"
"I'm here because I want to sing. Why else?"
"Hm," he hummed to himself, resting his chin on his folded hands. "You're a tough cookie to crack."
I raised an eyebrow at him. I had been doing that a lot with Andre. "There's not much to reveal any more," I explained. "You heard it all."
"That's the simple version," he scoffed. "The sanitized version of Ezra. We can't tell everything to everyone"
"So why should I tell you?"
He smirked. "Trust me. I won't tell. I won't tell the world you think that I'm pretty."
I sighed into a scoff. "That was a joke!"
I must have said it too loudly because he leaned back stunned like my voice carried the weight of a thousand words.
"Obviously," I said quieter.
What did he think of me now? What did he think I was mean? And why did I care?
"So it brings me to this question," he continued. "Why did you come on this show?"
"It actually wasn't my choice. My younger sister signed me up," I explained. "I didn't even want to be here in the first place."
"How come?"
"My parents aren't the biggest fan of my singing," I explained. "It's especially bad when you have a twin brother going to Harvard. He's also a really talented basketball player."
"Damn," he said in a low voice. Like low. "That's a lot. Aside from singing, what do you do?"
I opened my mouth to talk, before closing it again at the sheer lack of thoughts. I worked at the record shop. That had to do with music. But I...
I also did...
In my free time I...
"Nothing," I responded. "I guess music is just kind of my thing. It's all I've ever wanted to do."
The realization now felt weird. Of course, I loved music. But how come it was the only thing that was special? Emmett had his robotics team, basketball, debate team, and a flurry of other activities I was too exhausted to even memorize.
Then it was just me, Ezra. Boring Ezra with a minimum wage job and fleeting dreams of music.
"At least you're on the show," Andre tried to cheer up.
I sighed. "For now. If I don't get eliminated."
"That shouldn't even be in your vocabulary. I know you're going to make it," Andre complimented. Heat spread over my cheeks. Who turned up the thermostat to make it this hot? I almost wanted to check.
"But if I happen to get eliminated," I continued. "I have no backup plan. I quit my job because of this. I have no school plans. I promised my parents that as soon as I came back, I would prepare for university."
"Then just believe," he confidently said. "Even if you don't win, this show could open up doors for you. Just tell your parents you don't want to do that."
"I don't know,"
"Have you seen my skin colour?" I shouted, kind of. "I can't just say no to my parents. It would be so ungrateful to them. They've sacrificed everything for my siblings."
"But that doesn't mean you have to honour them this way," Andre said. "I'm Black too, in case you haven't noticed."
"Did they support you?" I asked.
"Sure," he breathed. "They thought it was a pipe dream until I won. They can't really complain now from the house I bought them and my brothers."
I choked back a laugh. I was so entranced in the conversation that I forgot this cereal monstrosity under me. I grimaced again.
"Let me guess," he began. "You don't want to eat it?"
"I mean it isn't bad," I lied. It was horrible. "But I like the idea."
"Well, I guess high cuisine isn't for everyone," Andre sighed. "But I am glad I talked to you. I should go home."
He was probably going to his girlfriend. STAN was always correct. And why did I care? I didn't even like Andre.
"You meeting anyone? Is there anyone there?" I suddenly asked.
Why did I ask that? He turned around, eyes full of something aloof.
Andre was closer to me before his eyes lowered to mine. I was suddenly aware of just everything. "No. I'm all alone. Want to join me?"
A blush spread through my cheeks. Why did I talk unprompted like that?
"I—I should go home, I mean– well I am already home. So I'll just go upstairs."
Andre chuckled, swinging a hand onto my shoulder. "You're funny, Ezra."
Heat spread through my cheeks. Again. I don't know if I was funny. Sometimes I just talked.
But his hand was on my shoulder. Andre was touching my shoulder.
I locked eyes with him for what felt like an eternity, feeling the anticipation of a conversation burbling up between us. But it didn't.
"Bye," I quickly mumbled, ducking out from under his arm.
I watched as he walked out the door, pyjamas and all before going upstairs again. Something pooled in my stomach, tickling its edges. It wasn't cereal.
I was so nervous about tomorrow's elimination. The warmth of his pep talk quickly dissipated. The more I thought about it, the more I didn't want to go home.
No-Headphone-Ray wasn't watching her performance, but instead was whisper-yelling in what seemed to be an intense conversation. I froze at the doorstep, not wanting her to hold another random grudge for daring to exist in her space.
"- And you had such weak vocals tonight," an older female voice grilled. "Your dancing was incredibly sloppy and lazy. Is this how you practised all week? You're even lazier than I thought."
"I'm trying Mama," Ray strained in a hushed voice, on the verge of beginning to cry. I definitely was not going to enter now. "I worked really hard and I'll continue working hard. Everyone seemed to like it."
"Yeah, right," her Mom snarled. "You said that before the finals and look what happened. You humiliated yourself on national television last year. Remember that? And nobody voted for you. I didn't even vote for you. You didn't deserve it."
Sniffles came from Ray's end, but they ended as quickly as they flowed in.
"Are you crying?" her mom shouted.
"No!" Ray replied. "There's a lot of allergens in this room. Maybe I should go take my allergy medicine."
"No!" her mom yelled back. "This conversation isn't finished until I say so."
"Okay," Ray replied.
"When was the last time you went to the gym?" she hissed, starting on a new topic. Ray sniffled once more. "I saw the way you moved inside of your outfit. I'm surprised it didn't burst right then and there. I was so disgusted. I almost wanted to turn the whole show off."
My mouth was torn agape. How could someone be so cruel to their own daughter? Ray, despite her attitude, was beautiful. She was a runway model!
Her mom was so nice! Her mom was lauded as one of the few good parents of child stars who didn't bend over to exploit the child at every opportunity. How could she be so cruel now?
"What's that girl's name?" her mom said. "Lizzy? Emma? Ezra?"
I almost jumped at the mention of my name. Now, this was my business.
"Look at how people talk about her," her mom snarled. "She has maybe a fraction of your talent, but look how much more popular she is than you. For God's sake, you are way prettier than her. You have light skin, eyes, and good hair, for crying out loud! You're supposed to be the standard for these types of things. They're not supposed to like girls who look like her."
A stab of anger and insecurity hit me all at once. Tears hit my eyes. I wasn't ugly. Right? How could she say something like that? But why did I care about what Ray's mom said?
"I'm sorry," Ray apologized, voice worn out.
"Ray," her mom called, quieter this time. "You know I only do this because I love you right?"
"Yeah!" she said, more cheerfully.
"I just want to see us succeed," her mom replied. "I've done so much for you, so please don't put it to waste. I love you."
"Love you too, Mom," Ray said. The phone turns off.
I wait at least another minute. I couldn't have Ray thinking I was listening. Rage still filled me with her comments. This wasn't the first time someone said something about my skin.
Mom would always encourage us not to play outside for too long when we were younger so that our skin didn't darken too much. Mom never stepped out without practically bathing in sunscreen. She always got mistaken as mixed, because there was no way they believed that her just being Black was pretty. She laughed it off as a compliment.
All three of us were darker than ever.
It didn't matter. Ray's mom would not get to me like Ray.
Slowly I stepped into the room again on my tip-toes, crawling into my bed, and ignoring the quiet cries of Ray.