Page 38 of Loaded

Technically, the balance is perfect.

The words are catchy—Jake really helped there. They’re corny, but not painful. The melody is perfectly strung. For the first time, I wonder whether I might win. Once she sings the last one and asks everyone to vote, my hope is floating dangerously high.

It’s not about the money.

I mean, money’s nice, but it’s more about the chance to work with an agency. It’s about adding this to my resume and possibly springboarding from this into a real job. I’ve been out of school for almost three years now, and I’ve made no real inroads toward getting the kind of work that I want. I help my teacher with her small, side-gig jobs.

But I’m not paid, and my name’s never on anything.

This could be it.

When the woman approaches the podium again, an envelope in her hand, she’s smiling. “As many of you know, we have three industry judges, and their scores are worth fifty percent of the rating. The audience votes are worth ten percent, and Jello allocated the other forty percent to me, as the voice of their brand.”

That actually surprises me. I should have read more closely.

She pulls the paper out of the envelope. “Today’s first runner-up will receive a cash prize of five hundred dollars and a recommendation from our organization. Her melody was my very favorite, and her skill is undeniable. I was very impressed by Beatrice Cipriani.”

It takes me a second to realize. . .that means I lost.

In fact, I’m so busy processing my disappointment that I don’t even hear who won. Everyone else is clapping, and I’m just sitting in my seat, staring straight ahead like a zombie.

“Beatrice?” Someone’s poking me.

It’s the gay guy next to me. “You’re supposed to come up with me.”

He stops poking and just grabs my wrist, dragging me across the stage alongside him. “You got second place.”

I force a smile. “Congratulations. Your jingle was amazing.”

He shrugs. “Yours was better. I’m not sure how I won.”

But then we’re both bowing, and people are clapping, and someone is handing me a manila folder. The next few minutes pass in a blur of papers and smiles and murmured questions. I try to answer them all properly, but I’m not sure I’ve ever felt quite this numb.

Until I’m on my way toward the edge of the stage, finally. I’m sure Jake will be there, and Emerson. . .and Easton. I can feel my cheeks flush.

Because I lost.

They all came to cheer for me, and I lost.

“Beatrice,” a voice calls. A lilting, mellifluous voice.

I turn slowly, and the melted-face woman’s smiling atme. “Beatrice, I hope you’ll allow me just a moment.” She gestures, and I follow her toward the side curtain.

“Yes?” I blink. “Did I miss something? A signature?”

She shakes her head. “No, but I wanted to explain.”

“Explain?” I’m still feeling numb, and I’m clearly missing something.

“Your jingle was the best,” she whispers. “I knew it. The audience knew it. You should’ve won.”

For a brief moment in time, the sounds around me are all amplified, like the world that has been on pause comes screaming back to life. “What?” I must have misheard her, or worse, hallucinated.

“Your song was the best,” the woman says. “But you’ll get the scoresheet later, and you’ll be able to see that I scored yours much lower than the others. Without that, you’d have won.” She sighs. “I wanted to tell you why.”

My heart hasn’t been this crushed by anything since. . .well, maybe since the night I met Emerson and Seren and Dave for the first time. “You—why?”

“Your jingle was good. You have real talent.” She leans closer. “I’m stuck doing jingles—things where I can’t show my face. But you.” She sighs. “The sky’s the limit for you. I torpedoed you in this because this kind of thing clearly isn’t where you should be. It’s not even where you want to be—I saw that in your face when you were up there. You need to give up on jingles and writerealmusic. Release all that sound that’s banging around in your head. The world needs quality music from real, pure musicians like you.”

---