the ember of panic burning deep inside as we discuss my contributions to history—their words, not mine. Who the heck wants to be responsible for dictating history?
“Our momentum has been slipping recently,” Stocker says in a calm, logical tone. “We haven’t had a number one since ‘Boy Crazy,’ so in light of the decision not to do a Christmas tour this year, we think it’s best to launch the world tour in January instead of March as originally planned.”
I nearly choke on a sip of water and stare at him in disbelief. Not that he’s watching my reaction. They don’t even look at me when they say stuff like that anymore. No, they talk amongst themselves like I’m not even here, like my contributions to history have nothing to do with me.
“It’s December,” I interrupt. “We’re going to pull together and launch a full tour in a month? The album isn’t even finished yet.”
My mom shoots me a disapproving look, and I shift in my seat so I don’t have to see her in my peripheral.
Stocker releases a small smile that tells me he was expecting my response. “I get that this is an aggressive timeline, but it’s entirely doable. I’m assured the album will be ready next week, so we feel confident to announce a January fifteenth release. Then we launch the tour a week later. We already have teams working on scheduling and production. In fact, we’ve been working on it for a while already.”
I stiffen in my chair, my fists clenching beneath the table. I feel my joints cramping, my muscles coiling into strike position. “You’ve been working on this for a while and you’re just telling us now?”
A frown settles over Stocker’s face, and I notice the others seem more troubled by me than by him. How is no one else upset about this? I look to Sam, but even she seems more concerned by my reaction than anything Stocker’s said.
“We wanted to make sure it was viable before we brought this to you. It’s still a month away,” Stocker says. I hear his words, and the trained part of my brain nods in agreement. Silent questions drift around the room, flashing in the air before settling over me. Not questions about a tour or an aggressive timeline, questions about me and my reaction. I draw in a deep breath, sink my nails deeper into my palms—and force a smile.
You are in control.
You’re acting crazy.
You are in control.
You need to calm down. This is your truth.
“It’s going to be fine, Genevieve. We wouldn’t have proposed this if we didn’t think we could make it happen. We’ll have to step up rehearsals, of course, but we’re already working on a schedule that will be manageable for everyone and…”
He keeps talking. Everyone’s nodding. Everyone’s smiling again because I’m smiling now too. I feel air on my teeth, so it’s a good smile. I blink. Can’t forget to blink when you smile or it doesn’t look real.
Twenty-seven cities. Millions of fans. Radio interviews. TV interviews. Editorial shoots. Clothing brand. Fragrance line. Possible supporting role in a major film. Would you like to get into acting? Because you could. You can do anything you want. You’ve reached the top. The world is yours. The world is ours. You are the hopes and dreams of an entire generation. You are our future. You. You. You.
Are everything.
And nothing.
“Would you excuse me for a moment?” I ask, pushing back from the table.
Stocker stops mid-sentence, and I sense all eyes on me as I walk calmly from the room.
In the bathroom, air comes in short gasps. I lean against the stall door, fumbling for my phone.
You are in control.
I can’t breathe.
You are in control.
Can’t see straight.
You are—
NO!
I’m not in control. I have no control over this vast mechanism that owns me. I’m a prop, a figurehead holding up an entire universe I never asked to be a part of, let alone fuel. I’m not strong enough for this, not right for this. Nothing fits. Everything is broken and falling from the sky in jagged pieces no one else sees. I’m not me. I’m no one. There is no me. My fingers tremble as I scroll through the numbers on my phone. I don’t have to go far to find him.
Tears burn behind my eyes as it rings. Even as I silently plead with him to answer, I know he won’t. Why would he? I threw him away. I humiliated him. I took every good