I was always accommodating. This and the nose job were the only things I’d ever really pushed back on.
“They kept saying that it wasn’t really a Christmas album—that it was a winter album, but they showed me the list of songs they wanted me to record and they’re all about Christmas. They want me to sing ‘O Holy Night,’ which is literally about the birth of Jesus.”
“Wasn’t that song written by an atheist?” Cal asked.
“How did you know that?”
We exchanged a look.
“Harriet,” we both said.
“Apparently the composer was Jewish,” I said.
“It’s like Harriet’s here with us right now,” Cal said.
“She’d probably say something about how most Christmas songs were written by Jews anyway and I’m part of a long cultural tradition.”
I glanced over to find Cal staring at me.
“That was extremely specific,” he said.
“I already spoke to her,” I said. “Earlier today.”
“Ah,” Cal said.
We stood there.
“Okay,” Cal said. “Use it as leverage.”
I tilted my head.
“Tell them that you’ll do the Christmas album if they let you do Harriet’s songs first,” Cal said.
Fuck.
That was genius.
I felt a twinge of disappointment. In myself.
I could still remember how much confidence and bravery I’d had when I was younger. How sure I was that I was going to make it. And now that I had—now that I had, in a sense, gotten everything I’d wanted—I’d become scared and timid. Afraid to lose it all.
But did I even have what I wanted? What I really wanted?
I loved my fans. I loved performing.
Did I love being Katee Rose?
Why hadn’t I fought harder to keep Kathleen Rosenberg alive?
I was ashamed.
“What about you?” I asked, needing to deflect, needing to talk about something else.
“What about me?” Cal asked.
“What do you want out of this whole thing?”
Cal looked up at the sky. It was brilliant with stars.
“Ryan wants to be a famous actor,” I said. “Wyatt wants to go solo. LC and Mason are always whispering about something—what about you?”
“I don’t know,” Cal said. “I guess I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
I couldn’t really chide him, because I hadn’t either. And now that we were, it was terrifying. This life was intense and overwhelming and stressful, but it was the only life I knew. Maybe that’s where some of the shame was coming from. The realization that I wasn’t even sure I knew how to be anyone but Katee anymore.
“I just wanted something to do after college,” he said. “And they promised I’d make enough that I could help my family out.”
I’d never met Cal’s family, but I knew that he was smack dab in the middle of four girls. It was the reason he’d gotten into dance in the first place—it was just easier to take all five of them to the same activity—and then Cal became the best of the bunch.
“And have you?” I asked.
He nodded. “Took care of college loans for the older ones, put together a fund for the younger ones. Paid off my parents’ mortgage.”
“So generous,” I said.
“I did spend some of it on myself,” he said. “I’m not that altruistic.”
I wasn’t sure I believed that.
“You like performing,” I said.
“Sure,” he said. “But I don’t think I want to do it forever.”
“Really?”
I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Not truly.
“It’s fun now,” Cal said. “The money is amazing. I get to see the whole world. And I like the guys.” He paused. “I like most of the guys.”
“But?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t need the spotlight, like you do.”
It sounded like an insult, which apparently showed on my face, because Cal immediately backtracked.
“What I mean is that you’re happy in the spotlight,” he said. “You shine.”
“So do you,” I said.
Because it was true—he was an incredible performer. I loved watching him dance. He was definitely the best out of all the guys. It was hard to look at anyone else when they were onstage.
“But it invigorates you,” he said. “I can see it on your face when you get offstage—you’re…you’re…you’re like a big glowing ball of energy.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
“You belong up there,” Cal said. “You belong where everyone can see you. And hear you.”
“I’ve seen you helping the other guys with choreography,” I said. “You’re really good at it.”
He shrugged. “I like being helpful.”
“It’s more than that,” I said. “You know what looks right and you know how to tweak things so they don’t make mistakes.”
“It’s not a big deal,” he said.
“You’re doing someone else’s job,” I said. “Without credit. Without pay.”
Cal snorted. “No one is going to pay me to choreograph the band I’m in. And Ryan would lose his mind.”
“Maybe,” I said.
Definitely.
We stood in silence. I could hear the bar on the other side of the brick wall, but it felt far away. Like another world. Another life.
“If any of our fans knew we were having this conversation they’d laugh at us,” I said. “We’re the biggest pop stars in the world and we’re complaining.”
“We’re not complaining,” Cal said. “We’re commiserating.”
“Okay, Cal State,” I said.
His expression darkened.
“Sorry,” I said.
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s just that…”
“What?”
“I fucking hate that nickname,” he said.