“THIS LIGHT. Your hair. These flowers,” Tammy gushes, securing a crown of woven daisies to my head. “It’s divine.”

“Thank you,” I say with a huge smile. “I’m so excited, I think I’m going to bust!”

“It is exciting,” she says in her signature drawl. “This is a big deal. You’re going to be a huge star, Bird Barrett, and I’ll get to say I knew you when.”

I laugh, thinking about that. I mean, what if Tammy were fixing my hair right now for the Grammys? I’d walk the red carpet, wear crazy-expensive jewelry, and be so nervous sitting in the crowd as somebody like Jay Z opened the envelope for Best New Artist and announced the winner and it was me!

“Is the talent ready?” the assistant director calls. Tammy hurriedly sticks another bobby pin in my hair.

We’re almost set for the very first take of my music video for “Notice Me,” and I feel like I ought to pinch myself. I’m wearing a gorgeous pale pink dress, and I love the way the chiffon moves and catches in the breeze. The director told me he wants a “dreamlike, natural mood,” and as the golden rays from the morning sun peek through the treetops and wash down over Maybelle and me, it looks like he’s going to get just what he wants. I’m standing in a field of wildflowers, white and gold and purple and blue, and every time the autumn breeze blows, it ripples over the field as if God himself were brushing His mighty hand over it all. It’s breathtaking.

“Now, one more quick spritz,” Tammy says, more to herself than to me. She raises that can of hair spray, and I close my eyes quickly. I try not to cough.… I try not to yawn.

It was another early call. At six AM, my dad and I met Dan, Anita, my styling team, and about a dozen crew members at Open Highway, where we joined the caravan out to this sprawling “farm” in Franklin, Tennessee. Dad told me this used to be horse country, but these days it’s just well-to-do people who like their homes big. One of them let Dan rent out an acre on their back lot, and that’s where we are now.

The juxtaposition of the calm where I’m standing, and all the lights, generators, people, and trailers behind the cameras is almost comical. All the times I’ve watched music videos, I never thought about the view from this side of the lens.

“You play your fiddle on this shoulder?” Tammy asks.

I nod. She sweeps my hair back and to my other side before giving it all one last fluff.

“Okay, people,” the director calls, clapping his hands. “Let’s roll.”

“Break a leg,” Tammy whispers, winking.

I grin and watch her walk away, holding her arms out like a tightrope walker, precariously picking her way through the field. We were all given strict instructions to walk in each other’s footsteps so as not to mash the flowers and “ruin the visual appeal” of the set. Watching her hips twist in her painted-on jeans as she walks off set makes me laugh, which is good because I’m wound up tight right now.

It’s overwhelming, all the people standing around watching me, the cameras angled my way, the constant scrutiny. I try to find as much to think about besides this video as I can. I’m not even really singing today, just lip-synching, but the thought of mouthing the words makes me even more nervous.

“Quiet on the set!” someone yells.

I raise Maybelle to my shoulder and take a deep breath to calm my nerves. “Here we go, girl,” I whisper, drawing my bow across the strings to warm up.

“Hang on!” I hear Anita call. I look up and see her picking her way through the field looking almost as comical as Tammy. Why would she wear high heels to an outdoor shoot? Although to be fair, it’s the middle of October, and I’m wiggling my bare toes in cold, dewy grass, so I guess I don’t have much room to talk when it comes to appropriate footwear.

“Bird,” she says, getting closer. “You are a vision.”

“Thank you,” I say, savoring any compliment I get from Anita. If she thinks I look good, then I can relax about that part of the video, anyway.

“Listen,” she says, “Dan and I wanted to run something by you.” I look over her shoulder and see Dan making his way out to us, an exquisite koa guitar in hand. The three-toned wood gleams in the sunlight, and as he gets closer, I see an intricate vine inlay climbing up the neck. “We thought we’d have you play the guitar instead of the fiddle in the video.”

I grip Maybelle tighter. “But I thought these shots were for the fiddling pass.”

Dan stands in two foot-holes behind Anita and leans around her. “We’re switching a few things around,” he explains. “And I want you to have this, Bird. An exceptional artist needs an instrument of equal caliber.”

The guitar he holds out to me is gorgeous. Dylan would kill for it, and I’m sure he’s tired of me borrowing his all the time.

“Seriously? Thank you, Dan,” I say. But I can’t help think that, although I use the guitar to pick out melodies for songwriting, the fiddle is my instrument. I feel more relaxed with Maybelle, and today, of all days, I need her. Anita told me that this music video will be my introduction to the world and, more important, my first impression on potential fans. I’m already crazy nervous—I really need my fiddle.

Anita can obviously sense my reluctance. “Listen, Bird, you are a true talent. Your fiddling is perfection. But Dan and I just feel that the guitar will be more accessible to your fans. More people play the guitar. It makes you one of them.” She squeezes my arm. “And besides that, the fiddle tends to cover up that beautiful face of yours, which is the last thing we want when the label is forking over big bucks to make a music video.”

Although I’m not happy about abandoning Maybelle, I look at Dan and think about how much he’s already put into my career, about how much industry gold he’s made, about how everything I know about the country music scene could fit into the palm of his hand. I chose to work with Open Highway because I trusted them to help me make it as a recording artist. As much as I hate to change instruments, I know I need to trust them now.

“Can you ask my dad to bring me my case?” I finally ask.

Anita takes the guitar from Dan, and he backtracks through the field for my dad. I might trust them with my career, but I don’t trust anybody in the world with Maybelle.

My song plays loudly from the speakers for the gazillionth time, and it all feels so weird. I don’t like lip-synching and tried to sing for real at first, but that got old fast. And as Dan reminded me on a quick break, I still have to have a voice for recording more songs.

Maybe you like me, or do you like me not, I mouth along with the track, swaying from a tire swing under a gigantic bendy old tree.

“Loosen up, Bird!” the director calls, watching his monitor. “Tuck your elbows in. You look like you’re trying to fly away.”

Embarrassed, I grasp the rope a little tighter and pull my arms in, which forces me to lean back some.

“Oh, love that,” he calls. “Yes, toss your hair back as you swing. Look up at the sky. No, don’t squint, Bird, keep your eyes open. Keep singing.” The director is nice, but I can feel his patience wearing thin with me. He’s great at coaching me through the shots, but it seems like all my natural instincts are wrong. And to tell you the truth, it feels corny walking back and forth through a patch of flowers, swinging from a swing, and singing longingly into a blank, lifeless lens with twenty people standing around staring. “Cut!” he calls. “Moving on.”

“Halle-freakin’-lujah,” I whisper to myself, jumping out of the swing before the crew guy can help me. “Sorry,” I mumble, passing him quickly and making a beeline for my trailer.

As I open the door, Amanda turns away from a white dress she’s steaming. “From what I saw earlier, it looks like things are going well,” she says with a smile. Yes, a smile. Chilly, perfectionist Amanda actually smiled at me.

I must be blowing it.

She unzips me from the pink dress, and I slip into a robe. Then as I take the seat behind a big, brightly lit mirror, she taps twice on the trailer door, and before she can back away, Sam and Tammy are bounding up the stairs, nearly knocking her over.

“You’re a natural!” Tammy squeals enthusiastically.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Sam says bluntly. “But you’re getting better, Bird, and you look fabulous.”

As Tammy chastises Sam for his tactlessness, which Sam defends as honesty, I grab my cell phone and text Adam.

My shoot’s in a field of wildflowers. The original Lady Bird would be proud

I set my phone in my lap and close my eyes so my stylists can work. I zone out as Tammy removes the daisies from my hair and Sam brushes powder over my face. Instead of brooding over my performance so far, I think about that little bouquet of flowers Adam gave me at the Station Inn and try to relax. Ever since the day at the flea market with Stella, Adam and I have been texting back and forth, mainly about his tour and my deal, but at least we’re texting. I wouldn’t say we’re really flirting hard-core or anything, but I finally feel confident in our friendship separate from his with Jacob. That’s a big step in my book.

My phone buzzes in my lap, and I sneak a peek while Sam grabs more gloss:

We’re all proud, Lady Bird. Send a pic!

The door of the tiny trailer swings open. “Knock, knock!” Anita calls in an unusually cheery voice. She steps in looking flustered, which actually worries me a little but then makes perfect sense a moment later when a tall, gorgeous guy walks up the stairs behind her. He looks like he could be a Hollister model. Unconsciously, I sit up straighter. So do Sam and Tammy.

“Bird,” Anita says breathlessly. “I want you to meet McKay Evans. He’ll be playing the guy you want to notice you in the video.”

McKay holds his hand out, and I can’t help but notice the bulging muscles in his strong, tanned arms. I know I’m beet red, but I shake his hand as indifferently as possible and smile. “It’s nice to meet you, McKay.”

“Glad to be here,” he responds sincerely, giving me a small grin that exposes a deep dimple.

Dimples, too? Seriously?

“McKay, some powder,” Sam commands, turning McKay’s chin from my direction and brushing over his face.

“And just one little flyaway,” Tammy says, dabbing her pinkie finger into some pomade.

I glance at Amanda, who rolls her eyes, and then over at Anita, who is almost drooling, and try to suppress a laugh. I may need noticing, but that’s certainly not McKay’s problem.

“I need to change her for her next look,” Amanda announces, ever the party pooper. Although, in her defense, it is starting to feel a little claustrophobic in here, and everybody’s waiting on me.

“Yes, yes, we’re going,” Anita replies, turning away. “Just wanted to introduce you quickly before you’re thrown together on set.”

McKay briefly touches my shoulder and looks at me in the mirror. “See you out there.”

I can only nod.

As he walks toward the door, Amanda stops him briefly and rolls a lint brush over a pristine spot on his white V-neck. Sam smirks at Tammy behind me.

“Couldn’t keep your hands off, could you?” he teases Amanda as McKay exits.

She shoots him a murderous look, but I also notice that her face flames red.

“Can I have her in ten?” a production assistant calls from the doorway.

“You can have her in five,” Amanda answers, unzipping my dress from its hanger. “But you can have these two right now.” She turns toward Sam and Tammy and points to the door. “Out.”

Before getting up to change, I think about another person I know who would die over McKay: Stella. I pick up my cell phone again. The shooting script calls for a fantasy scene where I walk around the love interest, look at him with yearning, and even “caress” his arms and blow in his ear. I was nervous about it before, but after meeting McKay, I’m terrified. I need backup, so I fire off a quick text to my new bestie.

U still coming?

And the true wingwoman that she is, her reply is immediate:

On our way.

“Imagine he’s the guy you wrote the song about!” the director calls over the music.

As if I weren’t tense enough already.

I glance down nervously at male model McKay, who’s gazing up at me from where he’s perched on a bale of hay. His face is uncomfortably close, since I’m bent over with my arms wrapped around his neck. He smells like bronzing lotion.

“Okay, you don’t have to sing now, Bird,” the director calls, completely throwing me off. “Just interact with your guy.” I blush.

“You wrote this?” McKay asks quietly.

“Um, yeah,” I say, trying to stay in character while we talk. Tentatively, I run my fingers over his shoulders. They’re, like, rock hard.

“Yes, good, Bird!” the director calls.

“Wow,” McKay says. “I’m impressed.”

“Pretend he just said something funny!” the director calls.

I throw my head back and laugh, releasing the giddy feeling inside. McKay’s not really my type (while they adjusted the lighting for these shots, he gave me a detailed rundown of his favorite protein shakes), but that doesn’t mean that when he smiles up at me with perfect teeth and big brown eyes, I don’t swoon a little.

“It’s still not there,” I overhear the director say. He twists around in his chair and beckons to Dan and Anita. “We need to feel like she’s really into him.”

Dan frowns and strokes his jowls, but Anita, as always, doesn’t hesitate to express herself. “Look at her,” my publicist responds, gesturing emphatically at the monitor with her red fingernails. “She’s about to throw up, she’s so nervous around this boy. That’s how girls feel around guys they’re into.”

I cringe and walk behind McKay again, keeping beat with the song and trying to ignore them. It’s totally quiet on set, except for my song, and if I can hear them talking, then so can McKay, and this is hard enough already.

“It just feels a little… awkward,” the director says, crossing his arms.

“Awkward,” Anita repeats, hands on hips. “Like girls are around boys they like. I think this is wonderful. It feels much more real this way than some overly flirty take on it; otherwise, she wouldn’t have to beg to be noticed.” I take stock of myself, trying to figure out what they’re seeing.

Dan mumbles something that I can’t make out, and the director considers it. Then he calls, “Bird! Can we try you sitting with your head on his shoulder?”

I glance over at McKay’s face quickly and then look away again. He scoots over a tiny bit on the hay, and I squeeze next to him, doing what the director asks. My hair cascades down McKay’s chest, and with my head cocked, I stare into the camera lens as my voice on the track pleads with him to “notice me” already.

“Oh, I love that,” the director calls, leaning forward. “Now look at each other.” We are so close that our noses nearly touch. I gulp hard. “That’s great, guys. McKay, could you gently push her hair back from her cheek?”

When I feel his fingers on my face, I close my eyes involuntarily and get an enormous cold chill.

“Oh. There’s your moment,” Anita says softly.

“Cut it!” the director calls. “That was beautiful, you two.”

“Moving on!” his assistant calls, and the entire set comes to life again.

I politely extricate myself from McKay and find my dad grazing at the craft services area. “Is Stella here yet?” I ask, swiping an apple slice from his plate.

He shakes his head and pulls my cell phone from his shirt pocket. No messages. No missed calls. “Oh,” he says, pointing behind me. “Speak of the devil.”

Spinning around, I see Stella and Shannon walking around my trailer, and can’t be more relieved. “I’m so glad you’re here,” I say, throwing my arms around Stella. I pull back and grab her shoulders, looking at her seriously. “We have an emergency.”

“Oh no,” she says worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

With one arm still around her, I turn and point toward the set, where Amanda has taken off McKay’s shirt and is rubbing baby oil on his very chiseled chest. “That’s the emergency.”

Her eyes pop as her face registers what I already knew. “Whoa.”

“Exactly,” I say, grinning. “How am I supposed to concentrate like a professional when I have that going on?”

My dad glances at us, obviously flustered by our ogling, and shakes his head as he engages Shannon in conversation. He hasn’t been crazy about these “fantasy” scenes, either.

Stella lifts her enormous sunglasses from her eyes. “Are they giving him a pitchfork?” she asks, confused.

“Yes. The script says he’s supposed to wipe sweat from his brow while I circle around him longingly.”

“You’re blushing.” She smirks, clearly enjoying this.

“I’m dying,” I say.

“Well, okay,” Stella says, eyeing McKay boldly. “Pretend like he’s one of your brothers.”

I screw up my face. “How am I supposed to act romantic with one of my brothers?”

“Well…” she starts. But she can’t take her eyes off McKay as he flexes so that Amanda can examine her work. Finally Stella sighs dramatically, completely at a loss. “Yeah, I don’t know, Bird.” Then she wiggles her eyebrows. “But it’s not a bad problem to have.”

“Ha!”

“At least he doesn’t look anything like Adam. You don’t have to worry about revealing the identity of your muse.”

“True,” I say, appreciating that new insight.

McKay looks up at that moment and flashes us his million-dollar dimpled smile.

“Hey, ladies,” Stella says, imitating a deep guy voice. I laugh out loud. “Who’s your friend? She’s hot.” She’s talking out the side of her mouth like a ventriloquist, which makes me laugh even harder. “Think she’d care for a roll in the hay?” She turns to me, her eyes full of mischief. “Because Bird,” she says in her normal voice, hilariously intense, gripping my arm like it’s life or death. “I would. If he asked, I totally would.”

“Stop,” I say, laughing so hard that my eyes are watering. And now she’s dropped the bit and joins in. We’re falling against each other, laughing like hyenas and gasping for air. The crew is starting to take notice, but I don’t care.

“Is the talent ready?” an assistant producer calls.

“Oh, fancy,” Stella teases.

I shake my head and grab a mint from the food table, still giggling as I walk toward my mark. I dab under my eyes, knowing that Sam is going to murder me if I’ve smudged my makeup, but as I walk toward him and McKay on set, I also know that the last five minutes were worth the scolding I’ll get. I feel better than I’ve felt all day.

With Stella in the wings, I finally relax. As the music plays and the cameras roll, I circle McKay playfully, still a little self-conscious, but at least no one is cringing at the monitor anymore. I glance over at Stella when he seductively wipes “sweat” from his brow and barely keep my composure when she dramatically fans herself. Before I know it, I’m having the time of my life.

“That’s a wrap!” the director calls as I kill yet another daisy, plucking it bare and hoping that he loves me.

“Phew,” I say, stretching before I stand up from where I was sitting cross-legged in the field of wildflowers. “What a day.”

The crew member helping me up smiles, and everyone claps. I see lighting guys shaking hands with props people and assistants helping themselves to snack food. It seems like everybody relaxes just a touch before getting to the hard work of packing up.

As I walk past the monitors and lighting equipment toward my trailer, the director calls out to me. “Hey, Bird. Take a look.”

He has the director of photography rewind some of the footage to the scenes where I’m interacting with McKay. Stella is at my side right away, and then my dad steps up, too. “There,” the director says. “Play back.”

I’m a little anxious about what I might see, but when the film rolls, my chin nearly hits the ground. “It looks like a real music video,” Stella comments, taking the words right out of my mouth. Anita, Dan, and Shannon join us, and I can feel the crowd ever so slightly pressing in behind me as the footage rolls.

The whole thing is surreal. I’m looking at my real-life story playing out on the small screen. I mean, it’s a little more polished than me pining over Adam in the Winnebago, but even with all the wardrobe changes and the hair and makeup and McKay’s oiled-up chest, the scenes feel easy and light and not overworked. I watch breathlessly, amazed that I somehow come across as confident and sure instead of awkward and uncertain.

“It’s perfect,” I whisper, watching as our two figures pass each other by, the sun setting behind us, the gold and purple flowers grazing our thighs. “It’s just perfect.”

I fell asleep in the car ride home from Franklin and basically sleepwalked to my room. I did not pass Go; I did not collect two hundred dollars. I didn’t brush my teeth or wash my face or brush my hair. I didn’t even change clothes.

And yet, for the past ten minutes, I have tossed and turned, tugging my blankets this way and that. I have counted the stars outside my window, spotted both Dippers and Orion’s belt, and wondered at the man in the moon. I even prayed, thanking the Big Man for today.

But I have been completely unable to turn off my brain and just sleep. Something is nagging at me, but I can’t figure out what.

And then I turn my head away from the window and it hits me: Maybelle. I feel a pang of guilt.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to her case on my dresser, thinking how excited I was last night as I practiced for the shoot. “I won’t forget you. I promise.”

But when I close my eyes, sleep still won’t come. It’s not until I pull the covers back and set my feet on the cool hardwood floor, not until I take Maybelle out of her case and tuck her under my chin, not until I play the fiddling pass from “Notice Me,” quietly so I don’t wake anybody up, that I finally settle, finally feel whole. It’s not until then that my day is complete.

When I finish the song, I bow to the imaginary audience in my vanity mirror. Smiling, I tuck Maybelle back into her bed and then crawl into my own. And before I know it, I’m out cold, dreaming about Adam standing in the tall flowers, his hazel eyes twinkling and his deep voice sexy as he whispers in my ear, pushing me on a tire swing as if there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.