“Grandpa insisted on it,” Mom says about thirty minutes later when we’re sitting on butter-yellow leather chairs in the hotel lobby. Across from me, Grandpa beams with pride. “He made all the arrangements,” Mom adds. “He booked our rooms at the hotel. He contacted the festival office to make sure we’d have tickets waiting at the box office. He even arranged to borrow Jerry’s nine-seater van so we could all drive down together.”
Grandpa is a make-it-happen kind of guy. Normally I love it. Today, not so much.
The lobby is crowded. People are clustered by the tour desk, the entrance to the bar, the gift shop. There’s a steady stream of bodies coming through the circular front doors and heading for the check-in desk too. Most of them are around my age. Most of them are trailing suitcases. And most of them have that same is this for real? look of panic in their eyes.
My competition.
“We wanted to show up and surprise you!” Grandpa says.
Surprises like this I don’t need. I’d literally just finished checking in—I hadn’t even been to my room yet—and when I turned around from reception, there they were. At least, Mom, Dad, and Grandpa were there. Brooke and the twins were in the gift shop.
“We haven’t been taking your comedy aspirations seriously enough.” Dad rubs his eyes. I can tell the drive from Seattle has exhausted him. Grandpa’s a terrible backseat driver. “We wanted to be here to support you.”
“And I know you’re nervous and you’d rather we didn’t watch, but just don’t think about us being in the audience.” Mom picks up my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Okay?” When I don’t answer, she squeezes my hand a second time and says, “You’ll do great, Paige.”
“Yeah, great.” I drag the word out—griiiiiiiiiit. Maybe they’ll think I’m pretending to be southern and not realize I’m having trouble talking between gritted teeth. I clutch my welcome package and force myself to look happy. They mean well. They do.
I just wish they could mean well from home.
“You’re staying on the concierge floor.” Mom smiles. “We tried to get on your floor, but they wouldn’t let us.”
Thank God for small mercies. “The tenth floor has been reserved for contestants.” Having my own room is a perk and probably a blessing too, although it would have been fun to room with Carly. But she and Hunter and the other kids are two floors down.
“And the hotel has a shuttle,” Dad adds. “So you won’t have to walk to and from the concert hall. Your mother checked.”
“I know. They told me.”
“But we can’t let you take the shuttle tomorrow morning,” Grandpa says. “We’ll drive you ourselves.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Of course we don’t, but we will.”
I’m actually relieved. Going into the theater tomorrow morning will be scary, and it’ll be nice to have my family beside me. My mind flashes on Brooke. Okay, some of my family beside me.
“We want to be there every step of the way,” Grandpa adds.
Nodding, I glance around the lobby. A slim woman wearing leather pants and a royal-purple cape jacket is coming through the circular doors. Something about her looks familiar. She turns to the man beside her and laughs. My heart skips a beat.
Holy crap, it’s Raven Prest!
She saunters toward the reception desk, a soft-sided leather bag slung over one shoulder, chatting casually to her companion. She’s taller than I expected and totally glammed out with poppy-red lipstick and sleek, short black hair.
“…join us for dinner tonight,” Grandpa is saying. The elevator in my stomach bottoms out. Oh no. I look back at him. “Your mom and dad. Brooke and the twins. I’ve made a reservation at a local steak house. My treat, of course.”
“I have the reception at the concert hall. They’re sending shuttles to pick us up at five thirty.” We’re expected to tour backstage so we’ll know what to expect tomorrow, and the sponsors and judges are being introduced afterward.
“It ends at seven,” Grandpa says. “I asked. So I made the reservation for eight.”
I don’t want to see my family afterward. Being around them—around Brooke—will totally throw me off. “I’m seeing Hunter and Carly after,” I tell him. “But thanks.”
“They can come too,” Grandpa says. “I’m sure the restaurant can accommodate a few extra people.”
Oh man. A mixture of love and exasperation rolls through me. “Thanks, Grandpa, but Carly’s picked out a place she wants to try.” I’m desperate enough to lie.
Grandpa throws up his hands. “Well then, I’ll cancel the steak house and we can go where Carly wants.”
Why does he have to be so easygoing? “It’s a sushi place,” I blurt out. Grandpa and Dad hate sushi. “That’s all they have—a ton of sushi.” I need to text Carly and bring her up to speed before she runs into Grandpa in the hall and blows my lie out of the water.
Grandpa frowns. “They can’t just have fish. Too many people have allergies.”
“They do. It’s a Japanese place.” Panic sends my voice into squeaky-mouse territory. “Raw fish all the way.”
“Surely they’ll have rice. The Japanese eat lots of rice. And all those delicious deep-fried things with that sweet dipping sauce. I can’t remember the name.”
“Tempura,” Dad offers helpfully.
I glare at him, but he’s looking at Grandpa.
“That’s it! Tempura. And we can get one of those private rooms!” Grandpa’s cheeks are flushed with enthusiasm. “I love those little rooms. Even if they do make you take your shoes off before you get in.”
The air disappears from my lungs. This can’t be happening. I know I should be grateful, but I don’t want them here. For sure I don’t want to see them tonight. As I’m scrambling for another excuse, Mom says, “You know, Dad, Paige shouldn’t have to change her plans for us. Especially the night before the big event. Why don’t we let her see her friends tonight and we can go out tomorrow night?”
I shoot Mom a grateful look.
“What, we’re not going for dinner tonight?” says a familiar voice from behind me.
It’s Brooke. I swivel around. She’s carrying a small gold bag from the gift shop and standing between Twin One and Twin Two. I stare at their feet. Who wears stilettos? With jeans? Especially when it’s raining? The three of them do, obviously. My jaw tightens. I’d give my right foot to be able to wear stilettos. Seriously. I’d be thrilled to get rid of the thing.
“Paige can’t make it,” Mom says.
Brooke pouts. “Oh, that’s too bad.” It’s a real pout. A genuine one. The ice around my heart starts to thaw. My sister actually wants me there for dinner.
“We were looking forward to the steak house.” She looks at the twins. “Right, girls?”
“Right.” Said in unison. With synchronized nods. Like little soldiers answering to their general.
“Well then,” Dad says. “We’ll go to the steak house tonight, and we’ll find someplace else for tomorrow night. Because tomorrow night we’ll be celebrating the fact that Paige made the finals.” His voice is laced with pride. “And that deserves a special dinner too.”
Like, no pressure. As I try to figure out what to say to that, Brooke adds, “Oh good. I wouldn’t want to miss celebrating Paige’s crack at the big time.” But her smile is brittle, and there’s a vaguely sarcastic inflection to her words. “I’m so glad I’m here to see it.”
Sure she is. The ice around my heart hardens again. I know the truth. Brooke has come to Portland to watch me fail.