“I keep telling Sadie this audition doesn’t mean anything,” Mom said. “She won’t even remember it in a few years.”

“Oh, I’ll remember it,” I said, and laughed.

Mom smiled and then laughed too. I knew she thought Donovan had accomplished what the ice cream could never do—made me feel better about bombing my song on camera.

But it wasn’t just Donovan. I had swum to the bottom of the sea and met merpeople. I’d walked through trees made of silver, gold, and diamonds. I’d learned to waltz, been a princess, and danced for fairies. I’d almost drowned and I’d fallen in love.

A few minutes ago, I thought I’d never see my world again, and now I was back. It put a viral video in perspective.

Mom dished out ice cream for us, and we talked until it was time for Donovan to catch his bus. Mom and I drove him to the station parking lot. She waited in the car, while I walked Donovan inside and said goodbye.

When we reached the line at the counter, I pulled my wallet from my purse. “You’ll need money for a ticket.” Gold and silver filled his pockets, but he couldn’t use that here.

Donovan shook his head. “Don’t stress it. I’ll use the invisibility cloak to get on the bus.”

I took money from my wallet and held it out to him. “I’ll worry less if I know you’re traveling the legal way.”

He tilted his head in disbelief. “I just chopped you out of a killer bush, saved you from evil fairies—and now you’re worried about whether I’ll be okay on a bus?”

“Yeah.” I kept holding the money out.

He took hold of my free hand and gave it a light squeeze. His hands felt rough in mine, rough and warm. “You don’t have to worry about me. I have a lot of experience taking care of myself.”

“I know, but I’m going to worry about you anyway.”

He finally took my money. “Okay.” He tucked the bills into his pocket, then lowered his head so his forehead touched mine. “And by the way, I love you too.”

I glanced up at him, surprised. “What?”

“Nothing . . .” he said with a grin, “that we can’t talk about later.”

I took hold of his hand again. “I think now is later.”

He laughed, pulled me closer, and gave me another kiss.

Chapter 30

The video of my audition went viral faster than I’d imagined. I had one day at home, one day of normal life, before the show aired. After that, the internet went crazy. At first it was a montage of my performance. Then a meme popped up, and people tacked the footage of me heaving onto other videos so it looked like I was throwing up in response to a myriad of things. Political opinions. Celebrity fashions. Jason’s latest music video.

Donovan actually made that one. He took a clip of Jason singing, “Do you want me, baby? Do you think I’m the one?” and then cut to me throwing up in front of Jason. The video had a million views by the end of the day. I didn’t know whether to laugh or yell at Donovan for thinking the whole thing was funny.

It was easy for him to see the humor in my ill-gotten fame. He didn’t have to go to my school. For a couple days, it seemed like the entire student body had nothing else to do except make comments about my performance or walk around the school pretending to vomit.

I tried to be a good sport. I said things like: “Just doing my part to put our town on the map,” and “The judges got it wrong. Projectile vomiting was my talent.”

A few people were extra nice, which sort of surprised me. The girl at the locker next to mine hadn’t spoken to me all year, but when she saw me, she said, “Don’t listen to the jerks here. At least you had the courage to walk out onto that stage. Most people at this school wouldn’t do that.”

I nodded philosophically. “Which is why most people at this school still have their dignity.”

She laughed, and didn’t look away. “You’ve got a good sense of humor. I don’t know why you’ve always been so quiet.”

Because I’d been afraid I would say the wrong thing. Because I’d been afraid people would criticize me. Because it was easier not to draw attention to myself. The upchucking video pretty well blew that strategy out of the water. Now I had to speak up for myself. And I found I wasn’t that bad at it.

After a few days had passed and everyone else had moved on to other entertainment, Macy and Brooklyn strolled up to me in the hallway.

“How’s your singing career going?” Macy asked.

I kept walking to my class. “Better than yours. At least people know who I am.”

“I’d rather not have that sort of fame,” Macy said.

Brooklyn wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t want a singing career.”

“Then you’re in luck,” I said. “You’ll never have one,” and I turned to walk into my class.

That day after school, The Tonight Show called my parents and asked if I could perform my song on Friday’s show. It was ironic that such a horrible experience on one show led to an invitation from a bigger one. I wasn’t sure whether Jimmy Fallon wanted to give me a chance to redeem myself or whether he was expecting me to fail again in an equally entertaining way.

I accepted without hesitation.

I flew to New York with my parents and spent the next afternoon rehearsing with the band. The musicians were really nice. After they introduced themselves, one of the guitarist said, “Hey, I know you’d rather be famous for something else, but don’t feel bad about those videos. A lot of singers would pay for that kind of exposure.”

“Then it’s too bad I couldn’t sell it to them.” I only half meant it. I knew I would come through all of this stronger. I already was.

The guitarist took extra time to talk with me during rehearsal and suggested changing a few notes and adding some chords in my song. He was right. The song was better that way.

With his permission, I jotted down the changes so I could add them to my music back home. “I guess I still have a lot to learn about song writing.”

“Nah,” he said. “Revisions are just part of the game. You’ve got talent. Keep using it.”

He didn’t have to compliment me. I was only a high school kid here as a novelty. But it was nice that he did. It proved that not everyone in the business was like Jason.

That night when the cameras turned on and the band started playing my song, I was still nervous— petrified really—but I knew I could do it.

The intro music sounded smooth, professional. I took a deep breath, opened my mouth, and the notes flowed out clear and flawlessly. This time while I sang, I didn’t picture Jason. I saw Donovan’s cool blue eyes, his mussed hair, and his smile that tilted up at one side.

My voice was strong and beautiful, even if I did sound a little too happy about unrequited love. I couldn’t get that wistful tone of longing that had been there when I practiced in front of Jason’s poster. I was too un-unrequited.

When I reached the part of the song I’d choked on during the America’s Top Talent, the audience leaned forward in their seats, one collectively-held breath. My voice slid upward effortlessly, and I lengthened the note just to show I’d conquered it. The audience burst into applause, drowning out my next few words.

With the band at my back, and the audience breathing in the music, singing felt magical. In a good way. I was wrong about not wanting the spotlight. I could live here.

When I sang the last note, the audience cheered their approval. I didn’t care that they’d probably all seen my video and laughed at it. They were applauding now. They were clapping for everyone who’d made a fool of themselves and didn’t let it stop them from trying again.

I took a bow and strode over—no heels to worry about today—to in the guest chair. My nerves came back in force then, throbbing through me. I’d known all along I could do the song. Talking in front of the camera was another matter. Donovan had spent an hour with me on the phone, practicing possible things to say.