Open Your Eyes
Chapter 10
Scarlett’s POV
“Yeah, I’ll take this one.” I nodded at the man who had been showing me around the flat. I was in Oxford, looking for a new place that I could stay in when I went back to university. I had spent the past week rehearsing for the tour, and on my first break, I had hopped on a train down here. The whole morning, I’d been talking to professors, who had all expressed their congratulations on me getting so far in the competition and their delight that I was back (I’d always been a fantastic student). They’d given me books and study materials, and while I was on tour, I was to study, and I would take the first semester final in March, a couple weeks after I got back. If I passed it, then I passed the class for the time that I’d missed. I’d been expecting more work, but I was certainly happy with this. I only had five classes, anyway—advanced biology, differential equations, 18th century American literature, piano, and music theory. I wasn’t much worried for the latter two exams, as music was my strong suit, but American lit would kill me. I’d always been more of a technical writer, except when it came to writing songs.
“Alright. I’ll keep it reserved for March, that’s when you’ll be coming back, correct?” He asked.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Okay, then. I’ll see you then, Miss Cross.”
“Thank you.” I grabbed my bag from where I’d left it at the door, groaning slightly at the weight of four textbooks in it. We exited the flat we’d been in—a small place, with just the essentials—and he started going down the stairs. I opted to take the lift, partly to avoid an awkward conversation with him, and partly because I wanted to walk as little as possible with my heavy bag. It was only on the third floor, so I soon reached the bottom level and pushed my way out the heavy glass-and-metal door. I squinted at the sunlight, my eyes having been accustomed to the dim incandescent light of the building, and started making my way towards a pub. It was one in the afternoon, but I needed a drink like none other. Being back in this town, with the reality that I would be back at university in a few short months right in front of me, was making sorrow drape over me. I could barely stand to lift up the corners of my mouth as someone off the street congratulated me on my success on the show. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be a biologist. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life talking about cells and the digestive system and acetyl-CoA. “A pint of your darkest ale, please.” I said as I slid into a seat at the bar of one of my favorite pubs.
“Coming right up, pretty lady.” The guy behind the bar, a muscular man, with brown hair and eyes, grabbed a glass from the shelf and got me one from the tap. I looked around to see a few couples eating lunch and one other guy down at the bar, downing shot after shot. I grimaced, wondering what had happened to him that made him want to lose himself so much. “Do you want to open a tab?” The bartender asked, shaking me out of my thoughts.
I laughed. “No, thanks. I don’t anticipate drinking that much right now.”
He chuckled as he slid the glass over to me. “It is a bit early, eh.” He looked at me, really, for the first time since I’d walked in. “Hey, ain’t ya Scarlett Cross, from the X Factor? My daughter watches the show.”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Well, yer a fantastic singer. I voted for you.” He winked at me, making me smile for the first time since I’d stepped off the train. “What brings ya back here?” He leaned his arms on the bar, as if preparing to have a long conversation, which I really wouldn’t mind right now.
“After the tour, I’m coming back here. Get my degree in biology.”
He frowned. “Yer comin’ back here? Why? Like I said, yer a great singer. You shouldn’t waste yer talent on a biology degree.”
I sighed. “I told myself that if I didn’t win, I would come back here. I love singing, more than anything, but there’s a lot of reasons that I’m coming back here.”
“Well, tell me about it.” He gestured around the room. “It’s not like I have any other customers to tend to.”
“My parents don’t support my singing career. They haven’t talked to me since the show started.”
He winced. “Ouch, kid, I’m sorry. But ya shouldn’t let em’ get ya down.”
“I love them, though. I miss them. If I come back, maybe they won’t be so disappointed in me. Besides, I’m afraid I won’t make it. I’m afraid that I’ll go for it, and I won’t succeed, and in a year, I’ll be washed up and have no money and I won’t even be able to fall back on this school, because my parents won’t pay tuition anymore. I’m just afraid.” I downed half of my drink.
“I think ya can make it. If ya don’t, you always have that blond one from the boy band to help ya out, eh?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
I took another swig and sighed. “You sure know a lot about the gossip.”
“My daughter fills me in. She’s a nutter for Harry.”
I laughed. “Nearly everyone is. He’s quite charming.”
“That he is. But really, you shouldn’t stay here. I know yer a bright kid, an’ all, but you’ve got talent.”
I finished my drink and shook my head. “I miss my parents. I’m scared. I’ll miss singing like all hell, but this is what I’m good at. I guess I’m supposed to be here.”
“No, yer supposed to be up onstage, singing to millions of people.” I pulled out my wallet and gave him a twenty pound note, telling him to keep the change. Not a smart gesture on my poor part, but he’d been nice, and I needed to talk to someone. He pocketed the money while I slid out of my chair. “Really, Scarlett, think about it. You don’t want to be here.”
“It’s not about what I want.” I gave him a wave before walking back out onto the street, tugging on my sweater in an attempt to make myself warmer. I glanced at my watch: 1:25. I had the rest of the day free, but I wanted to spend it here like I wanted a bullet in my head. I was just about to head to the train station when I noticed a flyer. It read ‘Audition for Grease! Show will premiere in late May!’ along the top in bold lettering, with a date and time running under it, which happened to be today, December 16, and tomorrow, at 2:00. I was about to walk away when I noticed four names at the bottom, the people who would be running auditions—all who were into drama. The first three didn’t stand out to me, they were only people that I knew very vaguely, but the last one: Archie Bradshaw. My ex-boyfriend, the ex who had told me I had a ‘mediocre’ voice. Fuck, Scarlett, don’t do this. I told myself, but, as always, I didn’t listen, and my feet started walking to Sangrin Hall, where auditions were being held. Scarlett, you have nothing to prove. Don’t you dare audition for this musical. I couldn’t stop myself. After twenty minutes, I found myself pulling open the oakwood door and stepping inside, following the fliers around until I found myself in a small classroom that was being used as a waiting room. There were about fifteen people milling about, warming up their vocals. Fuck, Scarlett, don’t do this. I repeated. You don’t want to audition. You don’t have to prove Archie wrong. You won’t even get the part. You’ll embarrass yourself. You don’t have the time for this. As I was thinking all these thoughts and twiddling my thumbs, standing in the doorway, one ran through my head that made me step forward. If you get the part, you’ll get to sing.
That was all it took. I got in there with the seven girls and ten boys—I was fairly certain at least three were gay—and started running scales, quietly at first, then belting it out, not a bit self-conscious. My voice was sore from a week of full rehearsals, and nights of talking to Niall, but I felt a smile come to my face, a real smile, the first real one I’d had since the train. I wasn’t a bit worried about the audition—I knew Grease like the back of my hand. I wanted to prove to Archie that I was a good singer, better than he’d ever be, more than I wanted the part. I doubted they would give it to me, actually, because I wouldn’t be able to participate in the first two months of rehearsal, but I didn’t care. After my voice was sufficiently warmed up, I took a seat, and watched eight more people file in, making it 26 total. One of the girls running the audition came in and handed us all tickets with numbers on them. She didn’t look at me as she handed the slip of paper emblazoned with the number six on it, which I was glad about: I wanted Archie to be very surprised when I walked in, and if she had seen me, she would have doubtless warned him. I waited through four auditions before I felt myself get slightly nervous. I had come down from the temporary high I’d gotten as a result of the combination of anger at Archie and excitement about singing, and I’d started to actually think about what I was doing, rather than blindly skipping about doing what I pleased. This is a fucking awful idea, Scarlett. I realized as the fifth audition went in. There was no way I would get the part, and I would be disappointed, and besides, I didn’t have the time for a commitment like this. I didn’t have time to back out, though: the fifth guy came out, smiling to himself, and I stood up and felt my legs move me into the room. It was a small studio, which, judging from the shape, had good acoustics. There was a table towards one end with four people behind it. Archie was on one end, an old mate of mine Patrick next to him, and two girls that I didn’t really know on the other side. I walked in and stood center stage, smiling at them. Archie and Patrick looked up from their conversation, and my unfortunately very attractive ex’s jaw dropped. “Scar?” He asked. I had to disguise a smirk at the fact that he’d gone with my nickname. I saw Patrick smile and wave, and the two girls beamed at me.
“Hey, Arch. Long time no see, eh?”
He recovered quickly. “Yeah, it is. Are you here to audition?”
“Nope, just standing here center stage so we could catch up.” I said it with a completely straight face, not giving away my sarcasm at all.
He rolled his eyes. “Well, I see you haven’t changed a bit. Who are you auditioning for?”
I thought for a moment: I really hadn’t considered any of this. I’d played Rizzo in a high school production, so I decided to go with someone I hadn’t done. “I guess I’ll go for Sandy.”
“There’s a lot of competition for that role.” Patrick piped up, looking between me and Archie.
“Yeah, well, in case you hadn’t heard, I came second on the most prestigious singing competition in the country.” I grinned.
“Second.” Archie smirked.
“Oh, shut up, Arch, it’s not as if you could do half as good.” The girl on the other end of the table, Julia, I think, spoke. Archie blushed.
“Whatever. What are you going to be singing?”
“Oh, fuck.” I swore. I really hadn’t prepared for this. “Well, I guess I’ll just go with ‘Hopelessly Devoted to You’ a capella.” [A.N.: For those who don’t know, Grease is a musical set in the 1950’s in an American high school. The main characters are Sandy and Danny Zuko, who fall in love, then get separated, then get back together, blah blah blah. ‘Hopelessly Devoted to You’ is Sandy’s big solo. Also, a capella means without music. Okay. Resume.]
“Alright. Take it away, Scarlett.” Patrick smiled at me.
I took a breath and started to sing.
“Guess mine is not the first heart broken
My eyes are not the first to cry
I'm not the first to know
There's just no getting over you”
Archie sat huffing on his side of the table, his arms crossed. Patrick, Julia, and the other girl were grinning. I saw him whisper something to the unnamed girl, and she nodded enthusiastically.
“I know I'm just a fool who's willing
To sit around and wait for you
But, baby, can't you see
There's nothing else for me to do?
I'm hopelessly devoted to you
But now there's nowhere to hide
Since you pushed my love aside
I'm out of my head
Hopelessly devoted to you
Hopelessly devoted to you”
I felt myself smile through the song. As I heard my voice echo through the room, I realized something that I hadn’t before: I’m damn good. I’m a great singer. I suppose I knew that I must be, to get so far in the competition, but there’s a huge difference between knowing something and thinking something.
“My head is saying, "Fool, forget him."
My heart is saying, "Don't let go.
Hold on till the end."
That's what I intend to do
I'm hopelessly devoted to you
But now there's nowhere to hide
Since you pushed my love aside
I'm out of my head
Hopelessly devoted to you
Hopelessly devoted to you
Hopelessly devoted to you”
I finished up the song with a grin on my face, breathing heavily. It had sounded a bit strange without the music, but judging from their smiles and clapping, I had done well. “Wow, Scarlett. You probably already knew, but you’re a fantastic singer.”
“Thanks, Pat.” I chuckled a bit at him.
“Alright. Give us your number and we’ll give you a call.” I walked up to the table and wrote my number down on a clipboard that Julia held out. “Before you go, are there any scheduling issues that we should know about?”
I shifted my feet awkwardly. “Well, I’ll be on tour for all of January and February.”
She bit her lip and nodded. “Okay. We’ll be in touch.” As I left, I heard Patrick slap Archie on the back and say, “Damn, man, you’re a wanker for letting her go.” I smirked a bit as I left and wished good luck to the next audition.
As I left the building and felt the rush of cool air, the smile left my face. Oxford University. Where you belong, Scarlett. I shook my head and stuffed my hands in my pockets, pulling on a beanie and making my way over to the train station. It was about a two kilometer walk, which I made in about twenty minutes, stopping once to give someone an autograph and another time to take a picture with an eight year old girl. I saw students rushing about, and my heart sank to think that I’d be one of them in just a few short months. I wouldn’t be Scarlett Cross, runner-up on the X Factor and promising singer, I’d be Scarlett Cross, that girl in your biology class who actually enjoys dissecting fetal pigs. I’d be normal again. I’d be forced back into something that I’d worked my whole life to escape. I waited in the station for about five minutes before a train came along on its way to London. I boarded and sat in the back, staring out the window, watching the scenery flash by.
Since I started in primary school, my parents had made it very clear that education came first. If football practice got in the way of studying, then I couldn’t play anymore. If my piano lessons were costing too much money, and it was becoming difficult to pay for my chemistry tutor, then I had to kiss my piano lessons goodbye. I distinctly remember the day that I was accepted into Oxford: the letter coming in the mail, my mother’s shaky fingers ripping the adhesive and unfolding the letter. The largest smile came to her face, and she called for my father from upstairs. “Congratulations, Scarlett. You’re going to be someone important.” She said, a solitary tear running down her cheek. As if this school was the only way I could be something important.
I’d auditioned in a sort of ‘oh-what-the-hell’ type of moment. I had figured that the best that could happen is that I’d go to first auditions, and I’d get to sing at the O2, and that would be it. I sang ‘The A Team’ by Ed Sheeran, one of my all-time favorite songs, and as I finished, the biggest smile on my face, I’d noticed that Nicole was giving me a standing ovation. The judges gave me stunning comments and put me through—I was the first person that season to get a unanimous positive rating. I went back home, acting as if nothing was different: I didn’t tell my parents I’d gotten through; I didn’t even tell them that I auditioned. Both of my brothers, my friends Taylor and Hannah, and Archie—at the time, he was still my boyfriend—had accompanied me, and none of us had said a word.
I didn’t even confess when I went to Boot Camp. I told them I was staying at a friend’s house, and when one of the show’s producers had called, I had quickly picked up the phone and told him that my parents would be unavailable for interviews. I gave the producer my cell phone number, too, so they wouldn’t call and have my parents pick up. I was afraid of what they would say if they found out.
So I told them I was off to a friend’s house, and they nodded and smiled, as they always do, and I left, going to boot camp. I was surprised yet again when I actually got through to judge’s houses, but I was still afraid of their reaction, so I didn’t fess up. I told them I went to a friend’s house, when in reality I went to Miami, but they didn’t suspect anything.
And Nicole had put me through, saying that she knew I had real talent and that I might just win it all. I came back home happier than I’d been, well, ever. At that point, I had to sit them down and tell them that I’d be going to the live shows.
That’s when all hell broke loose.
Long story short, here I am, on a train, and they haven’t spoken to me since August, four months ago. Four months without my parent’s to congratulate me, to hold my hand, to watch me fail, to watch me succeed, to watch me be the happiest I’ve ever been. I didn’t care how awful they’d been for shutting me out, acting like I was a mistake. I loved them, and I missed them more than anything.
Somehow, my musings took up an hour, because the train dinged, signaling that we were in London. I checked my watch, finding that it was about 4:00. I walked out of the cool glass and metal building and headed over to the nearest Underground station, descending into the grimy cracked-cement tunnels. I hopped on the red line and rode the three short stops to where I was going, being careful to watch my bag, so nothing was stolen.
I made my way up the stairs, squinting in the bright sunlight of the street, and down two blocks to where Niall’s flat was. I buzzed to the front desk, and they let me in, recognizing me from my being here five of the past seven days. I’d been sleeping over at Niall’s flat, mostly because he insisted. Unfortunately, it had all been in separate beds; no sleepwalking had brought us together. He had told me that it was because he just liked hanging out with me—that had made me smile, because I liked hanging out with him—but I heard him mention to Harry that he also wanted to ‘keep an eye on me’. I wasn’t sure what he was worried about, but when I stayed with Jake, he would just pity me for not winning, and that wasn’t really what I wanted.
I pressed the button for floor 47. As I stepped in and felt it started going up, I wondered if the acoustics were any good. I belted out a few bars of Michael Buble’s ‘Cry Me a River’, and decided that it did, in fact, sound quite good. As I walked down to 47C I hummed the song. I couldn’t manage to put the smile back on my face, though: the reality that I was going back to school weighed down on me too much. I knocked and heard a faint voice yell, “It’s open!” I twisted the handle and walked in to see Harry, Louis, and Niall sitting on the couch, watching a game of footy. Niall saw me and hopped up from his seat, walking over to me and pulling me into a hug. I sighed and rested my head on his chest. It was times like this that I was glad that he greeted me with hugs. I needed one.
As we released I looked at him and tried to force a smile. “Hey, Ni. I know we were going to hang out today, but I’m really tired. I think I’ll just head back to Jake’s and get some rest.”
He pouted. “You don’t have to go back to his. You can just crash here.”
“I don’t know, Ni—”
“I’m not going to let you argue.”
I cracked a slight smile. “Alright, fine.”
“How’d it go?” He asked.
“Good, yeah.” I lied. “I got a flat reserved, talked to my professors…it was good.”
He hummed slightly and looked down at me. “Alright. I’ll see you when you wake up, then.”
I nodded. “Yeah.” I dropped my purse by the jumble of shoes in the doorway. I walked down the hallway towards one of Niall’s spare bedrooms. I felt strange sleeping here, but if he was going to insist, I wasn’t going to refuse.
As I passed Harry and Louis, Louis yelled, “What, Scarlett, we don’t even get a hello?” I sighed and rolled my eyes, walking over to them. I stood in front of the two of them, who were, of course, both smirking. I put on a stage smile. “Hello, Louis. Hello, Harry.” I leaned over and dramatically kissed both of their cheeks. “I’ve missed you like I would miss my firstborn son. See you later.”
Louis laughed. “Much better. Sleep tight, love.” Harry raised his eyebrows and his green eyes shone with mirth, his dimples appearing. Fucking hell, he’s hot.
I turned and walked back down the hallway finding the spare bedroom and turning the doorknob. I left it open and walked in. I didn’t bother to change out of my jeans and sweater, I just lay down on the bed. Unable to resist, I pulled out my phone and logged onto Twitter. I navigated to my mentions and read them, even though I knew that I wouldn’t like what they said.
@tayss93: ffs would niall just realize that @Scar_Cross is a bitch&just usin him for his fame already ?!
@1Ddabest: Niallett is sooo fake. i don’t even know what he sees in her…fml @Scar_Cross
@pinkyguurrl: @Scar_Cross stop whoring around with niall he doesnt like u at all u slag
@directionner1033: am i the only one who actually ships @NiallOfficial and @Scar_Cross?
I read through fifty tweets or so before I felt my eyes start to run a bit. I made myself turn off my phone and throw it down on the bed. I lay there, rubbing my eyes, when I heard a knock at the door and saw Niall’s face peek through the crack. “Hey, Scar? Can I come in?”
I wiped my eyes. “Yeah, sure.” He came in and closed the door so that just a sliver of the hallway was visible. I sat up with my back against the headboard, trying to make myself look happy. He stood awkwardly next to the door, fiddling with his fingers a bit. “So I don’t get a kiss?” He asked cheekily.
I managed a smile. “Come here.”
He grinned and walked over to the bed, where he sat down next to me. I leaned over and slowly kissed him on the cheek, lingering much longer than I had with Harry and Louis. He smiled shyly at me and moved so he was sitting next to me, his back against the board and his feet spread out in front of him, just like mine were. “So it wasn’t actually good, was it?” He asked, referring to the time I’d spent back at Oxford this morning. I sighed as he wrapped an arm around my shoulder.
“How could you tell?”
“I just can. You didn’t look happy.” I lay my head on his shoulder, letting him slip his arm down to my waist.
“I don’t want to go back.”
“You don’t have to, Scar. You know you don’t have to. I promise, you can make it as a singer.”
“We talked about this, Ni.” I looked up at him.
“Yeah, I know. I just…I don’t want you to be so sad. It’s going to make you sad.”
“I have to go back.” I whispered. I still hadn’t told him anything about my parents. I’d tried contacting them, but they hadn’t answered me yet.
We sat in silence for a while, him rubbing slow circles on my back, when he finally spoke again. “Do you want to come back out and have something to eat?”
“I don’t know. I am a bit tired.”
He smiled a bit. “Here, how about we go eat something and watch a couple movies and then we’ll go to bed together, bet?”
I grinned, finally. “Alright, yeah.”
“Yeah, I’ll take this one.” I nodded at the man who had been showing me around the flat. I was in Oxford, looking for a new place that I could stay in when I went back to university. I had spent the past week rehearsing for the tour, and on my first break, I had hopped on a train down here. The whole morning, I’d been talking to professors, who had all expressed their congratulations on me getting so far in the competition and their delight that I was back (I’d always been a fantastic student). They’d given me books and study materials, and while I was on tour, I was to study, and I would take the first semester final in March, a couple weeks after I got back. If I passed it, then I passed the class for the time that I’d missed. I’d been expecting more work, but I was certainly happy with this. I only had five classes, anyway—advanced biology, differential equations, 18th century American literature, piano, and music theory. I wasn’t much worried for the latter two exams, as music was my strong suit, but American lit would kill me. I’d always been more of a technical writer, except when it came to writing songs.
“Alright. I’ll keep it reserved for March, that’s when you’ll be coming back, correct?” He asked.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Okay, then. I’ll see you then, Miss Cross.”
“Thank you.” I grabbed my bag from where I’d left it at the door, groaning slightly at the weight of four textbooks in it. We exited the flat we’d been in—a small place, with just the essentials—and he started going down the stairs. I opted to take the lift, partly to avoid an awkward conversation with him, and partly because I wanted to walk as little as possible with my heavy bag. It was only on the third floor, so I soon reached the bottom level and pushed my way out the heavy glass-and-metal door. I squinted at the sunlight, my eyes having been accustomed to the dim incandescent light of the building, and started making my way towards a pub. It was one in the afternoon, but I needed a drink like none other. Being back in this town, with the reality that I would be back at university in a few short months right in front of me, was making sorrow drape over me. I could barely stand to lift up the corners of my mouth as someone off the street congratulated me on my success on the show. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be a biologist. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life talking about cells and the digestive system and acetyl-CoA. “A pint of your darkest ale, please.” I said as I slid into a seat at the bar of one of my favorite pubs.
“Coming right up, pretty lady.” The guy behind the bar, a muscular man, with brown hair and eyes, grabbed a glass from the shelf and got me one from the tap. I looked around to see a few couples eating lunch and one other guy down at the bar, downing shot after shot. I grimaced, wondering what had happened to him that made him want to lose himself so much. “Do you want to open a tab?” The bartender asked, shaking me out of my thoughts.
I laughed. “No, thanks. I don’t anticipate drinking that much right now.”
He chuckled as he slid the glass over to me. “It is a bit early, eh.” He looked at me, really, for the first time since I’d walked in. “Hey, ain’t ya Scarlett Cross, from the X Factor? My daughter watches the show.”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Well, yer a fantastic singer. I voted for you.” He winked at me, making me smile for the first time since I’d stepped off the train. “What brings ya back here?” He leaned his arms on the bar, as if preparing to have a long conversation, which I really wouldn’t mind right now.
“After the tour, I’m coming back here. Get my degree in biology.”
He frowned. “Yer comin’ back here? Why? Like I said, yer a great singer. You shouldn’t waste yer talent on a biology degree.”
I sighed. “I told myself that if I didn’t win, I would come back here. I love singing, more than anything, but there’s a lot of reasons that I’m coming back here.”
“Well, tell me about it.” He gestured around the room. “It’s not like I have any other customers to tend to.”
“My parents don’t support my singing career. They haven’t talked to me since the show started.”
He winced. “Ouch, kid, I’m sorry. But ya shouldn’t let em’ get ya down.”
“I love them, though. I miss them. If I come back, maybe they won’t be so disappointed in me. Besides, I’m afraid I won’t make it. I’m afraid that I’ll go for it, and I won’t succeed, and in a year, I’ll be washed up and have no money and I won’t even be able to fall back on this school, because my parents won’t pay tuition anymore. I’m just afraid.” I downed half of my drink.
“I think ya can make it. If ya don’t, you always have that blond one from the boy band to help ya out, eh?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
I took another swig and sighed. “You sure know a lot about the gossip.”
“My daughter fills me in. She’s a nutter for Harry.”
I laughed. “Nearly everyone is. He’s quite charming.”
“That he is. But really, you shouldn’t stay here. I know yer a bright kid, an’ all, but you’ve got talent.”
I finished my drink and shook my head. “I miss my parents. I’m scared. I’ll miss singing like all hell, but this is what I’m good at. I guess I’m supposed to be here.”
“No, yer supposed to be up onstage, singing to millions of people.” I pulled out my wallet and gave him a twenty pound note, telling him to keep the change. Not a smart gesture on my poor part, but he’d been nice, and I needed to talk to someone. He pocketed the money while I slid out of my chair. “Really, Scarlett, think about it. You don’t want to be here.”
“It’s not about what I want.” I gave him a wave before walking back out onto the street, tugging on my sweater in an attempt to make myself warmer. I glanced at my watch: 1:25. I had the rest of the day free, but I wanted to spend it here like I wanted a bullet in my head. I was just about to head to the train station when I noticed a flyer. It read ‘Audition for Grease! Show will premiere in late May!’ along the top in bold lettering, with a date and time running under it, which happened to be today, December 16, and tomorrow, at 2:00. I was about to walk away when I noticed four names at the bottom, the people who would be running auditions—all who were into drama. The first three didn’t stand out to me, they were only people that I knew very vaguely, but the last one: Archie Bradshaw. My ex-boyfriend, the ex who had told me I had a ‘mediocre’ voice. Fuck, Scarlett, don’t do this. I told myself, but, as always, I didn’t listen, and my feet started walking to Sangrin Hall, where auditions were being held. Scarlett, you have nothing to prove. Don’t you dare audition for this musical. I couldn’t stop myself. After twenty minutes, I found myself pulling open the oakwood door and stepping inside, following the fliers around until I found myself in a small classroom that was being used as a waiting room. There were about fifteen people milling about, warming up their vocals. Fuck, Scarlett, don’t do this. I repeated. You don’t want to audition. You don’t have to prove Archie wrong. You won’t even get the part. You’ll embarrass yourself. You don’t have the time for this. As I was thinking all these thoughts and twiddling my thumbs, standing in the doorway, one ran through my head that made me step forward. If you get the part, you’ll get to sing.
That was all it took. I got in there with the seven girls and ten boys—I was fairly certain at least three were gay—and started running scales, quietly at first, then belting it out, not a bit self-conscious. My voice was sore from a week of full rehearsals, and nights of talking to Niall, but I felt a smile come to my face, a real smile, the first real one I’d had since the train. I wasn’t a bit worried about the audition—I knew Grease like the back of my hand. I wanted to prove to Archie that I was a good singer, better than he’d ever be, more than I wanted the part. I doubted they would give it to me, actually, because I wouldn’t be able to participate in the first two months of rehearsal, but I didn’t care. After my voice was sufficiently warmed up, I took a seat, and watched eight more people file in, making it 26 total. One of the girls running the audition came in and handed us all tickets with numbers on them. She didn’t look at me as she handed the slip of paper emblazoned with the number six on it, which I was glad about: I wanted Archie to be very surprised when I walked in, and if she had seen me, she would have doubtless warned him. I waited through four auditions before I felt myself get slightly nervous. I had come down from the temporary high I’d gotten as a result of the combination of anger at Archie and excitement about singing, and I’d started to actually think about what I was doing, rather than blindly skipping about doing what I pleased. This is a fucking awful idea, Scarlett. I realized as the fifth audition went in. There was no way I would get the part, and I would be disappointed, and besides, I didn’t have the time for a commitment like this. I didn’t have time to back out, though: the fifth guy came out, smiling to himself, and I stood up and felt my legs move me into the room. It was a small studio, which, judging from the shape, had good acoustics. There was a table towards one end with four people behind it. Archie was on one end, an old mate of mine Patrick next to him, and two girls that I didn’t really know on the other side. I walked in and stood center stage, smiling at them. Archie and Patrick looked up from their conversation, and my unfortunately very attractive ex’s jaw dropped. “Scar?” He asked. I had to disguise a smirk at the fact that he’d gone with my nickname. I saw Patrick smile and wave, and the two girls beamed at me.
“Hey, Arch. Long time no see, eh?”
He recovered quickly. “Yeah, it is. Are you here to audition?”
“Nope, just standing here center stage so we could catch up.” I said it with a completely straight face, not giving away my sarcasm at all.
He rolled his eyes. “Well, I see you haven’t changed a bit. Who are you auditioning for?”
I thought for a moment: I really hadn’t considered any of this. I’d played Rizzo in a high school production, so I decided to go with someone I hadn’t done. “I guess I’ll go for Sandy.”
“There’s a lot of competition for that role.” Patrick piped up, looking between me and Archie.
“Yeah, well, in case you hadn’t heard, I came second on the most prestigious singing competition in the country.” I grinned.
“Second.” Archie smirked.
“Oh, shut up, Arch, it’s not as if you could do half as good.” The girl on the other end of the table, Julia, I think, spoke. Archie blushed.
“Whatever. What are you going to be singing?”
“Oh, fuck.” I swore. I really hadn’t prepared for this. “Well, I guess I’ll just go with ‘Hopelessly Devoted to You’ a capella.” [A.N.: For those who don’t know, Grease is a musical set in the 1950’s in an American high school. The main characters are Sandy and Danny Zuko, who fall in love, then get separated, then get back together, blah blah blah. ‘Hopelessly Devoted to You’ is Sandy’s big solo. Also, a capella means without music. Okay. Resume.]
“Alright. Take it away, Scarlett.” Patrick smiled at me.
I took a breath and started to sing.
“Guess mine is not the first heart broken
My eyes are not the first to cry
I'm not the first to know
There's just no getting over you”
Archie sat huffing on his side of the table, his arms crossed. Patrick, Julia, and the other girl were grinning. I saw him whisper something to the unnamed girl, and she nodded enthusiastically.
“I know I'm just a fool who's willing
To sit around and wait for you
But, baby, can't you see
There's nothing else for me to do?
I'm hopelessly devoted to you
But now there's nowhere to hide
Since you pushed my love aside
I'm out of my head
Hopelessly devoted to you
Hopelessly devoted to you”
I felt myself smile through the song. As I heard my voice echo through the room, I realized something that I hadn’t before: I’m damn good. I’m a great singer. I suppose I knew that I must be, to get so far in the competition, but there’s a huge difference between knowing something and thinking something.
“My head is saying, "Fool, forget him."
My heart is saying, "Don't let go.
Hold on till the end."
That's what I intend to do
I'm hopelessly devoted to you
But now there's nowhere to hide
Since you pushed my love aside
I'm out of my head
Hopelessly devoted to you
Hopelessly devoted to you
Hopelessly devoted to you”
I finished up the song with a grin on my face, breathing heavily. It had sounded a bit strange without the music, but judging from their smiles and clapping, I had done well. “Wow, Scarlett. You probably already knew, but you’re a fantastic singer.”
“Thanks, Pat.” I chuckled a bit at him.
“Alright. Give us your number and we’ll give you a call.” I walked up to the table and wrote my number down on a clipboard that Julia held out. “Before you go, are there any scheduling issues that we should know about?”
I shifted my feet awkwardly. “Well, I’ll be on tour for all of January and February.”
She bit her lip and nodded. “Okay. We’ll be in touch.” As I left, I heard Patrick slap Archie on the back and say, “Damn, man, you’re a wanker for letting her go.” I smirked a bit as I left and wished good luck to the next audition.
As I left the building and felt the rush of cool air, the smile left my face. Oxford University. Where you belong, Scarlett. I shook my head and stuffed my hands in my pockets, pulling on a beanie and making my way over to the train station. It was about a two kilometer walk, which I made in about twenty minutes, stopping once to give someone an autograph and another time to take a picture with an eight year old girl. I saw students rushing about, and my heart sank to think that I’d be one of them in just a few short months. I wouldn’t be Scarlett Cross, runner-up on the X Factor and promising singer, I’d be Scarlett Cross, that girl in your biology class who actually enjoys dissecting fetal pigs. I’d be normal again. I’d be forced back into something that I’d worked my whole life to escape. I waited in the station for about five minutes before a train came along on its way to London. I boarded and sat in the back, staring out the window, watching the scenery flash by.
Since I started in primary school, my parents had made it very clear that education came first. If football practice got in the way of studying, then I couldn’t play anymore. If my piano lessons were costing too much money, and it was becoming difficult to pay for my chemistry tutor, then I had to kiss my piano lessons goodbye. I distinctly remember the day that I was accepted into Oxford: the letter coming in the mail, my mother’s shaky fingers ripping the adhesive and unfolding the letter. The largest smile came to her face, and she called for my father from upstairs. “Congratulations, Scarlett. You’re going to be someone important.” She said, a solitary tear running down her cheek. As if this school was the only way I could be something important.
I’d auditioned in a sort of ‘oh-what-the-hell’ type of moment. I had figured that the best that could happen is that I’d go to first auditions, and I’d get to sing at the O2, and that would be it. I sang ‘The A Team’ by Ed Sheeran, one of my all-time favorite songs, and as I finished, the biggest smile on my face, I’d noticed that Nicole was giving me a standing ovation. The judges gave me stunning comments and put me through—I was the first person that season to get a unanimous positive rating. I went back home, acting as if nothing was different: I didn’t tell my parents I’d gotten through; I didn’t even tell them that I auditioned. Both of my brothers, my friends Taylor and Hannah, and Archie—at the time, he was still my boyfriend—had accompanied me, and none of us had said a word.
I didn’t even confess when I went to Boot Camp. I told them I was staying at a friend’s house, and when one of the show’s producers had called, I had quickly picked up the phone and told him that my parents would be unavailable for interviews. I gave the producer my cell phone number, too, so they wouldn’t call and have my parents pick up. I was afraid of what they would say if they found out.
So I told them I was off to a friend’s house, and they nodded and smiled, as they always do, and I left, going to boot camp. I was surprised yet again when I actually got through to judge’s houses, but I was still afraid of their reaction, so I didn’t fess up. I told them I went to a friend’s house, when in reality I went to Miami, but they didn’t suspect anything.
And Nicole had put me through, saying that she knew I had real talent and that I might just win it all. I came back home happier than I’d been, well, ever. At that point, I had to sit them down and tell them that I’d be going to the live shows.
That’s when all hell broke loose.
Long story short, here I am, on a train, and they haven’t spoken to me since August, four months ago. Four months without my parent’s to congratulate me, to hold my hand, to watch me fail, to watch me succeed, to watch me be the happiest I’ve ever been. I didn’t care how awful they’d been for shutting me out, acting like I was a mistake. I loved them, and I missed them more than anything.
Somehow, my musings took up an hour, because the train dinged, signaling that we were in London. I checked my watch, finding that it was about 4:00. I walked out of the cool glass and metal building and headed over to the nearest Underground station, descending into the grimy cracked-cement tunnels. I hopped on the red line and rode the three short stops to where I was going, being careful to watch my bag, so nothing was stolen.
I made my way up the stairs, squinting in the bright sunlight of the street, and down two blocks to where Niall’s flat was. I buzzed to the front desk, and they let me in, recognizing me from my being here five of the past seven days. I’d been sleeping over at Niall’s flat, mostly because he insisted. Unfortunately, it had all been in separate beds; no sleepwalking had brought us together. He had told me that it was because he just liked hanging out with me—that had made me smile, because I liked hanging out with him—but I heard him mention to Harry that he also wanted to ‘keep an eye on me’. I wasn’t sure what he was worried about, but when I stayed with Jake, he would just pity me for not winning, and that wasn’t really what I wanted.
I pressed the button for floor 47. As I stepped in and felt it started going up, I wondered if the acoustics were any good. I belted out a few bars of Michael Buble’s ‘Cry Me a River’, and decided that it did, in fact, sound quite good. As I walked down to 47C I hummed the song. I couldn’t manage to put the smile back on my face, though: the reality that I was going back to school weighed down on me too much. I knocked and heard a faint voice yell, “It’s open!” I twisted the handle and walked in to see Harry, Louis, and Niall sitting on the couch, watching a game of footy. Niall saw me and hopped up from his seat, walking over to me and pulling me into a hug. I sighed and rested my head on his chest. It was times like this that I was glad that he greeted me with hugs. I needed one.
As we released I looked at him and tried to force a smile. “Hey, Ni. I know we were going to hang out today, but I’m really tired. I think I’ll just head back to Jake’s and get some rest.”
He pouted. “You don’t have to go back to his. You can just crash here.”
“I don’t know, Ni—”
“I’m not going to let you argue.”
I cracked a slight smile. “Alright, fine.”
“How’d it go?” He asked.
“Good, yeah.” I lied. “I got a flat reserved, talked to my professors…it was good.”
He hummed slightly and looked down at me. “Alright. I’ll see you when you wake up, then.”
I nodded. “Yeah.” I dropped my purse by the jumble of shoes in the doorway. I walked down the hallway towards one of Niall’s spare bedrooms. I felt strange sleeping here, but if he was going to insist, I wasn’t going to refuse.
As I passed Harry and Louis, Louis yelled, “What, Scarlett, we don’t even get a hello?” I sighed and rolled my eyes, walking over to them. I stood in front of the two of them, who were, of course, both smirking. I put on a stage smile. “Hello, Louis. Hello, Harry.” I leaned over and dramatically kissed both of their cheeks. “I’ve missed you like I would miss my firstborn son. See you later.”
Louis laughed. “Much better. Sleep tight, love.” Harry raised his eyebrows and his green eyes shone with mirth, his dimples appearing. Fucking hell, he’s hot.
I turned and walked back down the hallway finding the spare bedroom and turning the doorknob. I left it open and walked in. I didn’t bother to change out of my jeans and sweater, I just lay down on the bed. Unable to resist, I pulled out my phone and logged onto Twitter. I navigated to my mentions and read them, even though I knew that I wouldn’t like what they said.
@tayss93: ffs would niall just realize that @Scar_Cross is a bitch&just usin him for his fame already ?!
@1Ddabest: Niallett is sooo fake. i don’t even know what he sees in her…fml @Scar_Cross
@pinkyguurrl: @Scar_Cross stop whoring around with niall he doesnt like u at all u slag
@directionner1033: am i the only one who actually ships @NiallOfficial and @Scar_Cross?
I read through fifty tweets or so before I felt my eyes start to run a bit. I made myself turn off my phone and throw it down on the bed. I lay there, rubbing my eyes, when I heard a knock at the door and saw Niall’s face peek through the crack. “Hey, Scar? Can I come in?”
I wiped my eyes. “Yeah, sure.” He came in and closed the door so that just a sliver of the hallway was visible. I sat up with my back against the headboard, trying to make myself look happy. He stood awkwardly next to the door, fiddling with his fingers a bit. “So I don’t get a kiss?” He asked cheekily.
I managed a smile. “Come here.”
He grinned and walked over to the bed, where he sat down next to me. I leaned over and slowly kissed him on the cheek, lingering much longer than I had with Harry and Louis. He smiled shyly at me and moved so he was sitting next to me, his back against the board and his feet spread out in front of him, just like mine were. “So it wasn’t actually good, was it?” He asked, referring to the time I’d spent back at Oxford this morning. I sighed as he wrapped an arm around my shoulder.
“How could you tell?”
“I just can. You didn’t look happy.” I lay my head on his shoulder, letting him slip his arm down to my waist.
“I don’t want to go back.”
“You don’t have to, Scar. You know you don’t have to. I promise, you can make it as a singer.”
“We talked about this, Ni.” I looked up at him.
“Yeah, I know. I just…I don’t want you to be so sad. It’s going to make you sad.”
“I have to go back.” I whispered. I still hadn’t told him anything about my parents. I’d tried contacting them, but they hadn’t answered me yet.
We sat in silence for a while, him rubbing slow circles on my back, when he finally spoke again. “Do you want to come back out and have something to eat?”
“I don’t know. I am a bit tired.”
He smiled a bit. “Here, how about we go eat something and watch a couple movies and then we’ll go to bed together, bet?”
I grinned, finally. “Alright, yeah.”
