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Prologue
Sookie
Two years ago
I’m in my school uniform, and it’s the day of my graduation.
It’s itchy, uncomfortably small, and it feels all sorts of wrong, like I shouldn’t be in it. I know everyone is staring at me and judging in the way only a know-it-all teenager can do. Can I blame them? No. I know this isn’t my best look. I wish I had the latest uniform and at least fit in with my peers in that one way, but my parents couldn’t afford to get me the new one from last year and my back up one ripped because I grew too fast—welcome to manhood.
So life is a little shitty right now because they all know what my world looks like. They know I’m a trainee with a brand-new label that prides itself on finding and locking down talent while making sure they debut with only four dollars a day to spend on food, and worse, doing school homework and dance practice until five a.m.
This wouldn’t be so bad if the odds were in my favor.
But no, the music label I signed with is still small and there’s quite a good chance that I’m about to debut at a label that is about to go under. And everyone knows it. Half the student body pities me, while the others are in awe of me for even trying to manage school while chasing my dream to become a singer.
Yesterday I had notes stuck to my locker saying that I was an idiot and a failure and had no talent.
No talent.
After everything I’ve gone through.
Nothing.
I should be used to it now.
I am. I tell myself I am.
I’m used to it now.
But it doesn’t mean it hurts any less or that I’m skipping through a field throwing flowers everywhere saying it’s going to be a great day when it’s not.
The guys hate me because the girls like me, and the girls only like me because they’re banking on my potential fame. None of them have even heard me sing, or watched me dance, they just see my face.
And think—him, that guy.
There’s so many secrets I have to hide.
My natural instincts to hook up.
My label made the decision that as the youngest in the group, I had to sign a contract to be the most innocent and pure idol.
Can I cuss? No.
I don’t even know the words. Lies.
Can I have sex? Nah.
Sex is a word I shouldn’t even know exists. That’s hilarious.
To make things even shittier, I’m required to look sexy, manly and innocent all at the same time—I just have to pretend to not know I’m accidentally exuding that energy—and these orders were given from a “good label,” one that actually wants to protect me.
Be good, but not too good.
Be bad, but not too scandalous.
Be talented, but don’t boast about it.
The worst part? And, yes, it does get worse…
