Page 82 of Fame & Rhythm

“How’d it feel?” Dad asks, pulling back but keeping his hands on our shoulders.

I glance at Ella. She’s glowing. “I was so nervous at first,” she says, grinning. “But once we started playing, it just… disappeared. It was so amazing, Dad!”

“Annie?” Dad prompts.

I drag my gaze away from Aston and look back at him, shaking my head in disbelief. “Best feeling ever. You tried to explain it, but nothing compares. I want to feel that every day for the rest of my life.”

“I’m glad,” he says, pride written all over his face. “You did so well.”

I pull a face. “Except for the mic reverb at the start. They actually booed me.”

Dad laughs. “Sweetheart, if that’s the worst thing that happens on stage, you’re doing just fine. You won them back in seconds. Don’t even think about it.”

“Dad, is it true there were record labels out there tonight?” I ask.

Ella’s eyes go wide.

Dad’s expression tightens slightly. “Where did you hear that?”

“When I went for some air,” I say, carefully leaving out the chaos that came with it.

He exhales slowly. “I didn’t want to say anything yet. But yes, there were a few. I’ve already spoken to one. Still early, though.”

“That’s good, right?” I press.

He gives a small smile. “My lips are sealed.”

I nudge his shoulder. “Come on, give us something.”

He hesitates, then leans in slightly. “All I’ll say is we’re in discussions about possibly signing you with the same label as 12GAUGE-Slayed.”

Ella and I both scream, jumping up and down.

“Hey! Keep it quiet,” Dad warns, though he’s clearly enjoying this. “No one else hears until I know for sure.”

“Scout’s honor,” I say, grinning.

He chuckles. “All right, let’s get you all cleaned up. After-party time.”

Yes.

I fist-pump the air as we all start moving back toward the green room as a group. Peripheral and Red Velvet will be there, along with 12GAUGE-Slayed and us.

Ella and Chad will definitely be the youngest ones there.

And there will definitely be alcohol.

Not happening for me.

We reach the green room, and I spot a clothing rack filled with outfits.

I glance at Mum. She smiles.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“We thought you might want to change,” she says, pulling down a short black dress, very similar to what I wore for my birthday. “Everything’s in your style.”

“Thanks, Mum. I feel disgusting after that, so this is perfect.”