Chapter 91
[Rose's POV]
The applause was still ringing in my ears when Carter leaned forward into his microphone.
"That was quite a performance," he began, his eyes scanning our group before settling on Hannah, still standing slightly apart in her purple sequined dress. "Hannah, you were originally chosen as this team's captain. How does it feel to watch this performance now?"
The question hung in the air like a blade. I saw Hannah's shoulders straighten, watched her arrange her features into an expression of wounded nobility. She'd been waiting for this moment.
"Actually," Hannah said, her voice carrying just the right note of brave vulnerability, "I was never really the captain. I have to thank Rose for..." She paused deliberately, letting the silence build. "...taking over that responsibility."
The emphasis she placed on "taking over" was subtle but unmistakable. Two words transformed from neutral description into accusation.
A ripple of whispers moved through the audience. I remained still, my expression unchanged. Ava's hand found mine and squeezed hard.
Grace, the second judge, tilted her head with interest. "Could you elaborate on that, Hannah? What exactly do you mean by 'taking over'?"
"Well," Hannah's smile never faltered, "Rose naturally stepped into the leadership role. She's very... assertive."
Beside me, Ava drew breath to speak. I squeezed her hand—hard. Not now. Defending myself would only make it worse, transform Hannah's insinuation into confirmed drama.
"Interesting choice of words," Dylan interjected, his eyes moving between Hannah and the rest of us. "The rest of you seem quite unified. Any comments on this 'assertive' leadership?"
Before I could signal them to stay silent, Sophia stepped forward. "Rose saved us," she said, her voice steady despite the trembling I could see in her hands. "When everything was falling apart, when we had nothing—she held us together."
"Rose worked harder than anyone," Ava added, her usual bubbly energy replaced by fierce conviction. "While some people—" her eyes cut briefly to Hannah, "—were focused on their individual showcase moments, Rose was teaching us, staying late, making sure we could actually perform as a team."
The audience's whispers shifted in tone. I saw confusion on some faces, calculation on others. The narrative was fragmenting, no longer clean.
"Well," Carter said, smoothly redirecting, "however the leadership dynamics evolved, the result speaks for itself. Ladies and gentlemen, it's time for the audience vote."
The stage lights dimmed slightly as the electronic voting system activated. All the teams filed onto the stage in our designated positions. I could see Rachel across the stage, her group arranged in perfect formation, her confidence radiating like heat.
The results would display on the massive screen behind us, one team at a time, building suspense.
"Team Four," the announcer's voice boomed. "832 votes."
Polite applause. The girls from Team Four hugged each other, relieved to have a respectable number.
"Team Two. 761 votes."
More applause. I saw the girls trying to maintain bright expressions despite obvious disappointment.
"Team One—Rachel Evans' team. 953 votes."
The audience erupted. Rachel's smile was dazzling as she raised both arms in triumph, her teammates screaming and jumping around her. Sarah, in the front row, was on her feet, hands pressed to her mouth, eyes shining with tears of joy.
Rachel turned her head slightly, her gaze finding mine across the stage. That smile sharpened into something else. Something that said: Beat that.
"And finally," the announcer drew out the moment, milking every second of drama, "Team Three. Rose Evans' team."
The screen behind us flickered. Numbers began climbing.
500.
700.
850.
I felt Ava's hand crushing mine. Heard Ava's sharp intake of breath.
900.
Rachel's smile had frozen on her face. I could see her jaw tighten.
950.
The numbers slowed their climb, the digital display drawing out the suspense.
980.
985.
988.
The screen flashed bright gold. "First place!"
The sound that erupted from my teammates was barely human—pure joy and disbelief combined into something primal. Ava and Sophia crashed into me simultaneously, nearly knocking me off my feet. The other girls were screaming, jumping, grabbing each other in crushing embraces.
"Rose! Rose! Oh my God, Rose!" They chanted my name like a prayer, like absolution.
Someone—I think it was Ava—actually lifted me off the ground. I found myself being spun around, the stage lights blurring into streams of color, the audience's roar washing over us like a physical force.
"You saved us!" Sophia was crying and laughing at the same time. "We couldn't have done it without you!"
"I knew it, I knew we could do it!" Ava's voice was hoarse from screaming.
In my peripheral vision, I saw Hannah. She stood at the edge of our celebration, her purple dress suddenly looking garish under the stage lights. Her face had gone through shock, disbelief, and settled into a kind of frozen denial.
"This can't be real," I heard her whisper, though the words were barely audible over the noise. "They can't be first. We can't be first."
But we were. The gold "1st Place" on the screen behind us was undeniable.
My teammates continued their celebration, forming a tight circle that unconsciously excluded Hannah. It wasn't deliberate cruelty—they simply forgot she existed. All their joy, all their relief, all their triumph was shared among those who had actually been part of the team.
Hannah tried to edge into the group. Ava moved slightly, blocking her path without seeming to notice. When Hannah attempted to join the group hug, she found herself pushed to the outside, unable to penetrate the wall of genuine connection the others had built.
She was a stranger at her own team's victory celebration. The irony would have been funny if it wasn't so pathetic.
Across the stage, Rachel's face had gone pale. Her teammates were trying to console her, but she seemed unable to process what had happened.
"How is this possible?" Her voice cut through the noise, sharp with disbelief. "How did they get first place?"
Lisa put a hand on her shoulder. "Rose's team truly deserved it. You saw their performance—"
"Deserved it?" Rachel whirled on her. "They were a complete mess until the last minute! Hannah was doing her own thing, half of them looked like they'd never practiced, and Rose barely made it to the stage on time!"
"But they pulled through," Lisa said calmly. "Rose's leadership and their unity were remarkable. You have to admit—"
"I don't have to admit anything." Rachel's voice had risen to a near-shout. Several people nearby turned to look. "Second place is not—" She caught herself, seemed to remember where she was, forced her expression back into something resembling grace. "Second place is still excellent," she finished weakly.
But her eyes never left me. In them, I saw something beyond competitive disappointment. I saw the fundamental inability to accept that I could be better at anything.
The announcer's voice cut through the chaos. "And now, the moment you've all been waiting for—individual popularity rankings!"
The celebration around me quieted slightly. This was the other measure of success—not team performance, but personal appeal. The votes that could make or break individual careers.
"In first place," the announcer began, "with 15,234 votes—Rachel Evans!"
The audience erupted again. Rachel's expression transformed, genuine joy flooding her features for the first time tonight. This—this was what she needed. She might not have the team victory, but she had the individual crown.
"Second place—Lisa, 14,892 votes!"
More applause. Lisa looked genuinely pleased, hugging Rachel warmly.
"Third place—Rose Evans, 14,567 votes!"
I felt my teammates erupt in fresh celebration around me, but I remained quiet.
But somehow, looking at my teammates' faces, seeing their genuine happiness and the bond we'd forged—I found I didn't particularly care about the individual ranking.
The announcer continued through the rankings. Ava had jumped from twenty-third to fifteenth. Ava had climbed into the top twenty. Even Sophia, who'd been hovering near elimination, had secured a safe position.
"And in ninth place," the announcer said, "with 8,901 votes—Hannah Clark."
The number flashed on the screen. Ninth.
Hannah's face crumpled. All the masks she'd worn—confidence, pride, defiance—shattered in an instant. Her eyes filled with tears that spilled over immediately.
"Ninth?" Her voice broke. "I'm only ninth? This is... this is impossible."
She wasn't speaking to anyone in particular, just staring at the screen in horror. "I worked so hard. I sacrificed so much. I—"
But no one was listening. The announcements continued, the audience's attention already moving on to the next ranking.
"Congratulations to Team Three," Dylan's voice boomed. "As first-place winners, you're all guaranteed automatic advancement to the next round!"
Fresh screams from my teammates. More hugging, more tears. I let myself be swept up in their joy, even as I noticed Hannah standing alone in her purple dress, crying silently while celebration exploded around her.
The cameras caught it all. The perfect contrast—unified joy and isolated despair, victory and defeat, all on the same team.
---
The chaos of backstage was somehow worse than being on stage. Contestants milled everywhere, some celebrating, others crying, all of them talking too loud and moving too fast. The adrenaline was crashing now, leaving me hollow and shaky.
I just wanted to find a quiet corner and sit down.
"Rose! Hey, Rose!"
I turned to find Dylan jogging toward me, his judge's badge bouncing against his chest. He was smiling, that same genuine expression he'd worn while watching our performance.
"That was something special tonight," he said, slightly out of breath. "Really special. Listen, what's your Instagram handle? I'd love to follow you, maybe share some of your journey with my followers."
I blinked at him. "I don't have social media accounts."
The smile faltered. "What? You're kidding."
"No." I kept my voice polite but firm. "I don't use Instagram, TikTok, Twitter—any of it."
"But you're on a national television show." He said it like this fact alone should override any possible objection. "Do you have any idea how much a judge's endorsement could help your career? I have three million followers. One post from me could—"
"I appreciate the offer," I interrupted gently. "But I believe in focusing on the work itself, not the publicity around it. There should be some distance between performers and their audience. Some mystery preserved."
Dylan stared at me like I'd spoken in an alien language. "That's... that's completely backwards. In today's entertainment industry, the relationship with fans is everything. You need them to feel like they know you, like you're their friend. That's how you build a lasting career."
"Or," I said, "you build something based on the quality of your performances. Let the work speak for itself."
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Seemed to genuinely consider what I'd said.
"That's actually refreshing," he finally admitted. "Naive as hell, but refreshing. I respect that."
"Thank you."
"You're going to struggle, you know." He wasn't being cruel, just honest. "This industry rewards accessibility. People who keep themselves distant don't last long."
"Then I suppose we'll see what happens." I gave him a small smile. "If I fail, at least it will be on my own terms."
He laughed, shaking his head. "You're different, Rose. That's why you'll go far." He paused. "Or crash spectacularly. Hard to tell which yet."
As he walked away, I finally spotted the exit. But standing in the hallway, were three familiar figures.
William. Sarah. Rachel.