Somehow, despite the odds, despite all the roadblocks thrown in our path, our band had made it to the finals. When I’d agreed to help the guys with their audition, I never in a million years dreamed we’d get this far. And yet, I knew we deserved to be here. I knew we had a chance at winning.

I’d only spent a day practicing “Radioactive” on my own, followed by one day with the rest of the band, but for once, I wasn’t too worried. I could admit it now: I was a damn good guitarist. I had the song down, and what I might lack in practice, I’d make up for in energy. I wouldn’t let anything hold me back tonight.

We did our soundcheck in the morning, and then had an hour break for lunch before we had to start getting ready for the live show. I headed for the food table with the other guys, but Jared stopped me.

“Come with me,” he said, a slight smile on his lips.

I’d finally listened to all his messages the night before. He’d apologized a dozen times and pleaded for me to come back—if not for him, then for the other guys. He’d even sung me a drunken rendition of “Stay” that had morphed into “I’m Not Okay (I Promise)” halfway through. It had broken my heart all over again, but hearing how upset he’d been had mended it a tiny bit, too.

“Where are we going?” I remembered all too well the other times we’d sneaked off during a show. Not that I wasn’t tempted, of course, but nothing like that was going to happen today.

“I want to show you something.”

He led me out the side entrance of the theater and past the security guards to where the line for the audience wrapped around the block. People stood when they saw us approaching, and some cheered or shouted our names. I slowed, uncomfortable with all these people looking at me. This wasn’t like on stage where I couldn’t really make out faces in the crowd, where there was some distance between us and the fans. And it wasn’t like when we’d met fans before, one at a time or in a small group. There were hundreds of people here. Maybe thousands. But Jared walked over without any hesitation, and I tailed behind him.

“Hey,” he said, to the group of girls at the front of the line. They didn’t look a day older than thirteen and had one very patient parent with them.

“Oh my god, you’re Jared Cross! And Maddie Taylor! We love you!” The girls all shrieked and bounced and flailed, and I couldn’t help but laugh. They were so enthusiastic, so excited to see us. Both of us.

“Thanks,” Jared said, with a warm smile. “We love you, too.”