In the morning, we would pack our bags and leave the hotel forever. The show was over and it was back to reality—except everything had changed since that first audition and our lives would never truly be the same. We had Comic-Con next week and the tour right after that, and then Kyle and I would start our senior year at UCLA in the fall. I still wanted to write movie scores, but I was going to hold off on graduate school for now and see what happened with the band first. One day I would find a way to do both like my hero, Danny Elfman.

But before we left the theater for the final time, our mentor asked us to meet with him in an empty dressing room.

“I quit the show,” Dan said.

“You quit?” I asked.

“I’m done. The producers put your cover of ‘Bad Romance’ on the website too late so the downloads couldn’t be counted as votes. Or that’s the excuse they gave me anyway. Such bullshit. Everyone knows you should have won.” He gave a bitter laugh. “The Internet is going to go crazy with this one. You have some pretty devoted fans out there.”

“But why?” Jared asked. “Why go to so much trouble to make sure we didn’t win?”

“The record label wanted Fairy Lights from the beginning, so they pressured the show to make it happen. They plan to turn Lacey into some new Taylor Swift or something. And after the headache with Addicted to Chaos, the producers thought your band was too risky. With the network threatening to cancel the show, they wanted to make sure they had a winner who would keep out of trouble. And someone they could easily control, too, I’m sure.” He shook his head, disgusted. “But forget about the show. That doesn’t matter anymore.”

Kyle exchanged a glance with his brother and asked, “What do you mean?”

“It’s actually better that you didn’t win because the show’s contract is shit. Fairy Lights will be their slave for the next seven years, making no money and giving up all their rights to their music. But you’re still free, and everyone wants you. My phone has been ringing off the hook since last night.”

“Everyone?” Jared asked, raising an eyebrow.

“All the big record labels. Trust me, you’re hot right now, and they want to sign you fast. Which is why I have a proposition for you: let me be your manager. My band is retired and I’m done with the show, but I know the industry, I know who you are as a band, and I’ve actually come to enjoy this crazy mentoring thing. Let me get you the best deal I can, and I’ll make sure you become the next big thing. What do you say?”