Page 5 of Going Solo (The Brent Boys #2)
Chapter Three
M ake Me a Pop Star host Dorinda Carter and a camera crew found us in the area where the producers had corralled the contestants who were going to perform for the TV judges onstage at Colchester’s Mercury Theatre later that evening. This was either really good news or really bad news. If the camera crew followed you through the auditions, you were going to be on the show. It meant you were either good and they expected you to get through, or they thought you were well delusional and were about to become a laughing stock on national television. No one wanted to be this season’s Jamie Struff.
“Hello, boys,” Dorinda said in her thick Birmingham accent. I couldn’t believe it. I was meeting TV royalty. My heart raced like it was in the three o’clock at Newmarket and the stable boy had given it a sneaky injection of something spicy.
Dorinda was big and Black and had a laugh that cackled out of her like one of those wheezing cartoon hyenas. I was fangirling.
“Now, which one of you is Cole Kennedy?”
Cole raised his hand shyly.
“Fab! So, you must be Toby, are you, darlin’?”
I nodded.
“Right, boys, so what we’re gonna do is, you’ll both be in the same shot, yeah? Then, one at a time, you’re going to introduce yourselves. Say your name and where you’re from, how old you are, and a fact about yourself. OK?”
We nodded. The camera guy framed us both up and said he was rolling. Neither of us said anything. We stared at the camera, frozen—like its sight relied on movement and if we flinched it’d rip us apart.
“Cole, why don’t you go first?” Dorinda said.
Cole cleared his throat and ran his hand through his hair so it swooshed.
“Still rolling,” the cameraman said.
“Hi, I’m Cole Kennedy, I’m from Polstead in Suffolk. I’m sixteen, and I love classic rock and roll.”
Dorinda nodded and pointed to me.
“Hi, I’m Toby Lyngstad, I’m sixteen, and I’m from Colchester in Essex. And I am obsessed with pop music. Like, honestly, I love all the divas. Beyoncé. Kylie. H from Steps. My audition song today is ‘Firework.’”
I looked at Dorinda for confirmation I’d done a good job. Her expression was grim.
“Tell you what, boys, let’s try something different. I’m going to record a quick intro, and then I’ll ask you some questions. Make it feel a bit less formal.”
The camera swung around, and Dorinda was instantly on . No wonder she’d won so many National TV Awards.
“I’m with Cole Kennedy from Suffolk and Toby Lyngstad from right here in Colchester. They’re sixteen.” As the camera panned across to us, Cole threw an arm around my shoulder, stuck a tongue out, and gave the camera bunny ears. This lad was a freaking natural. A real superstar. I smiled like a red squirrel with a nut in each cheek.
“You boys seem pretty chummy, are you schoolmates?” Dorinda asked, shoving the microphone under Cole’s chin.
“No, we met in the queue this morning.”
“Firm friends already?”
“Exactly,” Cole said. “Forged in the fire.”
My legs were tingling. I could feel my pulse in my ears. Cole was being Mr Personality on camera, and my face was frozen like a Tesco pizza.
“Toby’s the whole reason I got a chance to audition tonight,” Cole continued.
“How so?” Dorinda asked.
“I’m embarrassed to say, I came here today intending to sing ‘Hallelujah.’”
Dorinda grimaced in mock horror. “You never heard of the Hallelujah Curse?”
“Afraid not. But Toby here did me a solid and set me straight.”
“Toby, you could have let him sing ‘Hallelujah’ and seen off the competition! Why did you help him?”
The microphone was suddenly under my chin. Panic gripped me. I could have said anything in that moment. I could have said the truth—that it was the obvious thing to do, that of course I wouldn’t let someone ruin their shot at achieving their dreams. But I didn’t say any of that. Instead, I blurted the words, “Why wouldn’t I? He’s marriage material!”
Dorinda’s face morphed into a broad grin, and that famous laugh exploded from her mouth, filling the room. I felt Cole’s arm unwind from around my back, the warmth of him retreating.
“What do you say to that, Cole?”
Cole’s eyebrows were raised, his forehead frowning. “Yeah, um, that’s… a bit intense,” he spluttered.
“Not keen on marriage?”
“Someday, sure,” he said, one hand rubbing his face. “When I meet the right person. And maybe when I’ve known them more than, like, four hours.”
In those five seconds, I died a million tiny deaths. Without even thinking, I’d said something stupid. On camera. Understandably, Cole had mugged me off. I was going to look like an absolute melt on national television.