The Spotlight

Chapter 9

I'm sprawled on my couch, absently strumming my guitar, when my phone buzzes. The sudden vibration startles me, and I fumble to grab my phone. I squint at the screen to see the caller ID.

My fingers tremble as I swipe to answer. "Hello?"

"Riley Scott?" a crisp, professional voice asks.

"Yes, that's me," I reply, sitting up straighter even though they can't see me.

"This is Sarah from the X Factor production team. I'm calling with some important information about the next stage of the competition."

My grip tightens on the phone. The call I've been anticipating since I made it through bootcamp.

"You need to be at Heathrow Airport by 8:00 AM tomorrow morning," Sarah continues, her tone matter-of-fact. "You'll meet the other contestants from the Over 25s category in front of the bag check."

My mind races. Heathrow. Tomorrow. "Okay," I manage to say, trying to keep my voice steady. "Can you tell me where we're going?"

There's a pause on the other end of the line. "I'm afraid I can't disclose that information at this time," Sarah replies. "You'll find out more when you arrive at the airport."

My stomach does a little flip. The mystery of it all is both thrilling and nerve-wracking. "Alright," I say. "Is there anything specific I should pack?"

"Just bring enough clothes for a week," Sarah advises. "And be prepared for any kind of weather. That's all I can say for now."

We exchange a few more details about the meeting point and time, and then the call ends. I sit there for a moment, guitar forgotten, as the reality of what's happening sinks in.

"Oh my God," I whisper to myself, running a hand through my hair. "This is really happening."

I spring into action, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts. What do I pack? What if it's somewhere hot? Or cold? What if we have to perform outdoors? Or somewhere fancy?

I dash to my bedroom and yank open my closet doors. Clothes spill out, creating a colorful mess of fabrics. I start pulling things out, tossing them onto my bed. Jeans, shorts, dresses, sweatshirts—I grab it all, not sure what I'll need.

As I'm rummaging through my drawers, my hand brushes against something soft. I pull it out and realize it's my lucky t-shirt—the one I wore to my first gig. It's faded and a bit threadbare now, but I can't help smiling as I hold it. Without a second thought, I add it to the growing pile on my bed.

I grab my suitcase from the top shelf of my closet, nearly dropping it on my head in my haste. As I start to pack, I realize I'm probably going overboard. But the uncertainty of our destination has me second-guessing everything.

"Better to have it than not need it," I mutter to myself as I stuff another sweater into the already bulging suitcase.

I pause for a moment, looking at the chaos I've created in my usually tidy room. Clothes are strewn everywhere, my suitcase is overflowing, and I'm standing in the middle of it all, feeling overwhelmed.

Taking a deep breath, I try to calm myself. This is what I've been working towards. This is my chance to prove myself, to show the world—but most importantly, myself—what I'm capable of.

I resume packing, and I fold each item carefully, trying to maximize space. I pack a mix of casual and slightly dressier outfits, hoping to cover all bases. My toiletries go into a separate bag, and I make sure to include my favorite perfume, a small luxury that always makes me feel good.

As I'm zipping up the suitcase, my eyes land on my guitar case, leaning against the wall. For a moment, I hesitate. Should I bring it? It's not exactly practical, but the thought of being without it for a few days makes me uneasy.