The Spotlight

Chapter 13

I hear loud banging on my door that startles me from my half-asleep state on the couch. The knocking continues, more insistent this time. Groaning from the jet lag, I push myself up and shuffle towards the door, my bare feet padding against the cold hardwood floor. The setting sun casts long shadows through the windows, reminding me I've spent another day in this strange twilight state between sleep and wakefulness.

Through the peephole, I see Emily's distorted face, her nose pressed against the glass. Of course it's her. Who else would show up unannounced at this hour? The last person I probably want to see right now, but also exactly who I need.

"I know you're in there!" she shouts through the door. "I can hear you breathing!"

I unlock the door and pull it open. Emily stands there, grinning widely, two bags of Chinese takeaway in her hands, the familiar logo from our favorite place down the street visible through the plastic. Her dark hair is windswept, and her cheeks are flushed from the autumn chill. She's wearing her favorite oversized sweater, the one she claims makes her look artistically disheveled but actually just makes her look cozy.

"Celebratory dinner for making it to live shows!" Emily practically sang, pushing past me into the apartment. She wrapped me in a tight hug that smelled of her familiar vanilla perfume and the unmistakable aroma of sweet and sour sauce.

"I missed you too," I laughed, closing the door behind us. I watched as Emily kicked off her shoes, leaving them in a haphazard pile by the door, and made her way to my kitchen with the familiarity of someone who'd spent countless nights here.

"I got all your favorites," she called out, already pulling containers from the bags. "Extra spring rolls, because I know you'll steal mine anyway."

I followed her into the kitchen, where she was arranging the feast on the counter. The smell of kung pao chicken and chow mein filled my apartment, making my stomach growl. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until that moment.

"You're the best," I said, grabbing plates from the cabinet while Emily hunted down forks. We'd long ago given up on chopsticks after Emily had nearly taken out my eye during a particularly animated story.

"I know," she grinned, piling food onto her plate.

"Now, how was LA? Give me all the details from start to finish!" Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the couch. The television was playing a rerun of QI, the familiar sound of Stephen Fry's voice providing a comfortable background noise.

"It was really hot," I said simply, knowing it would drive her mad.

As expected, Emily playfully swatted my arm with a spring roll. "Come on, Rye! Give me more than that!"

I laughed and pulled my favorite blanket over my legs, buying time as I considered what to share. The truth was, LA had been a whirlwind of emotions I wasn't ready to unpack. Especially not the moment on the beach with Gary.

"It's a lot to unpack," I say, giving her a weak smile. "I still can't believe I got to meet Mark Owen and sing in front of him let alone make it into the final four!" I try to redirect her attention, focusing on the safer aspects of the trip.

"He's so cute!" Emily coos, falling for my deflection.

"Even cuter in person," I confirm, grateful for the shift in conversation.

But Emily's not done. "And Gary?" she asks, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

My heart clenches at his name. Handsome. Talented. Funny. Knows how to lead you on then embarrass the hell out of you. The words sit heavy on my tongue, but I swallow them back. "He's nice," I say instead, the understatement of the century.