24 | Permission

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Then: at that time
Than: in comparison to

"Why hasn't Ruth said anything about my acting yet?" I ask Val. We've come to the end of Friday, and still no one has noticed the drop in my performance.

"Why would she?"

"Because it sucks. Haven't you noticed?"

"Nope. You're amazing."

I barely practiced at all. I'm not sure if I should be relieved, or upset that nobody sees the difference.

+ tfw u get an A without studying and u question ur entire existence

I take a moment to look at Scott's Twitter accounts, both @scomiche22 and @scotthoying. He's posted nothing but, "So tired," in his fan account, but on his main, he keeps teasing that something big is coming. My phone buzzes with a text notification.

> Remember when you told me it's better to ask forgiveness than permission?

+ That does not extend to me. Scott Richard Hoying, what have you done?

> It's too beautiful not to share.

+ Please don't tell me it's what I think it is.

> Maybe? ScottHoying.ReView.com/videos

Wow. Just wow. Black and white? Really? With video? I dial Scott's number, and he answers immediately. "SCOTT, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?"

"Hi."

"I COULD SUE YOUR PANTS OFF."

"Please don't. The royalties are literally all yours, but I like these pants."

"YOU AREN'T EVEN SORRY!"

"Can't say I am. Have you heard them? They're way too beautiful to keep to myself. I got every audio engineer I know to produce them this fast." He's taken my recording session at his house, mixed everything, and released it all publicly on his ReView channel. Eighteen songs.

"Was the black and white video of me weeping really necessary?"

"Grant thought we should use the studio footage."

"Traitor. Please tell me MaryCatherine wasn't in on this too."

"Sorry, she was first in line."

"WHY DOES EVERYBODY HATE ME?"

"We all just missed your angelic voice. I've probably listened to Graveyard a billion times, but it's no substitute for you singing whenever you feel like it."

"I hate you."

"You're not allowed to. I'm sending you the raw audio you asked for, and the uncompressed mixes."

"You had better change your locks, or I am going to show up in the middle of the night and shave off all your hair and cut off your eyelashes, and you'll get dust in your eyes all month, and you'll completely deserve it."

"You know how bad I would look bald."

"Ooh, yes, I'm going to dig up all my behind-the-scenes pictures of you as a Lollipop Guild representative and post them online."

"Do you wanna record more songs?"

"No!"

"Just listen to them, okay? They're incredible. Nicole says hi, and that I have to hang up or she'll only put makeup on half my face."

"Wait, can I talk to her? Nicole? Please make Scott look like a zombie for me."

"No can do, sweetie."

"Ugh, I thought you loved me."

"I do, but he's paying me more."

"Screw capitalism! What about loyalty?"

"Loyalty is green."

"I'll give you twenty bucks."

"Twenty, do I hear thirty?"

"Hey!" Scott shouts in the background.

"Thirty from the gentleman in the shaving cream!" Nicole exclaims. "Do I hear forty?"

"Gimme that!" Scott grabs back the phone, and I hear swearing and loud noises as he gets shaving cream all over it and tries to clean it off. "Gotta go. Love you. Bye."

"L—bye."

The next order of business is to sit down and watch all the videos and cry. Who with, though? Scott is still the first person who comes to mind, but he's out, obviously, as is Alex. Kirstie's in New York. Esther won't, and she's away anyway. I basically have no friends anymore. I don't really have time for them. Maybe Val? I tap on her dressing-room door.

Half an hour later, she's showing me into her home. The outside is small and generic, but I feel like I'm in a castle when I step inside. The walls are deep wine-red and the molding is gold. The ceiling is black, and the only light fixtures are ornate stained-glass lamps. The far wall of the living room is covered in small frames, each with a different kind of feather in it. She leads me downstairs much too quickly, and shows off her entertainment room proudly. I get my own beanbag. "Get comfortable. Pull up the channel on there. I'll be right back." I text Alex not to pick me up today. He can make of that what he will. I navigate to the videos on Val's laptop, and she returns soon with popcorn. A couple clicks later, my face is projected across the wall. Great. Fantastic.

"I'm gonna cry a lot," I warn her, "on the video and off." She points out the tissues beside me. Perfect.

I don't think she properly appreciates it, but her sound system is top-notch. She pauses the first video halfway through, and I'm grateful because I'm already on the verge of tears. Scott and I sound so good together. "Help me out here. What's the deal with you and him?"

"Always platonic. He's mad at me over Alex and stuff, but we kind of miss each other too much for it to really even matter."

"Sorry if this is a stupid question, but do you love him?"

"Platonically, yeah."

"And does he feel the same way?"

"Depends on who you ask, I guess. I should probably mention he posted these without my permission." It's not all footage of me singing. There's some of Scott too, singing, playing, or both.

"Wow, really? Are you mad?"

"A bit. Not terribly. I kinda should have known he'd do this. He wouldn't have if it weren't good."

"Oh, it's good." She resumes the video. I tell her sometimes what the lyrics mean, and she even cries a little at parts. What I'm coming to realize as I watch myself let loose into a microphone is that I'm in the wrong business. I need to go back to singing.

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