A Simple Song Page 10

  “Jack Smack?”

  “Ja. It’s a funny name. I think he made it up.”

  “I recognize the name. I’ve heard his songs on the golden oldies station.”

  Bekka nodded. “Ja. He was a singer a long time ago. I don’t think he sings anymore. He’s the harshest of the judges. He even makes contestants cry sometimes.”

  “Oh . . .”

  “I thought that was how he got his name,” Bekka admitted. “Smack.” She giggled. “Because he likes to smack singers down.”

  “There they are!” Suddenly Brandy and two men with what appeared to be television cameras were right next to them. “My Amish girls.”

  “Which is the contestant?” the cameraman with no hair asked.

  “That one.” Brandy pointed at Katrina. “I want you to get some shots of her coming into the hotel.” She looked at them. “Can you run upstairs and get your bags so you look like you just arrived?”

  “What?” Katrina frowned. “But we’re unpacked.”

  “You don’t have to pack them,” Brandy explained. “Just get your bags and meet Mike and Lou outside so they can get some footage of you.” She turned to the cameramen. “Get Bruce to go out there with you—ask Katrina some questions. Got it?”

  “We’re on it,” the one with no hair told her. He turned to Katrina. “I’m Mike and that’s Lou. We’ll meet you out in front with Bruce.”

  She just nodded, looking at Bekka for support. Bekka grabbed Katrina’s arm, dragging her back toward the elevators. “I think this is a good sign,” she said as they practically ran down the hall. “On the show, you always see certain people telling about themselves—early on—and sometimes those are the people who win.”

  Feeling somewhat encouraged but very confused, Katrina hurried with Bekka to get their bags, which looked flat without clothes in them. “Here.” Bekka took one of the smaller pillows from the bed. “Let’s put these in them. To look better.”

  Feeling silly about carrying pillows in their cloth bags, the two girls went outside into the bright sunlight to see that Mike and Lou were already there with another man. This man had dark, curly hair and a big smile. “Hello,” he called out to them. “Just go on over there by the taxis. Maybe get in one and then get out again. I’ll ask you some questions and you try to look natural. Like you just arrived here. Okay?”

  “Okay!” Bekka yelled back at him, and grabbing Katrina’s hand, she dragged her over to a taxi.

  “Where you wanna go?” the driver asked.

  “We just need to get in and get out,” Bekka explained.

  He frowned but opened the door for them to get in.

  “That’s Bruce Betner,” Bekka said. “He’s the host of the show. Isn’t he handsome?”

  The door opened again. “Okay, kiddies, come on out,” the driver said with a smirk. “I’ll bet I don’t even get a tip.”

  “Hello,” Bruce said again as he held out what looked like a silver stick toward them. “Welcome to Cleveland.”

  “Thank you,” Katrina muttered, nearly tripping over the curb.

  “Where are you girls from?” Bruce asked pleasantly.

  While Bekka answered, Katrina stuffed her pillow back into her bag. “This is Katrina Yoder,” Bekka said as if she did this sort of thing all the time. “She’s a really good singer, and I think she’s going to win American Star this year.”

  Bruce chuckled. “You do?”

  “Yes. Everyone at home—I mean, the young people, think so too. You should hear her.”

  “I hope to hear her.” He frowned slightly. “Are you girls really Amish, or did you just dress up like this to get our camera guys out here?”

  “We are truly Amish,” Katrina said, “although we haven’t been baptized into the church yet.”

  His eyes lit up. “So is this your rumspringa?”

  Katrina nodded. “This is part of it.”

  “Will you be smoking and drinking and—”

  “No!” Katrina scowled. “Why would we do those things?”

  “I thought that was what Amish kids do for rumspringa. Haven’t you seen the reality show?”

  “The what?”

  He laughed. “So if that’s not what rumspringa is—smoking and drinking and going wild—what is it really? Explain rumspringa to our viewers.”

  “Rumspringa means running around, and it is a time of freedom. But it’s also a time for young people to decide which way they will go,” Katrina somberly told him. “We are born into our family and community, but we must choose whether or not we will stay. It’s a very serious decision, you know. Not something to be taken lightly.” She knew she sounded like Daed, but she couldn’t help it.

  Bruce’s brow creased. “I see.” His face lit up into a big smile. “I hear you can sing, Katrina.”

  She nodded. “I love to sing.”

  “But is singing allowed in the Amish community? I heard that even in church it’s not real singing but more like chanting.”

  She considered her answer. “Our singing is different than English singing. It’s from our European roots. But sometimes . . . some people . . . they sing.”

  He laughed. “Well, obviously you do, or you wouldn’t be here. Right?”

  “Ja. I sing.”

  “Will you be singing an Amish song for your audition?”

  She shook her head. “No. It will be an English song.”

  “Are you going to give us a hint about which song it will be?”

  “No. I have not decided yet.”

  He laughed again. For some reason he thought a lot of things were terribly funny. “One more thing, Katrina. I heard that you’re the last audition in Cleveland—not until tomorrow. What do you think of that?”

  She frowned. “I was afraid that I did something wrong.”

  Now he laughed really loudly. “No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong.” He turned back to the men with cameras and continued chatting at them, almost as if he was really speaking to a whole bunch of people. Then he waved at them. “That’s a wrap,” he told Mike, then thanked Bekka and Katrina. “I’ll see you girls tomorrow. Feel free to come early enough to watch some of the fun. Maybe we’ll get some more footage of your reactions to it.”

  And just like that—as a crowd of onlookers was beginning to gather—Bruce Betner and the cameramen, trailed by some other men wearing uniforms, hurried back into the hotel. Katrina looked down at the pillow sticking out of her bag and shook her head. What was next?

  11

  By Sunday morning, Katrina felt utterly confused. She had so many questions about American Star that she didn’t even know where to begin. To make matters worse, Bekka seemed to get more aggravated every time Katrina questioned something. As a result, Katrina was not saying much . . . but watching everything. They’d been in the Erie Room for several hours, and the crowd of contestants was slowly dwindling. Katrina would watch contestants full of excitement—some danced around, some even did cartwheels—waiting for their turn to audition. Then they would come out of the audition room with tears running down their cheeks. Or they would tear up their paper and use foul words. One guy even slugged one of the cameramen.

  By Sunday afternoon, three things seemed clear to Katrina. One, everyone auditioning really wanted to win. Two, everyone seemed to believe they were the best singer of all. And three, only a few were getting chosen—and those chosen few were called the “finalists.”

  “How many finalists are there?” Katrina asked Bekka.

  “A lot.”

  “Will they all compete again later on tonight?” Katrina asked. “So the judges can decide?”

  “I don’t know.” Bekka put her nose back into the book she was reading.

  Katrina frowned. How was it that Bekka had watched this show for three seasons—or so she claimed—and she did not know these answers?

  Finally, it was almost Katrina’s turn. A man from the show told her to wait by the door, and she made Bekka come with her.

  “Don’t wo
rry,” Bekka assured her. “It will be over before you know it. You only sing a verse. Sometimes just a few lines.”

  “How can they decide so quickly?”

  Bekka shrugged. “They do this a lot.”

  Bruce came over, trailed by the same two cameramen, and began to ask her some more questions. “Did you decide on your song?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Yes, I did.”

  “But you’re not going to tell me?”

  She shook her head.

  “Are you nervous?”

  She bit her lip. Just hearing him ask that made her feel like she could lose her lunch. She looked at Bekka hopefully. “Can my friend go in there with me?” she asked Bruce.

  He shrugged. “Sure, if you like.”

  Katrina nodded eagerly, grabbing hold of Bekka’s arm. “I do.”

  Just then a girl with short-cropped hair came stomping out. “Those judges need to get their heads out of—”

  “Easy does it,” Bruce said. “We have ladies in the house.”

  The girl glared at them. “Good luck! Those judges are the worst. They should’ve thrown them all off last season. Jack Smack oughta get smacked down by—”

  “Thank you for your opinion,” Bruce said cheerfully. “Now if you’ll excuse us.” One of the uniformed men (Katrina now knew they were security guards) came over to escort the unhappy girl away.

  Bruce beamed at Katrina. “Are you ready?”

  She nodded, and suddenly the mysterious door was open and she and Bekka were led inside by a petite woman in black, who took them past a curtain and into a well-lit area. There were even more cameras in here, and Brandy was sitting in a chair off to one side. She smiled and waved. “Come on in,” she called. “Go ahead and take the stage.”

  Katrina couldn’t let go of Bekka’s hand, so both of them went up onto the platform that faced a long table where three people—the ones from the posters—were seated. They seemed preoccupied with papers in front of them, and they all looked slightly bored, or maybe just tired. Although her knees were shaking, Katrina actually remembered their names: Ricky, Jack, and Celeste.

  “This is Katrina Yoder,” Brandy said loudly. “The final contestant.”

  “Is this a joke?” Ricky said.

  “What?” Celeste frowned up at them. “Is this a duet?”

  “Her friend is for moral support,” Brandy told them. “Katrina is the one on the right—the brunette.”

  “Seriously?” Ricky frowned. “Are you punking us?”

  “Well, get on with it then.” Jack scowled at Katrina. “I’m already way better acquainted with this chair than I want to be.”

  Bekka elbowed her. “Go ahead. Introduce your song.”

  “Ja.” Katrina nodded. “My song is called ‘After the Storm.’” Without looking directly into the judges’ eyes, she began to sing the antiwar song. She could tell her beginning was a little weak, but she hoped she made up for it as she continued. She kept expecting them to make her stop, but no one did. She sang the whole song, and when she quit, the room was quiet. The judges all had a slightly astonished look on their faces, and then they began talking quietly amongst themselves.

  “You did just fine,” Brandy said as she joined them on the stage. “I’ve never heard that song before, but it was a good one. Especially for your voice . . . and your, uh, well, your Amishness.”

  “Come over here,” Jack belted out to her. “I want a better look at you.”

  Still clinging to Bekka’s hand, Katrina cautiously approached the table.

  “Well, Katrina,” Celeste began slowly. “You have the voice of an angel. Not disputing that. But I don’t think so, honey.”

  “What?” Jack asked Celeste.

  “I’m saying no,” Celeste told him. “This poor girl would be eaten alive by our show and you know it.”

  “Don’t be so quick,” Ricky said. “We’ve had innocents before. It gets interesting. Remember Molly McGee?”

  “Yes, but it’s cruel to take someone like”—Celeste looked down at a paper—“Katrina here. It’s cruel to expose her to—”

  “Where’d you learn that song?” Jack asked her with narrowed eyes.

  “Her mammi wrote it,” Bekka declared.

  “Bekka!” Katrina flashed a warning glance her way, but Bekka wasn’t looking.

  “Her name was Starla Knight,” Bekka continued. “She was in a group called Willow Tree.”

  “Is that true?” Jack demanded.

  Katrina just looked down at her shoes.

  “What is Willow Tree?” Ricky asked.

  “A folk group from the sixties,” Jack said. “Starla was their lead singer.” He got up and walked over to stand in front of Katrina. “Look at me, girl.”

  She looked up.

  “Is that true? Is Starla Knight really your grandma?”

  “She was.” Katrina explained that she had died recently. “I never knew she was a singer. No one did. I only just found out. My grandfather doesn’t want people to know. I wanted to keep it a secret.”

  “Too late for that,” Jack told her.

  She bit her lip and twisted the corners of her shawl.

  “Do your people watch TV?” he asked.

  “No,” Katrina said.

  Bekka chuckled. “A few like me do, but they don’t tell anyone about it.”

  “So your secret about Starla will be safe.” Jack turned back to the other judges. “I’m voting yes on this girl, and if you guys are smart, you’ll vote yes too.”

  “Katrina,” Celeste said gently. “Tell me why you’re here, honey.”

  Katrina went over to her. “I do love to sing,” she said. “But I’m really here for the money.”

  Suddenly everyone was laughing, and Katrina felt her cheeks flushing hot.

  “It’s for her daed,” Bekka said defensively. “He needs surgery. He’s in so much pain. He can’t even work anymore. The only reason we talked her into this was so she could win enough money for his operation.”

  The judges got very quiet. Jack went back over to the table and bent down to talk quietly to the others. Finally he turned around. “It’s unanimous. Katrina Yoder, you are a finalist for American Star.”

  Bekka jumped up and down and hugged her. “I knew you could do it,” she said happily. “I knew it!”

  Katrina felt tears coming. “Thank you,” she told them all. “You don’t know what this will mean—for my daed—for my family. Thank you.”

  “Well, this is only the beginning,” Celeste told her. “You still have a long journey ahead of you.”

  “What?”

  “Come on.” The woman who had brought them in was now escorting them out. “We need to let the judges go home.”

  Suddenly Katrina was out the door and Bruce had his microphone in her face. “How’d it go in there?”

  “She won,” Bekka exclaimed. “Well, she’s a finalist anyway.”

  “Congratulations.” Bruce turned to the cameras. “So you’ll be seeing our little Amish girl in Hollywood next week when she competes against all two hundred of our other finalists to see which of them are good enough to become an American Star. Goodnight!” He waved his hand.

  “That’s a wrap,” someone said.

  “Hollywood?” Katrina was very confused now. “Where is that?”

  “California,” Bekka told her.

  “I’m supposed to go there next week?” Katrina looked at Bruce and the others, but they seemed to be packing things up, getting ready to go. “How can I possibly do that? I’m nearly out of money.”

  Brandy had joined them. “Your expenses are covered by the show from here on out,” she explained. “Didn’t you know that?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We will fly you out and pay for your room and board and everything for as long as you’re on the show. Hopefully it’ll be a long time.”

  “A long time?” Katrina looked from Brandy to Bekka. “In Hollywood?”

  “The show goes for a wh
ole season,” Bekka said meekly.

  “All the contestants stay in Hollywood,” Brandy told her. “I thought you knew that. Do you want to change your mind now?”

  Katrina didn’t know what to do. She looked in Brandy’s eyes. For some reason she trusted this woman. “Do you really think I have a chance—not to get first place, but do you honestly think I could win enough money to cover my daed’s surgery?”

  “That’s up to you—and I can’t promise you anything—but I’ve been doing this for a while and I think you have enough natural talent to make it to the top eight. If you really want it. You have to really want it, Katrina.”

  “I do want it—for my daed—I want it.”

  “Then you should come to Hollywood.”

  “Ja,” Bekka said happily. “You should.”

  “Next week?” Katrina frowned.

  “No, not next week. Bruce only said that for the airdates to match up. We have one more audition in Seattle. You don’t need to be in Hollywood until mid July. We’ll send a crew out to your town in a week or so.”

  “A crew?”

  “To get footage of you at home, with your family, in your community. It gives the show a personal touch that viewers love. It will be especially important in your situation, Katrina. Is that going to be okay? Will your family object to being photographed?”

  Katrina looked nervously at Bekka, so Bekka explained that it could be a problem. “But maybe you could come to group singing,” she said. “And some of us—like me—we’ll let you take our pictures.” She giggled nervously. “It’s my rumspringa too. And my parents will have to forgive me.”

  Brandy laughed. “We’ll be in touch.”

  “How?” Katrina asked.

  “I have your information in my file. Your phone and email.”

  “I don’t have a phone or—”

  “It’s mine,” Bekka told her. “I’ll let Katrina know what’s going on,” she assured Brandy.

  “You’re her manager?”

  Bekka giggled. “Ja. I guess I am.”

  Brandy lowered her voice now. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but all the judges loved you. And Jack Smack fought hard for you. I’ve only seen him do that a time or two. It’s not something we take lightly.”

  “Oh?”