Emerald (Touchdown Edition)

Chapter 1: A Sea of Blonde

Chapter One: A Sea of Blonde

I awoke just after sunrise on a warm spring morning. Sitting upright in bed, I yawned and smiled at the same time. Then I opened the curtains, squinting as bright southern California sunshine poured in through my bedroom window. Despite waking up moments earlier, I was already excited to start my day. In a few hours, I would be auditioning with Silver Note Records for a chance at a record contract. I'd been looking forward to this day for months. I felt certain that this audition was going to be different--today was going to be my big break.

I stayed in bed for a few more minutes, daydreaming about my future life as a star. I thought about how amazing it would be to sign a record deal and make an album at some fancy recording studio. I imagined a packed stadium, thousands of adoring fans, and me standing at center stage, belting out the number one song in America. I even imagined my life after the concert. I could almost hear the fans screaming my name as I stepped out of my limousine to sign a few autographs. I even pictured the awesome outfit I was wearing.

The thought of clothes brought me back to reality--and to my audition, which was getting closer by the minute. I hopped out of bed and made my way over to my closet. Flipping through my limited options, I sighed loudly. What am I going to wear? I wondered.

Fashion was a big deal when it came to auditions. Not only did you need to look cool and hip, you needed to look unique. I live in Anaheim--which is in Orange County, California. A lot of people say that Orange County is the opposite of unique. All the houses look the same, all the people look the same, and all the clothes look the same. Luckily, I always dress a little differently than the rest of my friends. So, in a way, being unique is easy for me.

Predictably, my big audition was taking place in downtown Los Angeles. After a quick breakfast, Mom and I made our way up to Lalaland, as she calls it, in a little over an hour. Before I knew it, I was standing in the Silver Note Records waiting room in a sea of near-perfect girls. I felt like I was in some kind of alien movie, where pretty blondes take over the world. Most of the girls who stood around me were my age, about fifteen. They all looked much older than that, though. They wore tons of makeup, and I bet 90 percent had perfect bodies. Hadn't any of them ever heard of chocolate before?

Without realizing it, I caught myself staring at one beauty, near the front of the line. She was applying a fresh coat of cherry red lipstick to her already pouty lips. She smoothed down her extra-short miniskirt, and in front of all of us, belted out a tune from Beyonce Knowles. What really sucked about this was that she was really good. She had beauty, confidence, and talent.

What am I doing here again? Don't get me wrong. I have a cool voice, and after lots of auditions, I'm pretty confident about my stage presence. Still, all this blonde perfection was intimidating.

The door opened and the girl at the front of the line went inside. I counted the girls ahead of me: seventy-three more. The audition process was going painfully slowly. I had been standing in this line for two hours and my feet were absolutely killing me. I leaned forward to loosen my boots. I knew I should have worn my old army combat boots instead of these brand new ones. Comfort vs. fashion--it's always a tough decision.

I reached forward for my backpack and pulled out my little compact mirror to check my hair. I knew that I stood out like a sore thumb. For starters, my hair is neither blonde nor brunette. I'm a redhead. I've always prided myself on this. I'm not saying that kids didn't tease me when I was little. Since I've gotten older, though, I like it that not a lot of people are redheads. It gives me an original look. I also have green eyes, so my parents did a really cool thing--they named me Emerald.

I tended to dress differently than many popular young singers, and most other girls in Orange County, come to think of it. Today, I was wearing a red plaid kilt with black knee socks--and, of course, my boots. I wasn't into the tiny, show-everything tank-tops. Instead, I wore a plain black t-shirt. My red hair was tied loosely in a ponytail. I had a smattering of freckles, which were impossible to cover with make-up, so I rarely wore much of the stuff. I usually just slapped on some lip gloss and dotted my lashes with mascara.

"How are you feeling?" I heard my mother ask. I whipped around to see her standing there holding a bottle of orange juice. She handed me the juice and I drank it in one, unladylike, sip.

"I'm nervous," I admitted, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. My mother smiled and gently rubbed my back. "You've been to lots of auditions, Emerald. Just try to relax," she encouraged me. Spoken like a true mother, I thought.

I don't know whether it was Mom's words, or the burst of energy from the juice, but I did feel a little better. Plus, the line was starting to move quicker. This was good for my stiff legs and my delicate mental state. I had to get in there already.

A fast-moving line could only mean one thing: the company wasn't impressed with what they were seeing. As far as I was concerned, that was a good thing--I didn't look or sound anything like the girls who had been walking through that door. If what they had seen so far was not what they were looking for, maybe I was. This thought made me feel very confident. Maybe I wasn't going to leave here as just regular old Emerald. Maybe today I would be leaving with a recording contract!

As the line continued to grow shorter, I decided to run over my song. I started off humming the tune in my head, but after a few seconds, I lost myself in the music. With my eyes closed, I sang my song in perfect pitch. Once I finished, I opened my eyes and noticed that I had an audience. Girls began whispering to each other and giving me dirty looks. Good, I thought, let them know there's a little more competition out here. I may not be blonde and perfect but I can sing.

Before I knew it, another hour had passed. At this point, I was only about five feet from the door. That's when I heard four words that nearly made my heart explode: "Emerald Johnston. You're up."

I nodded weakly at the woman as she led me through the door and down a narrow hallway. If I hadn't been so nervous I would have enjoyed looking at the framed photographs of famous musicians that lined the walls. Instead, I kept my eyes down on the plush red carpet as I tried not to lose my lunch all over it.

Just as we were about to enter another room, I straightened up and pushed my shoulders back. Seated behind a long wooden table were two men and a woman. The woman smiled warmly at me. I felt myself relax for a second. "Hurry up," the older man bellowed.

Just as quickly as I'd relaxed, I tightened up. Then I realized that I was standing still,

not hurrying up, and not singing. Finally, the woman who had led me here gently pushed me forward. "S-sorry," I muttered nervously.

The woman behind the table smiled at me again. "Emerald, that's a very pretty name," she said.

I nodded but didn't speak. I let my eyes travel to the two men seated next to her. The gray-haired man who had yelled at me to hurry up looked extremely bored. Sitting beside him was a younger man, around thirty-five years old. He didn't even bother to look up at me.

"We'd like you to sing us a chorus from anything you'd like," the woman explained. "No music will accompany you." She waved her hand in the air. "Begin whenever you are ready."

I nodded, took a deep breath and cleared my throat. Focusing on a spot above the woman's head, I began to sing. I knew I sounded good. Although teased as a kid about my raspy voice, it was great for singing--definitely unique. Plus, I was able to control it really well, and reach a wide range of notes. On a good day, I thought of my voice as a cross between Janis Joplin and Pink.

I let the song take me away and poured all of my passion into the performance. Eventually, I forgot that I was even in an audition. I was only singing because I loved it. My short memory only lasted so long. When I finished my last note, I quickly remembered where I was. I let my eyes rest on each of the three people in the room. The woman and the older man were smiling widely at me. The younger man's face showed no expression, however. His beady eyes seemed to stare right through me. It felt like forever before anyone spoke.

"That was wonderful, Emerald," beamed the woman. She truly looked impressed. I knew today was the day!

I was about to thank her when the non-smiling guy interrupted. "Yes, you have an unusual voice," he stated in the same tone of voice that one would say, 'pass the butter.'

Sweat formed on the palms of my hands and I felt like I couldn't catch my breath. I could feel the but before he even said it. "But, unfortunately, you're not what we are looking for," he said. Two heads turned towards him, in obvious disagreement with his assessment. He looked at them firmly. It was clear that despite his age, he was the one in charge. He turned his attention back to me and cleared his throat. He looked me up and down. "I do have a bit of advice for you," he went on. "Dye your hair and update your look. I'm sure you will benefit in any future auditions." With that, he closed my file.

It took every ounce of strength I had just to say thank you and walk away. I mean, I've been turned down many times before, but never because of the way that I looked. By the time I reached the exit door I was crying. I tried to hold back my tears, but I just couldn't. Maybe I wasn't destined to be a singer. Maybe he was right. How many famous stars were redheads, anyway?

My mother met me at the exit. When she looked into my teary green eyes, she knew right away that things hadn't gone well. I threw myself into her arms and cried. I didn't care that the entire waiting room was staring. I had just given my best audition ever, and it wasn't enough.

I nearly knocked over four blondes on my way out the door. An hour later, Mom and I were stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the freeway. I stared out the passenger window as we crawled back toward Anaheim. All I wanted was to be home, in my bed, alone. Around hour two of the traffic jam, I decided that today was the worst day of my life. In the middle of this thought, Mom said, "You'll get it one of these days, Emerald."

I didn't respond at first. I just kept staring out the window. After a few minutes of silence, though, I started to think about Mom's comment. That's when I turned and said, "There isn't going to be another day. I'm tired of not being chosen. I'm tired of the stupid music business. I'm tired of being told I'm not good enough!" My voice started to crack, but I held back the tears this time. "I quit," I said, sadly. "I don't want to be a singer anymore."