Chapter 2
Pepper
I walk to my dressing room, wiping sweat with the small hand towel Izzy, our blue-haired, combat boot-wearing stage manager, hands me. She gives me a half-hearted pat on the shoulder, as if to say, Yeah, this sucks.
She’s the silent, brooding type, but lately I think I’m catching sympathetic vibes from her. Like she knows this ship’s going down.
Hugh made me go through every bit of choreography, even though we’ve done this sixty-four times in the last three months. Yes, I said choreography.
It’s humiliating and sad. I may have started as the emo alternative singer, but the producers long since shoved me into the role of pop star. Which means I have backup dancers. And I have to dance with them.
He doesn’t make me sing. That’s because I can’t. I mean, literally, if I
