ST⭐️LIT SEVEN: Rejection to Royalty

Amanda's POV The bus doors folded open with a tired hiss. I froze at the top of the steps. Los Angeles. I was actually here. For several seconds, I stood there with one hand gripping my backpack, staring through the open doors at the crowded station. "Miss?" The driver's impatient voice snapped me back to reality. "Oh! Sorry." I hurried down the steps, ignoring the chuckles behind me. Great. Thirty seconds in Los Angeles and I was already holding up traffic. The moment my sneakers hit the pavement, the station swallowed me in noise. Engines rumbled. Suitcase wheels scraped across concrete. People rushed in every direction with phones pressed against their ears. Somewhere nearby, a child cried while someone else shouted for a taxi. After spending hours trapped inside a bus, Los Angeles felt enormous. Busy. Bright. Completely unfamiliar. And terrifying. A slow smile crossed my face. "Well, Amanda," I whispered. "You wanted this." I adjusted my backpack and headed toward the luggage compartment. Everything I'd brought from Newark had been reduced to one large suitcase, a duffel bag, and the backpack on my shoulders. Clothes. Shoes. Makeup. Music. Audition material. A few photographs from home. And nearly every dollar I'd managed to save. The driver set my suitcase beside me. "Thanks." He nodded and moved on. I reached for the handle before suddenly remembering the most important thing I needed to do. Mom. I pulled out my phone and called. She answered before the second ring. "Amanda?" I laughed. "Hi, Mom." "Don't 'hi, Mom' me. Did you make it?" "Yes." "You're in Los Angeles?" "I'm standing in the bus station right now." Her relieved breath came loudly through the phone. "Thank God." I smiled. "I'm fine." "You have all your luggage?" I looked down. Suitcase. Duffel. Backpack. "All three." "Wallet?" "Yes." "Phone charger?" "Yes." "Emergency money?" "Mom." "I'm asking." "Yes." "Pepper—" "Mom!" "What? You're across the country now. I'm allowed to worry." I shook my head, laughing. Thousands of miles away and she was still checking whether I'd packed properly. Then my smile softened. For the first time since leaving, I realized just how far away Newark really was. I could picture our kitchen. My bedroom. The living room where I'd spent years performing imaginary concerts with a hairbrush microphone. "You miss me already," Mom said. "No." "Liar." "Maybe a little." "A little?" "Okay. A lot." "I miss you too, baby." My throat tightened. I quickly looked around the station before I started crying in front of strangers. "What time is your audition?" she asked. I checked my phone. "I've got time. I'm heading straight to MC Records." Just saying the name sent butterflies through my stomach. MC Records. Marcus Cole's company. One of the biggest names in the music industry. And today I was auditioning for him. "You nervous?" "Terrified." "Good." I frowned. "Good?" "It means you understand how important this is." "That's one way of looking at it." "But don't walk into that building looking terrified. Shoulders back. Head high." I smiled. "Yes, ma'am." "You've been preparing for this your whole life." She was right. Singing lessons. Dance classes. Talent competitions. School performances. Community showcases. Countless nights practicing until my throat hurt and my legs trembled. I'd missed parties, dates, vacations, and more hours of sleep than I wanted to count. But music had never felt like a sacrifice. It was what I wanted. Not fame. Not magazine covers. Not millions of strangers knowing my name. I wanted music. I wanted to stand on a stage and feel something I'd written reach another person's heart. Everything else was extra. "And Amanda?" Mom continued. "Yeah?" "Whether Marcus Cole likes you or not doesn't decide whether you're talented." I laughed softly. "You haven't even met him and you already don't like him." "I don't trust anybody who wears sunglasses indoors." "Mom!" "I'm serious. Is there a sun inside his studio?" I burst out laughing. "Goodbye, Mom." "You call me immediately after that audition." "I promise." "Immediately." "Yes." "And don't get into anybody's strange car." "I'm twenty-eight." "And you're still my daughter." I smiled. "I love you." "I love you too, baby." My finger hovered near the button to end the call. "Mom?" "Yes?" "I'm going to do this." She didn't hesitate. "I know." The call ended. I stared at the screen for another moment before slipping my phone into my pocket. Okay. MC Records. One small problem. I had absolutely no idea where I was going. "Fantastic." I dragged my suitcase toward the station exit, attempting to look like I belonged here instead of like a woman who had crossed the country armed with luggage, dreams, and questionable navigation skills. Outside, Los Angeles stretched around me. Cars rushed past. Buildings towered in the distance. Palm trees stood beneath a bright blue sky. Actual palm trees. I grinned. "Definitely not Newark." I pulled up the address for MC Records. The map appeared. I stared at it. Turned my phone sideways. Turned it back. "Nope." Still confused. A middle-aged woman stood nearby searching through her purse. I approached her. "Excuse me?" She looked up. "Yeah?" "Sorry to bother you. Do you know how to get to MC Records?" "The record company?" "That's the one." She looked at my luggage and smiled knowingly. "You auditioning?" I blinked. "Is it that obvious?" "Honey, you've got luggage, nerves, and you're headed to a record label." I laughed. "Fair." "Take the trolley. It'll get you close enough to walk." She pointed me toward the stop. "Thank you." "No problem. Good luck." "I'm going to need it." Following her directions, I wrestled my suitcase toward the trolley stop. One wheel apparently decided Los Angeles wasn't for it and kept turning sideways. "Come on." I yanked it straight. "You survived New Jersey. Don't embarrass me now." A man nearby gave me a strange look. I pretended I hadn't just threatened my luggage. When the trolley arrived, I climbed aboard and maneuvered everything into an empty space. I dropped into a seat. My heart immediately began pounding again. This was real. No more imaginary judges. No more bedroom rehearsals. No more singing into mirrors and pretending thousands of people were watching. Today someone who could actually open the door to the music industry was going to hear me sing. I pulled my audition folder from my backpack. AMANDA LAUREL Seeing my name printed across the paperwork made everything feel even more real. I ran my thumb over the letters. I'd prepared everything. Vocals. Choreography. Interview questions. Backup songs. I'd rehearsed until every note lived inside my bones. Was I nervous? Absolutely. But beneath those nerves was something stronger. Confidence. I knew what I could do. I knew how hard I'd worked. And I knew I belonged on a stage. The trolley carried me deeper into Los Angeles. I watched the city through the window like a kid seeing another world. Murals exploded across brick walls. Music drifted from passing cars. Crowds moved along sidewalks beneath towering billboards advertising movies, albums, clothing, and celebrities. I stared at one billboard featuring a famous singer. Someday. The thought slipped into my head before I could stop it. Maybe someday my face could be up there. I shook my head. "One thing at a time." First, survive the audition. Then I could fantasize about billboards. My phone buzzed. Mom. Shoulders back. Head high. And breathe. ❤️ I smiled. I got this. ⭐ Send. I leaned back and closed my eyes. I thought about every person who had told me that music wasn't practical. Every rejection. Every competition I'd lost. Every performance where I'd walked away wondering whether I was good enough. And every morning afterward when I'd gotten up and practiced again. I'd spent my entire life preparing for an opportunity like this. Marcus Cole didn't know my name. MC Records didn't know who Amanda Laurel was. Los Angeles certainly didn't. I opened my eyes and looked out at the city. "That's okay." My fingers tightened around the audition folder. "They will." Several stops later, I saw it. A towering glass-and-steel building rose above the street, sunlight flashing across its polished exterior. Two enormous letters decorated the front. MC My stomach dropped. MC Records. For months, I'd imagined this moment. In my imagination, I'd always looked incredibly confident. Reality was different. My palms were sweating. My mouth had gone dry. And there was a very real possibility my breakfast was considering a return appearance. The trolley slowed. I stood. "Okay." Backpack. Duffel. Suitcase. Audition folder. Dreams. Check. The doors opened. I stepped onto the sidewalk. Then I looked up. And up. And up. MC Records seemed even larger from here. People moved through the revolving glass doors wearing expensive clothes and expressions that said they had somewhere important to be. I suddenly became very aware of the fact that I'd just spent hours on a bus. For half a second, insecurity whispered that maybe I didn't belong here. I shut it down immediately. No. I hadn't traveled across the country to doubt myself on the sidewalk. I remembered Mom's text. Shoulders back. I straightened. Head high. I lifted my chin. Breathe. I inhaled slowly. Then exhaled. Better. I looked down at my audition folder. Amanda Laurel. Twenty-eight years old. Newark, New Jersey. Singer. Dancer. Songwriter. Dreamer. And hopefully, after today, something more. I'd imagined Marcus Cole hearing me sing and immediately recognizing what I could become. Maybe he'd lean toward whoever sat beside him and whisper, Where has she been? Maybe he'd offer me a contract. Maybe tonight I'd call Mom screaming so loudly she'd have to pull the phone away from her ear. Or maybe he'd simply tell me I had potential and invite me back. I wasn't expecting miracles. I just needed one chance. One person to listen. One open door. I'd do the rest. A young woman rushed past me toward the building carrying an audition folder almost identical to mine. Another hopeful. Then another. I noticed several more near the entrance. My stomach tightened. Competition. A lot of it. "Okay," I murmured. "They're talented too. Doesn't change what you can do." I pulled my suitcase behind me and started walking. Every step toward MC Records made my heartbeat louder. Thump. Thump. Thump. Years of preparation had brought me to this sidewalk. All those vocal exercises Mom had complained about hearing at seven in the morning. All those dance classes. All those bruised feet. All those competitions. All those nights I'd wondered whether chasing music was foolish. None of that mattered anymore. I was here. Whatever happened beyond those doors, I was going to give Marcus Cole everything I had. I stopped just outside the entrance. My reflection stared back at me from the glass. Cocoa-brown skin. Auburn-brown hair with blue highlights. Golden-hazel eyes that currently betrayed exactly how nervous I was. I smiled at myself. "You're Amanda Laurel." A few people glanced my way. I didn't care. "You came all the way from Newark for this." I tightened my grip on my audition folder. "So go audition." I stepped forward. The doors opened. Cold air swept across my face as I entered the massive lobby of MC Records. Marble floors gleamed beneath my feet. Gold records covered the walls. Photographs of famous artists stretched across towering displays. People hurried between elevators and hallways. Then I saw the audition line. My confidence almost packed its bags and caught the next bus back to Newark. There had to be hundreds of people. Maybe more. Singers. Dancers. Performers. Every one of them had probably sacrificed something to stand here. Every one of them wanted what I wanted. I swallowed. Then joined the line. The woman ahead of me glanced back. "First audition?" "Is that obvious too?" She laughed. "Only because you look like you're about to either conquer the world or throw up." "Could be both." She laughed again. I smiled, but my fingers tightened around the folder. Somewhere above us, Marcus Cole was waiting. The man whose opinion could change my life. I had no idea what kind of person he really was. I didn't know what was coming. I only knew I'd traveled nearly three thousand miles for the opportunity standing on the other side of this line. So I planted my suitcase beside me, lifted my chin, and waited. Because today Marcus Cole was going to learn my name. Amanda Laurel. And whatever happened next, I intended to make sure he remembered it.