#l8r.roxy

“Right, girls,” Mom announced from the kitchen. She had been clearing the dishwasher once she gave up on keeping the couch or floors crumb-free—an impossible task with how much aforementioned jumping, yelling, and hooting were involved. And still, every game night, she’d try. “I need to run a few late errands,” she continued. “Kendall? Give me a hand?”

Kendall glanced at the game. Any other day she would’ve bargained for one more goal, one more shot. But frankly, she was bored. So she shrugged off her thick Minnesota Wild jersey and threw it at the blanket pile in the corner sectional.

“Hey! I’m only on one life left!” Katie yelled from her wool-acrylic blend fortress. She shook the jersey off to reveal only her concentrated face and the thumbs mashing buttons on her DS. She then threw it down on her lap with a huge huff. “Dammit!”

“Language,” Mom warned, though she fondly shook her head. Then to the other two, “Girls, look after Katie.”

“Copy that, Mama Knight.” Logan and Carlota flashed a pair of thumbs ups. Their eyes stayed stuck to the plasma screen.

Kendall stared out the window as they drove towards the grocery store. Because of tonight’s game, they needed a top-up on snacks, Mom said, “Especially for your video shoot tomorrow.”

“We usually have a craft table on set, you know that, Mom.”

It was weird to think that just a month ago, all these sights were new, unfamiliar. The streetlights and shopfronts smeared into ribbons of colour, providing a visualiser for the love song currently crooning through the radio.

Why couldn’t they just have that—an abstract visualiser? Their voices were already attached to the suggestive lyrics. She didn’t need the world to also see her sway her hips and lay in undignified poses while mouthing along. Plus, it’ll be so much easier on Griffin’s deep, deep pockets—not that the current budget made any dent, Kendall imagined, being the fourth richest CEO of the world or whatever.

“So I heard you’re not happy with your new song,” Mom said, turning down the radio.

“Did Gustavo go to you?” Kendall groaned in her seat. “Mom, it’s fine, I’m doing it. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“So you want to do it?”

Silence.

“Honey,” Mom began, her gentle maternal tone caressing painfully between Kendall’s ribs, “I know you’re an independent girl and you’re used to solving your own problems, but please let me—”

“No, Mom,” Kendall sighed. She wanted nothing more than to fuse into the car upholstery, to have polyester plug her mouth and ears from this conversation. But last she heard, science hadn’t gotten that far yet. So Kendall was stuck there, in the car, on the highway, with Mom’s hurt look boring from the corner of her eye.

Fuck. It wasn’t a rejection, Kendall wanted to yell. Her sigh came out a huff but not to her mom’s offer but because there was just so much on her mind that she wouldn’t even know how to explain or express right and—

“No, I don’t want to,” Kendall finally pushed out. “But everyone in the band is cool with it,” and then quieter, “and everyone outside of it thinks it’s cool too.”

Mom quirked an eyebrow. “Since when did you, Kendall Donna Knight, care about being cool?”

After a rehearsal, Big Time Rush were going through their group choreo by the pool—three of them at least. Kendall was sat on a deck chair with her arms defiantly crossed over her chest. Camille took the vacant spot, the other girls guiding her through each step because “teaching is a great method of memorisation,” Logan vouched (though Kendall knew very well that Logan had the moves down already).

Halfway through the chorus, Jo came up to them with furrowed brows and a confused smile. “What are you guys doing?” she asked. “And why aren’t you joining in, Kendall?”

Kendall was ready to tell her all about it, from Griffin’s ridiculous ask for a single that’s “hot and sizzling!” to James’ infuriatingly efficient work ethic to provide just that. And oh, Jo wouldn’t believe how—

“Wait, that move was so cool! Teach me!”

Kendall shut up after that. She didn’t want to show her ass (both literally and figuratively) to Jo of all people. So she just sat down on it and let the complaints die in her throat. If the coolest girl she knew thought it was cool—and the other girls, of course—then maybe Kendall could suck it up and be cool with it too.

Which was too embarrassing to admit to her own mom. She didn’t need a lecture on the dangers of peer pressure or whatever. So instead, Kendall revealed the second more pressing truth.

“Because if I don’t do this, it’ll be the end of Big Time Rush,” she explained, just as Kelly did to her a few days ago. “I…” Kendall sighed. “I can’t do that to the band. I can’t crush their dreams—Roxy’s dream.”

Because that’s the whole reason Kendall did all this in the first place, wasn’t it? For Roxy? Kendall remembered just how crushed she was when Gustavo rejected her audition. And again when Kendall was chosen instead later that night.

Week after week, their future in Hollywood kept getting threatened by reasons outside their control. This one’s in their control—in Kendall’s control. And she can’t do that to the girls, especially Roxy, knowing what happened with her last band.

Mom shot a look. “You have to remember that you’re in this band too, honey.”

“I know, Mom, but—”

“No buts,” she interrupted. She was firm. She drummed her fingertips on the steering wheel before blowing out a breath. “I know when you were little, I wasn’t able to be there for you girls—”

“Mom, don’t say that—”

“But now I can,” she barrelled through. “And I’m here for you, Katie’s here for you. And so are your friends—especially your friends,” Mom continued. “So at the very least, talk to them, okay? To all of them.”

Kendall slumped back in her seat. “Fine,” she murmured. “I will.”

She won’t.

Kendall looked out as they rounded into the grocery store parking lot. Surprisingly, it was still fairly populated this late on a weekday. Her shifts back in Minnesota used to end earlier, and even then, her final hours were pretty slow. She didn’t miss it. She’d much rather be here with her friends. Even if it meant doing songs she hated and moves that made her want to crawl out of her skin.

“I promise you,” Mom said, setting the parking brake before looking right at Kendall. “They will understand.”

“She’s right, y’know.”

The two Knights screamed at the voice from the back seat.

“Katie!” Mom yelped, half scolding, half startled. “How did you—When did—Don’t scare us like that! What if we were on the road?”

“Which is why I waited til we parked?” An unsaid ‘duh’ ghosted the end of Katie’s statement. “Now can I please go to the toilet? I drank too much juice and now I really really need to go.”

Katie plead innocence with a jut of her lip and big watery eyes that shone even under the shadow of night. The parking lot floodlights bounced just the right angles under the cover of the vehicle, reminding them of the little girl she was.

Mom exhaled a sigh of resignation. There was no use arguing about it, not to her baby girl, and not right then. And she certainly didn’t want to lose the deposit for the rental car. She looked over to her eldest. “Kendall?” She motioned.

That was permission enough.

Katie shot off for the toilets, her stepped-in sneakers squeaking past staring shoppers and tired clerks, with her sister right on her tail—just until the stall door slammed shut.

“Don’t listen to me pee.”

“I can’t not listen to you pee. What, you want me to wait outside? ‘Cause I can.”

“No! Stay. Turn on the tap, sing—something.”

Kendall rolled her eyes yet entertained her little sister all the same, just as she had for over nine whole years. She’d been wrapped around Katie’s little finger even before they were long enough to fully grip hers. And they both knew it.

Kendall ran her fingers under the running water, babbling out a melody and eventually some half-coherent lyrics about peeing. She didn’t bother telling Katie that her business was still audible.

“We all need a spot to piss, no buts about it. No bu-utts,” Kendall sang, “Piss.”

“That’s so gross,” Katie chided, despite the childish grin on her face when she left the stall.

Kendall snorted. “And the giant turd song was fine?”

It’s a good shout that she and the rest of her bandmates were relieved from songwriting. Their whole discography would’ve all been about bodily excretions. Kendall used to balk at the idea of singers who don’t compose their own lyrics. She also used to balk at the whole concept of girl groups, yet here she was in one.

Katie took over the open tap with her now sudsy hands. “So, what’s the plan?” she asked. She had that familiar twinkle in her eye, the one that meant she was ready to do something rule-breaking—potentially law-breaking—and was equally ready to wiggle out of each and every one of them.

“Katie,”—and Kendall hated to put it out— “There is no plan.”

“But—”

“No buts, Katie.”

“What? No, but you said—”

“No buts.” Kendall repeated, more firmly this time.

Katie’s eyes flicked back and forth, scanning every bit of Kendall’s stern look. Until finally, sensing her defeat, Katie looked away with a huff. “Piss,” she grumbled under her breath.

Thanks to her assigned verse (and general stompy demeanour through the whole process), Kendall didn’t have to dance with a partner. At least, not all the way through. Her only bit of partnerwork was pushing away “this one boy” as per the lyrics James so kindly wrote for them, a move she was a little too happy to do in rehearsals. Her dance partner later informed her of the concept of blocking.

“To save energy, dancers don’t go full out every time,” he explained.

A bit passive aggressive, sure, but Kendall meant to get him an apology gift card. It was just one time—she didn’t mean to elbow him so hard. In her defence, Mr X didn’t warn that they’ll be going full-speed and not half- like they’ve been rehearsing. She was too focused on not smashing her knees when dropping into her twist-half-squat thing (she had to do some floorwork to compensate for the lack of “dynam-X,” in the words of Mr X, who then uncrossed his arms and shimmied away).

“Cut!” the director yelled. He motioned for his assistant to rub his temples.

Griffin’s budget landed them with an experienced music video director, “the biggest in the business,” apparently. But he’s also the biggest pain in the ass, having the most bizarre demands for a light to be turned half a degree to the left, the music a decibel higher, his water a unit fresher (whatever that means).

Griffin didn’t seem fazed. He was for some reason posted up in his own little director’s chair a little further back, most probably directing his own bizarre demands to his personal posse. He was happy to hand the reins to this bigshot director, silently overlooking the whole thing—perhaps having learnt from their near-disaster of a photoshoot weeks ago (Kendall doubted it). But as difficult as it was to work with Marcos Del Posey, he at least treated them like people.

“You, blondie,” the director barked, talking at Kendall than to her. He even snapped his fingers at her, like she was some sort of dog with no grasp on language nor the shit spewing from his mouth. “Look more… alive. From the top!”

“Actually, let’s take five,” Kelly interjected. He didn’t like that, but had the humility and self-preservation instincts to shrink under her glare. “Logan, warm up,” she instructed. “We’ll do your backflip takes while your stamina’s still up.”

From her final position on the floor, Kendall sighed, letting her overworked muscles slacken until she was flat on her back. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eye sockets, hoping it’ll squeeze down all the frustration foaming up behind them.

It didn’t.

Kendall’s view of the unremarkable steel rafters was then blocked by a hand. It helped her up to her feet.

“On the real takes is when you go full out.”

“Yes, I got that, Cameron,” Kendall said through gritted teeth. “Thank you.”

Cameron flashed a smile that’s just begging to be elbowed before regrouping with the other dancers.

And they said Kendall was difficult to work with.

As she trudged behind the director’s chair, Kendall caught a glimpse of her last take replaying on his monitor. She looked like an actual popstar. Mostly thanks to makeup and wardrobe, who adorned her with twinkly powders and trendy pieces, bibbidi bobbidi booing her into a girl many back in Minnesota seemed to effortlessly emulate.

Every lunch, Kendall would pass by her classmates poring over the latest issues of Top Pop Tiger Teeny Bopper Gasp! magazine. The next day they’d return looking like a Top Pop Teen that had strutted straight out of the pages. With BTR’s recent centrefold feature, Kendall realised that she’s now one of them.

She frowned.

She shoved her arms into the giant button-up by the craft table. “So you don’t stain your video outfits,” Kelly explained earlier, which Kendall thought was stupid. Who at their age couldn’t drink bottled fruit water without getting it all over themselves?

Kendall Knight, apparently.

One moment she had a mouthful of the overpriced sugar water when out of nowhere, she was ambushed with a tsunami of questions.

“Kendall, what’s going on?”

“Are you hurt? Did you get an injury?”

“Do you need to go over the choreo? We could ask Mr X.”

As she coughed and sputtered, Kendall’s gaze followed Carlota’s finger over Logan’s lunges and toward their choreographer. He’s doing a solo salsa across the warehouse floor. Or was it a merengue? Kendall couldn’t care less.

“Guys, I’m fine,” Kendall wheezed out, accepting the napkin Roxy handed her. And she was fine, before she had to hack out diluted dye from her airways. “And nothing’s going on,” she reassured them, dabbing at the overshirt before it soaked through. “I’m doing the right moves at the right time, aren’t I?”

How could she not? When Mr X was behind the cameras blocking the mirrored moves back to her. At least, it might’ve been blocking? His full-out body rolls and sharp transitions suggest otherwise. And not to mention all the scatting that had been burned right into Kendall’s brain (tch-tch-ah! And one, two, push and turn-down!).

“I guess you’re right, but...” Roxy hesitated, sharing a look with the other two. “You’re missing the fire.”

Kendall scrunched her nose. “The... fire?”

Kendall knew what Roxy meant. To be honest, she had found herself spacing out all day. Each time the playback started, her conscious mind just shut off to let muscle memory take over. With how many times Mr X had them run it, you bet every joint and fibre in her body remembered, even when her skull felt full of ash.

The fire was what got her here. The fire caught Gustavo’s eye. But it was also what slowed them down. That’s just what Kendall does, she’d defy Gustavo and rile him up just because. Most of the time it was well deserved—Kendall’s just standing up for her friends. Other times… well, she’s not above that. But today she figured she’d save him the headache—he probably needed it.

Kendall snuck a glance Gustavo’s way. His lips continued flapping at Kelly and James, the latter two doing their best to calm him down. Gustavo’s voice stayed a stunningly low decibel (for once, he wasn’t yelling for the whole of California to hear), yet the signature scowl remained. Kendall blinked. Guess he’s just like that.

“Are you sure there’s nothing?” Logan pressed, now jogging in place.

“You know you could tell us anything, right?” added Roxy.

Carlota nodded. “Yeah. Like, it was kinda weird last night when you didn’t—"

“Stop the production!”

All heads whipped to the source.

Kendall was thankfully relieved from the heat of the interrogation lamp. But the dial of the thermostat continued to go lower and lower as realisation steeped in. Kendall was frozen. She couldn’t even react when a light guy muttered, “who the hell is that?”

In marched Katie wearing a matching two-piece suit and an official looking briefcase in hand, followed by Mom in a more casual attire, clearly struggling to keep up with her daughter’s strides, yet walked with a certain swagger Kendall was certain she’d been instructed to embody. And finally, tailing both of them was Freight Train.

“Sorry, boss. I couldn’t stop them,” said the hulking bodyguard to Gustavo’s deepening frown.

Kelly, perhaps sensing the shitshow about to happen, immediately took action. “Katie, this is not the time,” she hissed, tilting her head Griffin’s way.

“Ah, Mr Griffin. Just the man I want to see.” Katie swiftly dodged Kelly’s attempts at blocking and approached the CEO with an outstretched hand. “Katie Knight, Knight Management. You’re making the biggest financial mistake of your life.”

Katie then prattled on about target demographics, internal market research, core consumer bases, ultimate buying power—all these big corporate buzzwords Kendall couldn’t help but tune out, even at the few big girl roundtable meetings Gustavo let them sit in (at one point, Katie even mentioned aliens—Kendall’s still trying to figure out what that had to do with anything).

From wardrobe to lighting, dancers to runners, and not least of all, CEO Arthur Griffin himself; everyone raptly watched the nine-year-old present all her findings, supported by supplemental graphs and documents. Katie commanded the room as if she was thrice her age, twice her height, with one hell of an attitude—the last of which she clearly already had.

“These parents,” Katie continued, gesturing to a flowchart, “they’ll smear, not only Big Time Rush, but the rest of RCM CBT Globalnet Sanyoid’s musical acts. Then the electronics, home appliances, missile defence systems. And that’s bye bye to your place as fourth most powerful CEO in America.” Katie dramatically ripped and balled up a magazine cover with Griffin’s face on it. “You’ll be lucky to just slide to fifth.”

Griffin nodded. “I hate prime numbers.”

Watching Katie in her element, Kendall felt the warmth of pride wash over, thawing her paralysed muscles. But the dial of the thermostat continued to go higher and higher as realisation steeped in. It was getting hard to breathe.

Kendall quietly excused herself and slipped outside. She almost collapsed onto the metal railing by the doors.

It’s all over.

It’s actually over.

A Griffin’s not gonna barge through those doors being all, “Actually, it’s not over because I don’t have the final say—a chimp does.” The only primate they need to convince this time round was Arthur Griffin, and he just received very compelling evidence to shut this whole shit down.

Kendall drummed her fingertips on the railing and blew out a breath. When their demos were accepted, and they found out they could stay in Los Angeles, Kendall remembered the relief on Mom’s face, of not having to work long hours again; Katie, to stay where she finally felt she thrived; the girls, to continue chasing this dream; and…

“Did you hear? We’re not doing the song anymore.” The heavy door slammed shut behind James.

Kendall’s gaze stayed at the distance.

“Hello? Did you hear me? You got what you wanted. We’re not doing the—”

Kendall just grunted.

In return, James scoffed. “Why are you so mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Then why are you yelling?!” No, she wasn’t. “Why do you hate the song so much? Why do you hate m—”

“Because I’m not ready!” And this time Kendall did yell, finally facing the boy. “To be seen like…—I basically had to be a second mother, while my own was busting her ass off waiting tables to put food on ours. And I love her—I really do—she did her best and made it work. But I had to grow up quick. For Mom, for Katie. Especially after my dad—” Kendall swallowed. She finally registered the look on James’ face. She finally registered his presence.

Maybe she shouldn’t have spewed all that.

Kendall turned away, embarrassed. Then, in a smaller voice, clarified, “I’m not ready to be seen as… a woman.”

The admission was met with quiet. The rustle of leaves, the rumble of engines, and the ruffle of feathers all worked together to mask the small “oh” from behind her.

 “It doesn’t matter anyway.” Kendall sniffed. “We’re not gonna be seen as anything when we go back to Minnesota.”

“Hold on, Kendall, what are you talking about?”

Kendall should’ve known better than to doubt her sister. To the undisclosed amount allocated to the project, Katie made sure it won’t go to waste. She suggested giving the song to Kidzie Channel alum Serena R. Pender, who just signed to Rocque Records with hopes of breaking out of her clean, shiny family-friendly box. The actress-turned-singer apparently loved the snippet Katie sent and was excited to get her vocals on it—with Griffin’s blessing.

“I’m getting my first writing credit outside BTR!” James beamed. “So Griffin better not kick us out just yet.”

“We’re staying,” Kendall breathed. She couldn’t believe it. How many more close calls would they run into before their luck ran out? Or before her body gave out—whichever came first. Either way, at that moment, Kendall was eternally grateful to get to stay at her new home with her mom, her sister, and all her friends beside her, old and new.

Speaking of which...

“So…” Kendall innocently began. “Roxy, huh?”

James’ head snapped up. “What?”

“Who you’re thinking of every night? That you can’t sleep?”

“Oh my god, Kendall, shut up.”

 “Walked in…” She sighed dreamily. “Dream-came-trued it for—ow!” Even with the slight throb of pain on her arm, Kendall couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that escaped her.

Beside her, James cradled his face in his hands, as if Kendall hadn’t already seen how red it turned. “Can you go back to being mad at me?” he groaned. “I wish we never made up.”

“No, you don’t.” Kendall grinned.

“No, I don’t.” James repeated, a wide smile mirrored on his own face.

He stopped himself. James’ eyes dart to the shifting security guards by the door. One wrong move and they will not hesitate to throw him and his dream out the door, down the drain, and all other relevant idioms that had escaped his mind at that moment.

He can’t get rejected. He’s James Diamond, for god’s sake! This Diamond’s too big for Minnesota, he’d always said. It would then be followed by supportive shoulder claps and the occasional “hell yeah, brother!”

And to reject him in his lucky white v-neck? Not cool. Should he not have worn his ultra-cool Hollywood-ready blazer jacket? Was an extra layer of fabric interfering with its luck?

He reached between the unbuttoned garment to wipe a sweaty palm on the white cotton-polyester blend. Before he could, the fabric snagged onto a corner of plastic. His eyes widen.

If he can’t be a star, he’d take any ticket out of the Midwest.

So James took out from his jacket – slowly, as to not startle the intimidating security guards – a hastily put together CV and portfolio. He handed it off to Gustavo Rocque and the woman beside him (his assistant?), all the while nervously rambling of its contents: every school performance he’d done, every bar and bat mitzvah he’d DJ’d (rounded up to the next… 10), his inflated familiarity with audio equipment.

He also went on about the transcriptions of the best five songs he’d written, attached with a CD containing recordings of said songs played on the piano. And that he can play the piano. And the guitar (he could strum, like, four chords, but with a capo, he’s practically set for any radio-quality pop song).

“And so because of that, I think—I know I would be a great asset to Rocque Records,” was the only thing James remembered saying despite the avalanche of words that preceded it. “Sir,” he quickly added.

Okay, so maybe rejection had crossed his mind before facing Gustavo Rocque, just long enough to put the folder together. But he wasn’t willing to admit it back then, instead choosing to continue living in delusion.

James gulped. His usual confident demeanour was gone. His gaze flicked to the security guards.

The open plastic folder.

Gustavo Rocque’s permanent scowl.

His 8”x10” personalised headshots on the ground.

The woman muttering something or another to the uncharacteristically quiet producer.

Then finally, “Go wait in the lobby.”

So James Diamond left the audition room with… hope? Did he dare entertain the possibility that his dream of going to Hollywood might actually become a reality? Gustavo didn’t say no, but he didn’t say yes either. The sight of upset rejected auditionees milling about the space almost sobered him.

“YOU.” James snapped back to reality to an angry blonde girl storming right up to him. “It was funny, wasn’t it? Turning the sprinklers on?” Her lips were stretched into a smile too wide, as if daring him to laugh. The look in her eyes said it’d be a bad idea. “We had to miss half our practice because of you.”

“I—um, I mean it wasn’t—it was more of my friends’ idea and—”

She scoffed. “Of course! ‘Cause James Diamond can do no wrong! Well listen here, you little—”

“Kendall!” Carlota Garcia waved her over from the sign-up desk, beside Logan Mitchell and another girl James didn’t recognise. The woman from earlier was quickly approaching the girls with a stack of fresh sign-up sheets.

Kendall Knight jabbed a threatening finger two inches from his face. “This conversation isn’t over.” She huffed and rushed back towards her friends.

As the talent scout gave all four girls a number and a sheet, James tried to catch her eye for any hints if not a straight up answer. Had they decided? How long was he supposed to wait? Was this one of those things where they never call you back if you weren’t accepted?

“810,” she announced before retreating back into the theatre. She didn’t even glance his way.

“James!” Carlota greeted, an 812 now proudly stuck on her shirt. Tucked under one arm was the black helmet James swore she never leaves home without, even to all the house parties he’d seen her at. “Sorry for almost busting your face open with a hockey stick. Hopefully the rest of you won’t bruise too badly.” She grinned sheepishly.

“Oh, uh. Apology accepted,” James said, because what are you supposed to say to that?

To be fair, she did seem genuinely apologetic. Even if earlier that afternoon Carlota had the loudest battle cry and was in the frontlines as the entire girls’ field hockey team descended upon James and his friends (rightfully so).

Carlota sat next to her friends, bar Logan, then patted the empty seat beside her. James quickly glanced a few chairs over at Kendall who’s pretending not to care. Though it’s not fun to face the wrath of Kendall Knight, captain of said girls’ field hockey team, his other option was to wait alone surrounded by people whose dreams were definitely crushed. With his own fate up in the air, he can’t be around all that negative energy. So James gingerly accepted her offer.

Carlota poked the 809 stuck to his chest. “So how’d it go? Is he nice?”

“Well…”

The doors clicked open. Carlota shot up from her seat. Logan emerged from the audition room visibly shaken up. “He’s satan,” she reported with a trembling hiss before curling up into Carlota’s chair. They never ran in the same circles, but James had seen Logan freak out before presentations, and then crushing it (he predicts her future valedictorian speech will go the same). To his memory, she was never this affected.

“I’m gonna need another minute,” the new girl muttered. Her 811 sticker looked lopsided as she tensely leaned back into her chair.

“811? 811’s up.” James tried once again to get the woman’s attention. He was once again ignored.

“Hey, you got this!” Carlota said encouragingly. The girl was frozen in her seat. It didn’t seem like she got it. With a curt nod from Kendall, Carlota swiftly swapped numbers with the girl. “I got this.” Carlota put on her helmet and smacked the side of it. She then shot playful finger guns to the rest of them, clearly undeterred by her friend’s testimony.

The doors closed behind her with a bang. It seemed to echo around the space, now quiet, unlike earlier when it had been filled with the nervous energy of hundreds of hopeful applicants. It was now filled by the nervous energy of two – or one, as Kendall managed to comfort Logan from a full on breakdown over the other girl’s paralysed body.

James shifted in his seat. Without Carlota as a balm, he felt out of place. Which felt wrong. He’d arguably been the most popular guy of their year for a few years now, and so being the odd one out felt… odd.

He cleared his throat. “So are you gonna introduce us?” he said, referring to the still frozen girl. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at Mountain Aire before.”

“Roxy?” Logan’s eyebrows furrowed, confused. James blinked. “Roxanne Somerset,” she repeated, as if James was supposed to know. When he still clearly didn’t, she added, “She’s been at Mountain Aire since the start of the semester.”

“Yeah,” Kendall scoffed. “You literally have chemistry together.”

“You think so? I mean, obviously I’m irresistible. And I guess with a pretty girl like her…” Ever the chronic flirt, James couldn’t help but take the accidental set up. The corner of his mouth curled into the smirk he’d perfected as soon as puberty hit and he shot up a foot taller.

He at least had the decency to falter a little when the new girl broke from her catatonic state to shoot him a bewildered look, one that perfectly encapsulated the sentiment of “seriously?”

Kendall had a similar look. “Not the fucking time, Diamond.”

The doors open, Carlota practically bouncing out of them despite the yelling emanating from within. “Not going to Hollywood!” she announced with a giant grin.

The talent scout emerged once again. “812.” She looked straight at Roxy. James had given up on getting her attention. “812 is next,” she said pointedly.

Roxy crumpled and gasped for air. “I don’t think I can do this,” she said. “Thank you guys, for coming all this way with me, but I don’t think I’m what they’re—”

Kendall clamped onto Roxy’s shoulders, forcing her to sit up straight. “Rox, this is your dream,” Kendall said. She looked straight into her friend’s eyes to make sure each and every word was received.

There was a reason Kendall Knight’s the captain of the MAHS girls’ field hockey team. She’s great at the sport, sure, but more important was her ability to instill confidence in others. She had a gift of making you believe you can make it through the end of the world alive. And maybe even make you see that the world wasn’t ending after all.

“Now grab that opportunity with both hands and go big time!” Kendall practically shoved Roxy through the doors. The girl stumbled a little (Kendall clearly overshot it with her hockey player’s strength) but walked the rest of the way with her head held high.

When the door fully shut, Kendall turned to the rest of them. “Now how do we get in?”

The group managed to sneak in through the back without attracting attention from security (turned out they were only posted at the front door—a lousy job on the venue’s part, James thought). James had every intention to stay back in case the talent scout or Gustavo Rocque himself came out to look for him. But Carlota had a tight grip on his arm and so it didn’t seem like he had a choice.

They settled in behind a row of seats halfway down the theatre. As Roxy started singing, James’ ears perked up. If he ended up getting rejected over her, he’d be disappointed of course, but he’d honestly understand. She looked like she belonged up there on stage – a bigger one even, with a whole crowd of people screaming her name, singing the lyrics back to her. There’s no way Gustavo would—

But he did. A barrage of insults poured out of his mouth one after the next after the next after the next. Roxy stood frozen in the centre of the stage, mouth gaping open at every insult slung her way. “Because YOU,” Gustavo yelled, “have NO TALENT!”

“No talent?! No talent?!” Before any of them could process what was happening, Kendall was up and out of her hiding spot, marching right up to the front. The rest of them simply watched as Kendall gave the producer a taste of his own medicine. She insulted his lack of recent success, mocked his last big hit. She even went as far as jumping onto the table, kicking all the stuff off it (James hoped none of them were his folder).

“Hey, here’s a new hit for ya! Oh, you’re such a turd! Oh yeah, a giant turd! And you look like a turd, and you smell like a—let go of me!”

James didn’t think—he didn’t have to. What else was he meant to do but rush down the aisle and attempt to break Kendall free from the security guards’ grasp? Before long, the rest of their party were also caught in the tussle of limbs and war cries and threats of violence.

The party soon grew bigger when the cops showed up.

-

The teens were all eventually escorted to Kendall’s house. Thankfully, no charges were pressed against them, much to Logan’s relief, who all the way had been muttering anxiously of juvie and community service and permanent records.

They stood before the modest two-storey home, each of them chattering partly from the biting Minnesota chill, but mostly nerves. The door opened. Before Kendall could say anything to smooth over what’s clearly an incriminating situation, her mom beat her to it.

“James?”

“Hi, Mrs Knight.”

After a quick group interrogation and a reprise of the giant turd song to an audience of one (Kendall’s little sister insisted), James found himself standing outside the bathroom door. A set of multicoloured lines etched by the doorway caught his eye – a height chart. He ran a finger up the entire length, as if strumming a rotated harp, from pinks to a mix of greens and purples. He stopped at the topmost line. The green mark fell right by his shoulders.

He quickly dropped his hand when he heard footsteps approaching. It was Roxy. She was pacing back and forth deep in her thoughts.

“Hey,” James said.

Roxy startled. She realised she wasn’t alone. “Hi.”

They stared at each other.

She blinked. “Sorry, I should—”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. No? I don’t know.” She sighed. She leaned against the wall and examined the family photos across her. Kendall in her hockey gear, Katie with a missing tooth, the three Knights with their arms around each other. Roxy tilted her head. “What if he’s right?”

“What?”

“Gustavo. Should’ve known I’m not cut out for Hollywood.” She chuckled dryly. “It’s sweet the others pushed me to audition, but shouldn’t I have learned by now? How brutal the music industry is? From dad? From…” Her face settled into a frown. She swallowed. “What if I really have no talent?”

“Hey.” James’ voice was stern. “You are talented. Gustavo’s a giant idiot not to see that. The biggest giantest turd, if you will.”

James wasn’t sure Roxy was convinced (he was no Kendall Knight), but it at least elicited a smile.

The doorbell rang.

“Hey, come on.” James motioned to the living room. “Let’s get back to the others.”

What they didn’t expect was for Gustavo Rocque to get back to them.

-

They finally landed at LAX. It had been a turbulent journey – both literally and figuratively.

Logan and Carlota went to the bathroom to help Roxy through her motion sickness. Mrs Knight had gone to buy her whatever might be useful, and Katie joined to look at keychains. Which left James and Kendall to keep guard of the bags.

They sat in silence.

It was awkward.

The two hadn’t really talked since they bumped into each other at the grocery store, where Kendall successfully negotiated for Gustavo to extend his initial offer to her (with James as her assistant) to all four of them as a girl group (with James as their assistant).

When Kendall first rejected her ticket to Hollywood, thus by extension rescinding James’, he had been pissed. He was ready to never see Kendall ever again and live the rest of his life in bitter misery. And so a few… choice words were exchanged between them that night outside the Knights’ humble abode. No one was more surprised than James when his name was tacked on the end of Kendall’s final deal with the producer.

James couldn’t take the silence. He made a comment on the newsstand in their line of vision. Something about Joey Carmichael from first grade? Kendall shot back to defend Joey’s name even though neither of them have seen him since then. They bantered comfortably back and forth for a moment before the laughter eventually petered out.

Awkwardness seeped back in.

Silence weighed down on them.

James debated whether to bring up what he said the night of the audition. They were brutal. And so were Kendall’s words – they unfortunately knew just which bruises to poke. James knew she didn’t really mean them and very quickly forgave her. He wasn’t sure if she felt the same. He opened his mouth.

“Katie missed you,” Kendall said. Her tone was flat. She kept her gaze forward.

“Oh yeah?” James said instead. He didn’t miss the way Katie practically ran down the stairs when she heard him at their front door that night. Or how every time she stretched her legs on the flight, she stopped by his aisle almost as often as she did her own sister’s. Guilt tugged at his gut.

Kendall hummed. “So did my mom.”

James observed the new wave of passengers passing by. Families, businessmen, wide eyed teens and young adults with guitar cases on their backs hoping to get their big break – not unlike themselves.

“Did you?” he wanted to ask. Did she ever think of him? Did she ever think of how much he fucked up? Pushing her away at a time he really needed a friend? Destroying the only constant in his life when so many changes were happening, from voice cracks to growth spurts to his parents’ eventual divorce. Did Kendall ever think of how much he missed her?

All these words and more danced at the back of his throat, all of them refusing to come out. But finally, after too long a pause, he mustered enough courage to stutter out a “Did—”

“You? Surviving a zombie apocalypse? Don’t be ridiculous.” Logan, Roxy and Carlota finally returned. Roxy chugging a bottle of water looking a little rough, the other two locked in a heated debate over their friend’s head. Logan turned to the two of them. “Kendall, tell Carlota it’s impossible to survive a zombie apocalypse with just a jetpack.”

Carlota groaned. “Look, I’m just saying, if I had one, a zombie apocalypse wouldn’t even be—”

Kendall ignored them. “Hey, Rox, you good?”

Roxy unhooked her arm from Logan’s to sit on Kendall’s other side. She leaned her head on the blonde’s shoulder. “I’m just so glad we’re finally here.” Her voice was weak, but the awe and excitement of being so close to Hollywood was still clear. It was clear on all their faces.

Kendall patted Roxy’s hand. “And I’m glad to be here with all of you.” Everyone exchanged smiles and echoed her sentiment. Kendall’s gaze stayed on her hands.

Carlota then slung an arm over Logan’s shoulders and lifted her half-full water bottle in a toast. “Here’s to the beginning of our musical journey!”

And of course James had to reply to every single one of them (what? It’d be rude not to). More often than not, a simple reply would spiral into full on conversations about a video game they both play, an obscure cartoon they both grew up watching, or the best hairstyling products to wear on screen (who knew Dak Zevon was a Cuda fan too?). The text chains only stop when they have a responsibility to get back to, or if one of them fell asleep mid-convo.

James found these conversations to be helping—really. When you’re talking about the most menial everyday things, like which LA pizza chain was the best (Panucci’s, obviously), it was easier to see Dak as just another guy who happened to work in Hollywood, rather than Dak Zevon, Varsity Vampire star – untouchable, larger than life, crushed on by every teen and tween attuned even a little bit to pop culture.

Which James was not one of. Not anymore.

Yo u at the palm woods? D.

Yeah whats up?

“James,” Bitters called, stopping him in his tracks.

James sighed. What trouble have the girls gotten up to this time? He ignored the incoming texts for now and dragged his feet to the front desk, not before sending one last longing look to the pool chair calling his name. He double checked for the Rocque Records company card in his pockets.

Turned out, this time, there weren’t any complaints filed against the group of teens. Nor any exorbitant damage fees to be paid (James suspected Bitters upcharged them compared to if any other Palm Woods guest had done it – maybe he’ll get Logan on the case).

“Delivery came for you,” Bitters said, already disinterested in the conversation. He then took out a lush bouquet of flowers, which James only had a moment to admire before it was slammed onto the desk with a hefty thump. A few red petals fluttered off.

“What—is this a prank? I wasn’t expecting anything.” James carefully scooped up the beautifully wrapped bouquet to prevent any further damage. And to inspect it for any fart bombs, fake spiders, or at least some indication of who could’ve sent it.

There’s a card. And the initials on it made his stomach flip.

“I don’t know. I don’t care.” Bitters already had his crossword puzzle out. “Delivery guy said it’s from Zac Efron or whatever.” He waved James off.

James probably said a quick thank you, he wasn’t sure, and headed towards the general direction of the elevators – he wasn’t sure about that either, but he must’ve since he ended up in one of them. He was dazed. James checked again.

His stomach flipped again.

The swoopy messy calligraphy on the outside of the card definitely read ‘D.z.’

The buzzing in his pockets didn’t do much other than remind him of the texts he missed.

Sent some flowers

Thought i’d be all cute and have it sent right outside the door

But the delivery guy couldn’t go up past the lobby

Palm woods policy or something? I dunno

They said its at reception

James’ head continued to spin. It was getting hard to read the texts. Or anything, really. The fragrant roses right by his face were not helping.

He sent a selfie of himself cradling the bouquet, kissing the flower heads like a mother would a baby. He hoped it was a silly enough composition to mask the blaring “what the fuck”s  circling round his head. It was probably evident on his face too.

Pretty right? Dak responded almost instantly. So can you drop it by roxy’s door? I wanna surprise her.

That immediately grounded him.

Of course. James side eyed the pretty flower arrangement. Of course it was.

Despite his illuminating insight the night of the date, James still would rather not hear about Dak’s budding relationship. He thought it’d be hard to avoid since he’s kind of contractually obligated to be around the girl group, which of course, included the other half of that relationship. But much to his relief, Roxy seemed to be hesitant to talk about it. Probably because it was so new.

And the other girls weren’t exactly the best at girl talk, at least from what James observed from their weekly movie nights. Every time a romcom comes on, Logan would spout her illogical “logical arguments on love theory”, whatever that is. Kendall would announce “dump him!” at every misstep the male love interest made as if booing the opposition team of a sports game. Whilst on the other end of the spectrum was Carlota, who’d get distraught at even the side couples breaking up for any misstep big or small, because “love’s meant to be stronger than that!”

Yeah, James wouldn’t go to them for dating advice either (…if he had any dates to get advice on).

On the other hand, it seemed like Dak made it his mission to make it as hard as possible for James. They’d just be having a vulnerable conversation on how frustrating it was to live up to familial success (his mom, for James; his medical drama actor brother, for Dak), then suddenly Dak would bring up Roxy out of the blue and rope James into similarly confusing wingman-like activities. He’s already got the charm, the reputation, the girl – what more could James possibly offer?

Take for example the night before. Dak arrived very late to 2J’s party-not-party get-together, long after it had migrated to the pool. He insisted on spending the entire time hanging around James – which was fine, Dak didn’t really know anyone else at the Palm Woods. They were probably three topics in when Dak brought up if James would be mad if he were in Roxy’s shoes or if he should’ve just not come at all. With the dark sunglasses permanently perched on his nose, he might as well not have been, as Roxy only found him ten minutes before the not-party finally died down. Dak dipped shortly after, something about paparazzi and early call-times, which Roxy was understandably upset about.

Hence, today’s surprise.

James was about to ding dong ditch, drop the gift off like Dak intended. But unfortunately for lover boy, the door to apartment 2J clicked open before he could. So James simply held out the bunch of flowers.

Roxy remained frozen at the doorway. She did not make any move to accept it. “Roses?” she asked, as if it wasn’t obvious. She continued to stare at it, stunned. It was starting to weigh James’ arms down. “For…” Roxy cleared her throat, then said slowly, “who’s it from?”

“Who else?” James replied. It came out more clipped than he intended. He pushed his way inside to join the others and passed the bouquet to its intended recipient. A few red petals fluttered off.

James flopped onto the orange couch and observed the arts and crafts session before him. He mindlessly picked up a glitter-glued colander, to which Katie instantly barked at him to put down. The other girls, upon seeing the roses in Roxy’s arms, abandoned their work to tease her. Roxy fended them off as she looked for a vase to put them in.

James wasn’t upset that Dak’s dating someone – really, he wasn’t. He’s happy that they’re even friends, that Dak trusts him enough to divulge into his private life, to bring James out on a personalised midnight tour of the city after a stressful day of shooting—Dak even revealed his favourite spot to watch the light-polluted yet breath taking Los Angeles skyline (… before inevitably asking if it would be a great date spot, in James’ opinion).

In hindsight, all that anger and bitterness towards the new couple stemmed from embarrassment, if anything. It’s laughable, to think that Dak would even consider James as anything more. While James had managed to woo a few people at the Palm Woods, none of them really went anywhere beyond that. Back in Minnesota, he had dates like every other week. Since moving, he had none.

Except for that one date with Roxy. Which was fake. They only pretended to be together to chase off some new boyband at Galactic Records who couldn't take no for an answer – that was until another dude was involved (this was before Dak even came into the picture which was why James stepped up to the role).

And then the next day with Jo, when those same boys shifted their sights on a new victim. But Jo basically laughed him off when James put an arm around her shoulder, then reassured him that she got it. Guess she did, as she and Kendall concocted a scheme which ended with the boys literally having their asses kicked. James was surprised to learn that it was Jo doing the ass kicking and not Kendall as he first thought.

And maybe James wasn’t really over the whole Hollywood dream, like he said he was. There was a part of him that fantasised of being on an established celebrity’s arm thus catapulting him to stardom (he technically wouldn’t be stealing the girls’ spotlight, like Gustavo warned him against, if he was brought under someone else’s). He thought maybe then he could skip all the gruelling work of constantly proving themselves to CEOs, businessmen, and at one point an actual ape, so he could finally reap the rewards of fame – for Big Time Rush too (that part didn’t cross his mind until much later, but he had to convince himself otherwise to not feel as big of a selfish prick).

But maybe his future as a celebutante wasn’t over. James cherished the friendship they’re building, don’t get him wrong, but perhaps he could two-birds-one-stone it and be the Kim K to Dak’s Paris Hilton – without the leaked sex tape part, thank you very much.

Because who even was James Diamond if no one wanted to be him, be with him, or gained a raging bloodlust to destroy him after failing the first two?

-

It was finally the last day of school and they were having the first ever Palm Woods school dance. In true Big Time Rush fashion, the role of dance committee fell to the five of them. In truer Big Time Rush fashion, the responsibility ended up falling to just James and Kendall. The others decided they had more important things to do like finding dates, maintaining dates, shopping – whatever.

James didn’t have time for any of that. He had to uphold his reign as Hollywood Super Party King of Hollywood. And for that to happen, he needed to throw the most memorable and epic party the Palm Woods student body will ever see – or as epic as last-minute planning, adult chaperones, and it being an official school event allowed it be. In just a few hours, they had a fully decorated venue (Studio A of Rocque Records), a decked-out snack table (thanks to Jo, though James had to vet every option), a choreographed live performance by Big Time Rush (Gustavo had Mr X chase each girl down with 16 counts of choreo) – he even wore a horse head for Logan’s sake.

And it was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

“Victoria Hodgekiss?!” James cried in anguish. He paced along the length of the control room. “Victoria fucking Hodge—” he took a breath. “She might be a perfectly nice person actually.”

Roxy let out a sigh as long as it took to revolve a full 360° in one of the spinny chairs. “Why are you more fired up than I am? I’m the one going through a breakup here,” she said flatly.

“Yeah, well, I can’t get mad on your behalf?” James sputtered. He felt his face heat up. “Plus, someone has to since you’re so weirdly calm about it.”

The “it” he’s referring to was the scene that went down just 20 minutes ago. In his attempts to help Logan ask Camille out (before getting shooed off because “it’s different for a boy!”), James accidentally asked seven other girls, all of whom unhappy with the misunderstanding and collectively decided to chase him down. This time, while no hockey sticks were involved, some of them had stilettos on. And James wasn’t in the mood to find out which was worse. So he took refuge in Gustavo’s office.

Which turned out to be occupied by Roxy, Dak, and a highly incriminating E! News headline.

“You’ve got to believe me—she means nothing to me. Victoria—it’s just a PR stunt. James, tell her!” Dak’s eyes were wide, almost pleading. James almost felt sorry for him. But the confusing cocktail of emotions rumbling in his gut (none of them good) was much stronger than whatever shred of sympathy the boy before him was begging for.

“I think we’re done here.” James said.

But Dak continued to put up a fight, more so with James. All Roxy could do was stare at the computer screen as it played a carousel of clips of Dak and his co-star in various romantic situations. Even when Kendall, Carlota, and Logan showed up (James had to call for back up), Dak doubled down even further. He only took James’ suggestion to leave after Logan swung a fist at him for making an unsolicited comment of Roxy (Logan’s no doubt the biggest nerd ever, but she’d also been playing hockey for over half her life).

Dak then turned straight at James, revealing the bruise blooming around his right eye. “Thought you were cool, man,” he spat out, needing to get the last word in. By that point, most of the aggression had worn off, which left room for a tinge of sadness James wasn’t sure to trust was real.

It took much convincing, but Roxy managed to shrug off the other girls, insisting they have fun at the dance rather than obsessively cycle through the many ways they could hurt “that fucking blood sucking asshat”. She tried to do the same with James, but he wasn’t yet ready to face the mob of accidental dates again. And it really seemed like Roxy shouldn’t be alone.

So they migrated to Studio B. It was the only place they had access to both private enough for Roxy to collect her thoughts in and hadn’t been tainted by the memory of—ugh—Dak Zevon. At least on Roxy’s part. James stared down the spot through the glass where, just weeks ago, the blood sucking asshat had stood.

“Get in there.”

“What?”

James wove around the studio, pushing buttons and plugging wires in what he hoped were the right places (his notes were back at his apartment—he didn’t think he needed them that night). He did that all while pacifying Roxy’s “this is stupid” and “how’s this supposed to help?” by agreeing to join her in the live room. Finally, the speakers came to life with the synth riff he and Gustavo had laid down just a week ago.

“Now what?” Roxy said over the thumping drum loop.

James adjusted the guitar strap on his shoulder then shot her an incredulous look. “Roxy, we’ve got an entire soundproofed room all to ourselves.” He clipped on a capo. “And you clearly have some complicated feelings to work out.”

“What ‘complicated feelings’?” Roxy snorted. “My first official relationship lasted a little over six hours. Like I even have a right to feel anything. What ‘feelings’ are there to even work out?”

“Exactly. Complicated feelings.” James strummed along to the track, a simple I-V-vi-IV placeholder chord progression that would most likely remain in the final version. “Come on! What do you wanna say to him? Aren’t you mad? Don’t you think you deserve better?”

The drums cut out. James could see all the emotions bubbling up inside Roxy with the swell of the risers. Then, as the beat dropped, the bubble finally burst. “Fuck you, eat shit, choke on your saliva!”

“Yes! Drive into a big ditch, get bit by piranhas!” James chimed in.

“I swear I’ll do anything that I have to!”

“To get rid of you!”

The two teens repeated the little verse they came up with somehow even more enthusiastically. They jumped up and down to the beat as they yelled their lungs out. James was a blur of purple, the electric guitar swinging all around. Roxy’s hair unravelled from its done-up state as she headbanged with all her might.

“I swear I’ll do anything that I have to!” Roxy pointed to James to finish it off.

“’Til I forget about you…” It came out as a whisper. The riff played once again, the sawtooth wave sounding much sharper than it did the first time. He clutched the guitar neck a little tighter. It went back to the A-section.

“Y’know what?” Roxy was out of breath from all the jumping they did yet had a big grin on her face. “Why am I letting him ruin my stupid night? I should be out there on the dance floor, having fun with all our friends!”

Roxy tugged on James’ arm, but was just patient enough to let him put everything away (she tried to help to speed things up, but knew how particular Gustavo was and decided not to). James went to shut the monitor off and felt his heart leap to his throat. There’s a new track on the DAW. He must’ve accidentally pressed record in his haste.

“Come on!” Roxy called, already halfway down the hallway.

James relented. Guess it’ll have to wait ‘til tomorrow.

“Roxy?! But she’s not even in the band!” James produced a copy of their demo seemingly out of nowhere, circling a finger around the four faces on the rejected alternate cover. “I, on the other hand…” He then framed his own face with a flutter of his fingers.

In his increasingly apparent desperation, not helped by the tight situation they were in, a corner of the CD case came uncomfortably close to Roxy’s eye. She swatted James’ hand away.

The finger fluttering only stops when Mercedes put her palm up in rejection.

“These two,” she gestured vaguely in Kendall and Carlos’ direction. “are enough proof that you,” she gestured towards the remaining two, “would be awful boyfriends. And she’s clearly invested in the future of your band if she’s in here. What are you, their little groupie?”

“I’m their songwriter,” Roxy managed to say between gritted teeth. If not for Kendall’s comforting hand on her shoulder, Roxy would’ve physically lunged at the girl in front of her.

“Cute,” Mercedes pouted and tilted her head patronizingly. “So start writing me a song, new girlfriend.” She grabbed Roxy’s forearm, her bright pink nails digging slightly into the flesh.

Roxy was nowhere near as strong as the hockey players Mercedes had very easily thrown around. But before getting fully dragged out of the bathroom, Roxy managed to crane her head far enough to mouth her final message.

The remaining shower people weren’t sure if it was “help me” or “kill me”.

Unlike the previous boyfriends, Roxy wasn’t subjected to carrying an armful and a half of pool furniture or the weight of an entire teenage girl. Instead, all the way through the hallway, down the elevator, across the lobby, and along the Palm Woods Park, Roxy had to endure Mercedes rattle on about what her song should be. Roxy couldn’t tune it out as much as she wanted to, as the blonde had one arm looped tight around her current victim’s, and the other toting around an unbothered Froopy.

If given a choice, Roxy would’ve picked physical exertion.

“I think the tempo should be around 150 bpm? Something upbeat and fun – not a slow ballad. And there should be a guitar solo right after the bridge, clean, no distortion. Oh, and some gang vocals shouting ‘yeah’ every four bars to represent how universally loved I am. Got all that?”

“That’s not how it works. This is not how songwriting works,” Roxy wanted to hiss. But she bit her tongue. She knew if she opened her mouth there was no way she could’ve held back.

Mercedes suddenly stopped in her tracks, causing Roxy to walk right into her side. They stood in the middle of the park, towering awkwardly/menacingly over a couple having a nice picnic. With a wave of Mercedes’ free hand, the pair scrambled away.

Mercedes gracefully settled down into the picnic blanket they left behind, setting the pup-filled purse beside her. The new girlfriend came tumbling after, a less elegant descent thanks to Mercedes’ forceful tug.

“And I don’t like buzzy synths – reminds me of wasps – so don’t even think about including them,” Mercedes continued as if she hadn’t just ruined some stranger’s date. “Lyrically, there’s obviously so much to say about me. But the pre-chorus should definitely mention how pretty I am.”

God, can she be any more conceited?

Roxy peeked at the tree-hat lined shrub over Mercedes’ shoulder. The thumbs up and wide grins peeking out amongst the foliage did nothing to curb her growing annoyance.

Mercedes snapped her fingers. “Hello? New girlfriend?”

Roxy’s gaze snapped back.

“This is the part where you tell me how pretty I am.”

Roxy took a breath. For Hollywood, she reminded herself. For Big Time Rush. “Mercedes—”

A sharp look cut her off.

“Sweet pea, you’re very pretty,” Roxy managed to spit out. “Pretty big headed!”

A smattering of facepalms and gasps came from the shrubbery.

“Excuse me?” Mercedes’ eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, you heard me!” Roxy knew she fucked up but couldn’t stop. It was like her mouth was running on autopilot and the emergency stop button was nowhere to be found. “I’ve only been in Hollywood for, what, a month? I’ve barely met the people living in the same building as me! But I think I can say in full confidence, for everyone in a hundred mile radius, that you, Mercedes Griffin, are the most—”

From this point on, Roxy swore she blacked out. But instead of a cute keychain with her name on it, the only souvenir she got to prove it really happened was a twisting feeling deep in her gut. Logan later informed her that she had apparently, all up in Mercedes’ face, sang “twinkle twinkle little rat, you’re one rich spoiled little brat” – not the proudest moment of her songwriting career.

“God. I’m so sorry, guys,” Roxy groaned. She had her face in her palms, too burdened with guilt, shame, and everything in between to help pack up apartment 2J.

“Look, what’s done is done,” Kendall said, defeatedly chucking the contents of his closet into a duffel bag. It was clear there was no speech left inside him, but he managed to crack a small smile. “But hey, as you said, we’d rather go back to Minnesota than continue taking all that.”

Everyone else nodded in agreement.

I said that? Roxy blinked. It sounded too much like something Kendall would say. Maybe all his motivational speeches over the past month rubbed off on her.

As Kelly started offering words of comfort, of how they should still be proud of all their efforts thus far, Roxy zoned out.

“And one more thing!” she had yelled, her head breaching the barrier of apologetic hockey players. “One day you’ll realise being daddy’s little girl can’t always get you everything you want!”

“Well, let me tell you something,” Mercedes took a menacing step forward. The four boys shrunk back, but Roxy held her ground, daring to stare straight into Mercedes’ dull hazel eyes. Her voice was steady, controlled, and just barely above a whisper. “Big Time Rush? Is Big Time Done.”

Her final proclamation was punctuated with the crack of a plastic case against the Palm Woods Park pavement.

Roxy suddenly stood up, catching the attention of everyone in apartment 2J. “I’m taking a walk,” she mumbled.

“Rox…” Carlos took a step towards her.

She put a hand out. “I’ll see if Bitters has extra boxes. I’m sure he’d be glad to see us leave.” She put on a reassuring smile. It dropped as soon as the door clicked closed behind her.

If she hadn’t already felt responsible for Big Time Rush’s future, she definitely was now. There would at least be a hint of plausible deniability on Roxy’s role if they had been rejected for their songs. But they weren’t. Roxy just had to open her big stupid mouth and ruin not only her own future, but her friends’, her employers’. And the worst part was they hadn’t been the only ones she hurt.

Roxy’s finger barely grazed the elevator button when the doors slid open.

“Mercedes,” she breathed.

“What, came to grovel for forgiveness?” The blonde socialite stepped out, her usual sharpness back, dog missing. A light blush dusted her cheeks, probably realising how it didn’t make sense considering it was her who came back to the Palm Woods. Mercedes cleared her throat. “I’m just here to get Froopy’s chew toy. He gets all whiney without it.” She maneouvered around Roxy and started walking down the hallway.

“Mercedes.” Roxy’s voice was steadier this time. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

The blonde stopped. Though Mercedes’ back was to her, Roxy took this as a sign to continue.

“I’m really sorry for saying all those things to you. This isn’t to kiss your ass – I think we both know we’re way past that at this point. I was cranky, anxious, tired, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Even though you kind of did do worse to my friends, nobody deserves to be talked to like that.” Roxy uncomfortably shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “We may never cross paths ever again but, from our brief time together, you seem to have a good ear for music. And so I get why Griffin made you his—”

Mercedes whipped around. “I’m not the top secret advisor.”

Roxy had suspected, but it still took her a second to process it. “What?”

“I don’t choose which demos go through.” Mercedes chewed on her lip and started playing with her necklace. “I was just there to pick them up.”

“So… Big Time Rush isn’t over?”