“We’re not in a relationship exactly,” I ramble. “I mean, we haven’t decided yet—we’re planning to talk when Jesse gets home—”

“We’re together,” Jesse interrupts, squeezing my hand, and I can’t stop the smile spreading across my face.

“Every other singer out there will file suit against the network,” the younger producer says.

Mr. Tyson holds up a hand. “Tom, let’s just take this one step at a time.”

“I’ll quit,” Jesse says. “I’m not letting Maya give up this opportunity.”

“What about your deal?” I whisper.

“Jesse, we’re excited to have you as a judge this year,” Mr. Tyson says. “I want to ensure we start our relationship on the right foot, and—”

The younger producer interrupts. “The show has already dedicated many resources to ensure Jesse’s a judge this season. We’ve already created the press kits. Our network affiliates will be announcing the judges during today’s news broadcasts. It’s out on social media already. And we’d have to postpone the semifinals until we could find a replacement judge. We’d expect Jesse to pay for any losses the network would incur.”

“Tom,” Mr. Tyson says. “Calm down.”

“What if I don’t judge Maya?” Jesse asks. “Bring in a replacement judge just for her performances.”

“That would probably open us up to even more lawsuits,” Tom says. “All contestants must be on the same playing field, facing the same judges.”

I take a deep breath. “So I’ll quit.” I’m glad my voice doesn’t break.

Mr. Logan snaps and points at me like he did to Jesse. “No more until Charles gets here.”

“But the rules on the application say my daughter can’t know anyone associated with the show,” Mom says, biting her lip.

Mr. Logan throws his hands up in the air. “That’s it. No one talks until Charles gets here.”

Jesse jiggles his boot on his knee. “Who wants coffee?”

“I told you not to talk.” Mr. Logan bops Jesse’s cowboy hat with his little black notebook, and Jesse swats at his manager, grinning. He adjusts his hat, acting like this is no big deal.

Mom starts sniffling and wipes her nose with a tissue. Sam hasn’t looked up in several minutes. I feel like I played the lottery and won.

And then all the money got stolen.

• • •

Because the heavens opened and angels sent rays of goodness to Mr. Tyson’s heart, I get to perform during the first round of auditions. The producers will decide if I’m allowed to compete after Jesse’s attorney arrives. Mr. Tyson doesn’t want to hold up auditions any longer—they’re already behind schedule thanks to me.

Mr. Tyson says, “Tom, it’s obvious neither Jesse nor Maya knew the other was going to be here today. Which shouldn’t be a surprise, since we kept Jesse’s participation a closely guarded secret.”

The younger producer storms out of the Roxy Suite. Mom and Sam grin at that.

Mr. Tyson turns to Jesse. “But I expect you to be completely impartial today, Mr. Scott. Understand?”

Jesse nods, yawns, and pats my back. “Shall we?”

Back in the auditorium, I get heckled like the time I peed my pants in elementary school, but I hold my head high. Mr. Tyson grabs a mike and explains what’s happening. “It remains to be seen if Jesse Scott will be a judge this season—”

Cue massive booing.

Mr. Tyson continues, “Or if Maya Henry will be disqualified. Our lawyers will sit with Jesse Scott’s attorneys this afternoon to discuss and come to a resolution, but we do not feel this is a reason to postpone today’s performances.”

Cue massive applause.

“As we honestly believe Jesse and Maya did not know the other would be here today, we will permit her to participate in the first round.”

Cue massive booing.

“So let’s get started,” Mr. Tyson says, clapping his hands.

Jesse comes out from backstage carrying a coffee mug. He tips his cowboy hat at the contestants and takes a seat at the judges’ table.

A stagehand explains that we’re auditioning in numerical order. I peer down at the 156 on my bib. I have a long time to wait. What if Jesse’s lawyer arrives before I get to audition and decides that I can’t? I suck in a deep breath and try to relax.

“Number one,” the stagehand shouts, and a guy struts onstage, plugs his guitar into an amp, plays a lick, and says he’ll be singing “Under the Bridge” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers.