She told him about 3 years of subway platforms, about learning to sleep sitting up, about the cops who hassled her and the strangers who were kind, about writing songs on cardboard because she couldn't afford paper. She told him about the production assistants who found her at Union Square, about how they'd filmed her without asking how they'd talked about her authentic story and unique angle like she was a product they were trying to sell. She told him about Philip Grayson, about his laugh when she asked for a meal, about overhearing him tell an assistant she was perfect: poor, Black, and desperate. Ratings will love this. She told him about being called contrast girl in the production notes, about Chelsea pulling the food away from her, about Madison's father explaining loud enough for her to hear that she was here to make his daughter shine brighter.
Daniel listened to all of it without interrupting. His jaw got tighter with every sentence. His hands curled into fists on his knees. When she mentioned Philip's laugh, he muttered something under his breath that sounded like a curse. When she finally finished, there was a long silence.
"You shouldn't be here," Daniel said eventually. His voice was rough. Amara's stomach dropped. "What?" "Not like this."
Not as some cruel punchline for Philip's twisted game. He stood up, started pacing. "I'm pulling you from the segment right now. I'll make sure you get a meal, a place to stay, whatever you need, but I will not let them humiliate you on national television." "No."
Daniel stopped mid-pace. "What?" "Don't pull me." He stared at her. "Let them do exactly what they plan to do." "Are you out of your mind?"
He wasn't yelling, but his voice was intense. Do you understand what they're going to try to do to you? Philip doesn't want you to succeed. He wants you to fail spectacularly in front of millions of people. He wants you to be a joke so the other contestants look better by comparison.
"That's the entire point of bringing you here." "I know," Amara said calmly. "Then why?" "Because if you interfere, they'll just say, "You were being nice." They'll say, "I got special treatment because I had a connection." And then nothing changes. The system stays exactly the same.
They'll just find another kid like me next season and do this all over again. Daniel opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. He sat back down slowly. "But if you let them show the world exactly who they are," Amara continued. If you record everything, every word, every setup, every manipulation, then people will see the truth and they won't be able to deny it or spin it or explain it away.
"That's too big a risk," Daniel said. "What if you freeze up there? What if the pressure breaks you?" "What if it won't?" "You don't know that." "Yes, I do."
Amara met his eyes. My grandmother didn't teach me music so I could hide from people like Philip. She taught me music so I could fight back. And three years on the street taught me how to take a hit and keep standing. Daniel studied her face for a long moment. She could see him weighing options, calculating risks, trying to find another way.