Karen Kingsbury - Fifteen Minutes

“It is.” She uttered a sad laugh, and in the stadium lights he saw her eyes well up. “My boyfriend’s cheating on me. He thinks I don’t know.” She looked down, her trembling fingers proof of her uneasiness. “I didn’t want to say that earlier.”

“High school guys aren’t real loyal. Most of them, anyway.”

“I know.” She tilted her head, opening her heart to him whether he wanted it or not. “I need an older guy. That’s what my mom always says.”

Zack ignored that. He glanced at the screen. A countdown clock told him the current group had thirty seconds. Already ushers were approaching their section. “This is it.” Zack stood. “Hit it or go home.”

“I’m so scared.” Zoey stood and followed him. She seemed to lose her balance as they headed for the aisle and caught herself on Zack’s shoulder. “Sorry.” A smile tugged at her lips. “Clumsy.”

He put his hands in his pockets and looked straight ahead. He was grateful when she removed her hand from his arm. The girl was very pretty, but her flirting had gotten on his nerves all day; he was in love with Reese. But somehow against his will he caught himself starting to think about Zoey. Sixteen hours together could do that. He would have to sort out his thoughts later. “You’re close to your mom?”

“Sort of. She’s in rehab. I live with my grandparents.” Her eyes darkened, as if maybe she’d said too much. “See what I mean? This show, making it. That’s all I have. It’s all that matters.”

He wanted to tell her about his faith, about the God of hope who had helped his family survive the last year. But as they shuffled to the aisle and down the stadium stairs, the timing seemed off. He would tell her after this first round.

If her mom was in rehab, she had to be lonely. Zack thought of the hours his mother spent with AJ, the conversations about horses and school and the farm. Zoey had none of those moments with her mother. Maybe she hadn’t been exaggerating. He felt sick. All day he’d worked to avoid her, to discourage her advances. But the girl was in trouble. Maybe he’d figure out a way to introduce her to Jesus. Maybe pray for her.

He focused on the outer flap of the enormous striped tent. Suddenly everything faded. The crowd and the noise, the conversations and random bursts of singing. This was his single moment. The chance to see if this was how he could help his family. And if God wanted him to sing professionally.

If I make it, I make it for You, Lord. I’ll be the brightest light this show has ever seen. I promise.

Stay with me, son . . . I have the words of life. The quiet whisper silenced every sound around him.

Yes, Lord . . . You have the words of life. I believe that.

The thought filled his heart and soul. If he stayed close to God, he could get through this. He would either go home at the end of this audition or shine from the Fifteen Minutes stage. It wasn’t enough to go through a day simply existing, the way he’d been doing since he arrived in Atlanta. Hamming it up for a camera, not seeing the pain and loneliness in a teenage girl. He felt his determination double. If he made it through in the next few moments, he would absolutely shine for God.

The way he’d failed to do so far today.

It was time.

In a blur of anxious conversations and shuffling feet, Zack and his group moved into the tent. The instructions were nothing new. All of it was on the show’s website. Still, the fifty singers stayed silent while a man with a megaphone explained. “We will announce a start time.” The man’s accent was distinctly British. “At that point you will sing your best song to the best of your ability.” The man seemed bothered, looking down at them from his place on a small platform at the front of the tent. “You will have three minutes. If your number isn’t announced at the end of the round, you will go home. No questions. Thank you for trying out. If your number is called, wait inside the tent for further instructions.”

Around Zack, people moved their feet and cleared their throats and tried to separate themselves from the crowd. Nervous energy sucked the air from the tent. Zack had seen TV footage of this part of the audition, fifty people singing every sort of song from every genre, trying to push their voices above the noise, desperate for their fifteen minutes of fame. But nothing he had seen prepared him for this, how it felt to have just one shot, one chance to impress the judges.

He glanced at the people in black shirts standing around the perimeter of the tent. None of them looked glad to be there. It had been a long day for everyone, and by now chances were Atlanta had given them what they were looking for. A few of them whispered to each other, and another checked his watch. The man in charge was talking to another group. The contestants began to whisper. A few squeezed in vocal exercises.

Here I go. Help me, God . . . He was going to sing “Wind Beneath My Wings,” an old country classic, something familiar that would showcase his tenor voice. According to a forum of past contestants, the more familiar the song the better. It helped the singer stand out.

“I’m gonna be sick.” Zoey leaned toward him. She had been quiet since they entered the tent.

“You’ll be fine.”

The man in charge returned to the platform and glared at them. “Silence!” He nodded to a woman who was clearly his assistant. “Timer ready?”

“Ready.”

“Okay. Set . . .” He turned to the contestants. “Go!”

All around him people began singing, creating a noise that shook the tent and took Zack by surprise. The decibels must’ve been near that of a jet engine or a cheering stadium. If he didn’t focus quickly he would lose himself and his song in the mass confusion. Help me, God . . . I can’t do this without You. He closed his eyes and began to sing. After a few seconds something miraculous happened.

He couldn’t hear any voice but his own. Instead of worrying about who was walking past or evaluating him or crossing his name off a list, he forgot about everyone else in the tent. He hit the first chorus singing for a familiar audience of One.

God alone.

By the time he reached the second verse, Zack opened his eyes. Never mind the vampires bopping out to some fifties tune a few feet away or the pop song Zoey was belting or any other sound or song around him. He could hear only his. A spot on the tent wall caught his attention, but instead of red and white canvas, in his mind’s eye he was looking across a serene and distant ocean, the presence of God like a breeze against his face. He was able to get through the second chorus and halfway through the bridge before the man waved his hands. “Time. Everyone silent.”

Like that the contestants stopped. Several were breathless and a few had tears spilling down their cheeks. Zoey was one of those. She hung her head, her shoulders shaking. Though he’d tried to keep his distance all day, here she needed his support. He put his arm around her while they waited.

“This was one of the best groups we’ve seen.” The man looked surprised. “Most of you look more suited for a Halloween party than a hit reality show.” He took a piece of paper from his assistant. “That said, we’ve chosen four of you to move on to the next round. Here are those contestants.”

The man read a number and across the tent one of the gospel singers screamed. He grabbed the necks of his friends one at a time. “Praise Jesus . . . hallelujah!”

“Quiet, please.” The man waved his paper at the guy. “No celebrating until I’ve read all four numbers.”

“Yes, sir.” The gospel singer whipped back around, breathless. “Sorry, sir.”