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job. I have a feeling that clip’s going to end up in syndication.”
    “Syndication?”
    “Yeah. Stations all across the country will pick it up. Maybe even the national news. And of course, I’m sure it’ll do well on YouTube.”
    Oh, great. Because we wouldn’t want his lies to be confined to Channel 4’s viewing area. I pulled myself up to sit on the porch railing and rubbed my temples.
    “You okay?” Zed asked.
    “I don’t know. I’m—” I took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. “Why did you lie?”
    Zed flinched. “Lie?”
    What, he thought I wouldn’t notice? Or care? “Yeah, lie. About Mick’s service, about … me.”
    Zed sat down beside me and placed his hand over mine on the railing. His palm was warm and dry, not cold and sweaty like mine would have been if I’d just fed the world a big bowlful of Never Happened. “I’m sorry, Mel,” he said. “I know you’re new to this. The thing is, it’s not really lying. It’s … image management.”
    Image management? I tried to pull my hand away, but Zed tightened his grip. “It’s better if people think we discovered you before this whole thing with the videos. You don’t want people to assume the only reason you’re singing with us is because you’re on YouTube, do you?”
    “But that is how you found me, right? You said you saw me on the news.”
    “Well, sure, but nobody needs to know that. I mean, otherwise, it might seem a bit … opportunistic of us to sign you on.”
    I nodded. “Opportunistic. Good word.”
    Zed leaned toward me. My heart fluttered as for one strange, wonderful, horrible moment I thought he might kiss me. Instead, he spoke, his voice almost a whisper. “It’s not like that. See, the truth is actually closer to what I told Andrea. Your voice is so genuine, it reached out and grabbed me and made me want to hire you. Where and when I heard it doesn’t matter.”
    I bit my lip. “For real?”
    “Yes, for real. Your voice … it’s like a soothing drizzle and a thrashing downpour and a booming thunderstorm all wrapped into one unbelievable sound. A guy could lose himself in a voice like that.” Zed’s voice cracked and he pulled away a little, but he continued holding my hand. “The longer you’re in this business, the more you’ll understand. People assume the worst and start all sorts of crazy, screwed-up rumors. I just … massaged a few of the details so the real truth gets out there.”
    I allowed myself to relax. So there was a simple explanation. Simple and … awesome.
    The sun had long ago disappeared behind the mansion across the street and the air had taken on a chill, but I felt warm sitting so close to Zed. I had the brief thought that now might be a good time to ask why he and the band had skipped Mick’s burial and what exactly they were doing while I was filling in for them, but I pushed it away. I didn’t want to ruin the moment.
    I’d wait for a better time to ask. And when that time came, I was sure he’d have a simple explanation for that, too.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    “Image management? Are you kidding?” Lana’s tone was half annoyed, half amused. She’d seen the report on the late news and was waiting for me at my locker the next morning.
    “I know, I thought the same thing at first. But it made total sense the way Zed explained it. If we don’t manage our own image, someone else will do it for us—and then it might not be pretty.”
    Lana gave me a poke. “Look at you, with your we and us and our image . Soon you’ll be ordering the roadies to remove the black jellybeans from your snack bar.”
    I laughed. “Shut up. Besides, the black ones are my favorites. It’s the yellow ones they’ll have to pick out.”
    “Excuse me. Melanie? Could you sign the back of my shirt?”
    I turned to see a girl from my gym class, Annika Harper. She was wearing a Grime t-shirt.
    “Sure.” I took the marker from her hand as she turned around. I had a shirt exactly like this at