1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Willow

I'm currently inside an empty beer cooler as they wheel me to the back of the stage. It wasn't plugged in, but the metal interior still chills my skin. The glass door is covered with an out of order sign; no one knows someone is inside. Well, no one besides the people wheeling it. I can't believe I'm about to play the Super Bowl halftime show and no one knows. The league is going for the ultimate shock factor and I know it's going to land.

That's why I agreed to it. Since I'm near the end of my largest tour to date, no one expected me to say yes. It's best to keep everyone on their toes; that's my motto.

Bang! Bang! Bang ! The knocking on the cooler startles me and I'd jump if there was room. Muffled laughs and someone making jokes about needing a beer are faint on the other side.

When this idea of a completely surprise halftime show was made public, everyone thought it would flop. Between the logistics of rehearsing, schedules, and the inability of people to keep a secret, they thought there was no way it would work.

That's where I come in.

To be honest, I think Claire, my manager, and I are some of the only people who could realistically pull this off, considering even some of my closest people are in the dark. My parents, and boyfriend, Dexter, think I'm in Los Angeles doing costume alterations for my final tour dates. No one suspects I'm in Arizona, about to pull off one of the biggest surprises of my career.

I can't wait to see their faces.

But most of all, I can't wait to hear the fans. Feel them.

The theories are my favorite. Currently, I think the top contender is "the performer won't even be human but a hologram, or some sort of AI-generated mashup of the top artists of the year." And then you always have the "my sister's boyfriend's aunt works at the stadium and confirmed it's fill-in-the-blank."

Do you know who isn't on the surprise half-time theory list? The only female artist to sell out every NFL stadium in a single tour.

In other words—me. Willow.

The teams playing are also in the dark on the halftime show performer. Similar to how I only found out who was playing in the championship game this morning when I was doing last-minute prep with the technical crew.

A few months ago, the NFL sent me an address that was nothing more than an abandoned warehouse with a practice stage. It may have been compact and left little room for imagination, but it would get the job done. They didn't want to give anything away, and that's something I can respect.

Claire, the human version of a vault, helped me put together the short setlist. I wanted to do my part to keep it a secret, which meant Claire and my head of security were the only people I told. Plus, if I included Claire, my security wouldn't completely lose their minds.

Someone taps on the top of the cooler, in a predetermined pattern, indicating it's almost time. I'm wearing a black cloak with my single outfit underneath. The black bodysuit hugs me in all the right places, adorned with lace and crystals. I wear something similar on tour, but this is a fresh piece I've held onto for a special occasion. I think the Super Bowl counts, right?

The stage is in one of the end zones, fifteen feet tall, and close to a tunnel. That way, they can wheel me right underneath it.

The cooler stops moving.

Here we go.

The door swings open, and I pull myself out and keep my hood up and face down. If anyone is around, I don't want them to get even a quick glimpse of who I am. Not even a minute early.

I go to my starting spot—a five-foot square that will rise through the center. My hand trembles for a few seconds, so I grip the microphone tighter. Flutters take over my stomach and chest like I'm a hollow shell. I'm a little light-headed but in a way that feels right, like something big is coming. I've had my fair share of accomplishments, but this is a dream of mine about to come true. One of the biggest stages in the world and it's all mine.

The lights go out—by design. Screams and cheers from the crowd flood my ears. The platform starts moving. My heartbeat picks up to match the crowd response.

I keep my chin to my chest, my hood still up, and feel the stage lock into place. I take a single, slow breath. Hold. One. Two. Three. Four. Exhale.

The sound team is waiting for my cue. I do my best to be patient and stand razor-sharp for a few seconds and each moment that passes feels agonizingly long, but they're filled with screams and delicious anticipation.

I let the energy from the crowd run through me before I snap with my right hand. I slowly grab the side of my hood while the other holds my microphone. Tight.

The hood comes down .

The first note of one of my most popular songs drops and I come in—vocals strong—a second later. I picked this song because it has the quickest start, and the crowd won't even have a chance to register what's happening.

Until it's already underway.