Choosing America's Next Superstar by Jeff Erno Page A

quick lube joints.”
    Corey raised his eyebrows and looked over at Jimmy, a smile on his face. “Quick lube, huh?”
    Jimmy rolled his eyes and bent over to pick up his guitar. “You have a dirty mind,” Jimmy said.
    “What do ya mean? I didn’t even say anything? I think you’re the one with a dirty mind.”
    “So you’re gay, huh?” Jimmy said. He didn’t look at Corey when he said it. “You got a boyfriend?”
    “Why?” Corey responded.
    “Just wondered. Figured it was the polite thing to ask.”
    “Oh… well, no. I’m single.”
    There was a pause as Jimmy positioned the guitar on his knee.
    “What about you?” Corey asked.
    “What about me what?” Jimmy said, looking down at his guitar while positioning his fingers on the frets.
    “Are you single?”
    “Yeah,” Jimmy said, then he strummed a note.
    “Oh. I heard you on the phone, saying you loved someone.”
    Jimmy raised his head, unable to resist the urge to grin. “Yeah? Well, I get around. Don’t mean I’m serious about any one person.” He couldn’t believe Corey thought he’d been talking to a boyfriend when it was only his brother.
    “So does he think…?”
    “What’s it to you?” Jimmy asked. He strummed a couple chords.
    Corey shrugged. “Nothin’, I guess. I just….”
    “I was talkin’ to my baby brother, dude,” Jimmy said, laughing. “I always tell him I love him before I hang up. Ya know, when you almost lose someone in your family….”
    “Oh, sorry,” Corey said. He lay back on the bed and covered his face with his hands as he sighed. “I just can’t ever say the right thing to you,” he complained.
    Jimmy continued to stare at him. Corey looked kind of cute, the way he was lying there, stretched out. And there was no denying the guy had a nice body. Jimmy didn’t respond to Corey’s remark, but instead started strumming the guitar and singing.
    It was a ballad, a Josh Turner song, one of Jimmy’s favorites. The lyrics were quite suggestive. “Baby, lock the door and turn the lights down low….”
    As he began to sing, Corey sat up again, looking over at him.
    He got to the second verse: “There’s no need to hurry, don’t you worry, we can take our time….”
    Corey pulled his legs up, sitting cross-legged on the bed as he leaned forward, listening to every word.
    “Wow,” Corey said, his voice a whisper. “That was… um… beautiful.”
    “You like?”
    “Very much,” Corey said. “The judges are gonna love your deep voice.”
    “Thanks,” Jimmy said. “What’s your song?”
    “‘Flying Without Wings’,” Corey answered.
    Jimmy immediately began to strum the guitar. He knew the song well, and as he played, Corey sang. The song began softly and built up to a crescendo, which Corey belted out. He was on his feet at the edge of the bed, hands outstretched, as he sang the words to Jimmy.
    “Amazing,” Jimmy said, setting the guitar on the bed beside him. Corey was out of breath and appeared on the verge of becoming emotional. “Are you okay, man?” Jimmy asked.
    “It’s the song.” Corey reached up to wipe his eyes. “Maybe not the greatest choice. I mean… well, I don’t wanna lose it tomorrow, get all emotional.”
    “You’ll be fine,” Jimmy assured him, “and even if you do cry, that’s not always a bad thing. They might like it.” He stood up and stepped over to Corey, placing his hand on his shoulder. “Trust me, they’ll love it. You’ll do great.”
    “Thanks,” Corey said, smiling through his tears. “It’s just… God, I’m so nervous.”
    “You think I’m not nervous too?” Jimmy said. “I’m scared out of my mind. If I get sent home during the first round, it’ll be like everything I ever dreamed of has suddenly been shattered.”
    “I know,” Corey said. “That’s how I feel too. That’s why….” He exhaled and looked into Jimmy’s eyes. “That’s why I picked that song. From the time I was old enough to walk, I’ve been singing.