Nelly sat on the edge of the stage in the empty rehearsal hall, her sneakers tapping the floor. The lights above were off except for one dim spotlight.
Nelly sat on the edge of the stage in the empty rehearsal hall, staring out at rows of empty seats. One lonely spotlight hung above her.
“Joe,” she muttered, rubbing her temples. “I should’ve never signed up for this star career bullshit.”
Joe leaned against a big speaker with his arms crossed.
“What’s eating you?”
She looked out into the dark auditorium.
“Fame,” she said. “I lost all my real friends. Now it’s just sycophants and handlers.”
Joe nodded slowly.
“Occupational hazard.”
Nelly shook her head.
“You know what it feels like online?” she said. “I’m basically a verbal punching bag. Millions of strangers taking swings every day.”
Joe didn’t interrupt.
“They tear apart my weight, my face, my life,” she continued. “And the crazy thing is—entertainers didn’t create the world’s problems.”
She pointed toward the ceiling like she was addressing the sky.
“Politicians did that.”
Joe raised an eyebrow.
Nelly sighed.
“And when I try to talk about solutions… like debt forgiveness, or helping poor people…”
She gave a bitter laugh.
“Suddenly the Trump-tards show up saying I’m insane and unhinged.”
Joe shook his head.
“That’s the internet for you.”
Nelly looked at him seriously.
“I’m not the one bombing children,” she said quietly. “But somehow the singer becomes the villain.”
Joe sat down beside her.
“Well,” he said, shrugging, “I don’t give a Borat’s ass what those people say.”
He gestured vaguely toward the imaginary internet.
“Half of them are neckbeard chicken-tendie addicts screaming into the void.”
Nelly cracked a small smile.
Joe nudged her shoulder.
“You know what you are to me?”
“What?”
“My wing woman.”
She laughed.
“Wing woman?”
“Yeah,” Joe said. “And if my wing woman is getting beat up by the internet…”
He shrugged.
“I stick around.”
Nelly studied him.
“Even when the whole crowd is yelling?”
Joe grinned.
“Especially then.”