The Daughters Take the Stage

Poppy

chapter 1

“You can’t just sing the song, Hudson. It’s not enough to sing the song. You have to own it,” said Holla Jones as she paced back and forth in front of her daughter, Hudson, on the stage of the Grand Ballroom in the Pierre Hotel. “Own the stage, own the song, and you’ll own the crowd. And that, my dear,” she said, pivoting to face Hudson, who stood half-hidden behind a curtain, “is how you become a star.”

Hudson bit her full bottom lip. She would be playing her first show ever in just a few hours, and already her mom was using the S word. Then again, her mom used that word a lot. Actually, Holla Jones was much more than a pop star—she was a treasured piece of American pop culture. For the past twenty years, her songs had become instant hits all over the world. Her concerts sold out in minutes. Her albums went platinum. Her bubblegumpop-with-an-edge sound was copied by artists everywhere. And Hudson knew that she’d been waiting almost fourteen years to teach her only daughter everything she knew.

“So, you walk up to the mic like this,” Holla said, taking short, quick steps on her stiletto-heeled booties toward an imaginary microphone at the edge of the stage. “The last thing you want to do is trip in front of an audience before you’ve even sung a note.” She pretended to grab a microphone. “You slip it out of the stand, and then you hold it just a few inches from your lips, and then you back up just a little bit,” she said, taking some steps backwards. “Then you say something to the crowd,” she went on. “Be witty, but brief. And then, honey, you start to sing,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Hudson and smiling.

At thirty-seven her mom was still beautiful, with flawless dark brown skin, lush lips, and straightened toffee-colored hair that fell past her shoulders. Her tight yoga jacket and pants showed off a body that was sculpted to the extreme: carved biceps, a rock-hard stomach, and slender, muscular legs. Her high, regal forehead didn’t have one wrinkle, and she moved with a dancer’s grace—shoulders thrown back, spine ramrod-straight. Hudson had inherited that grace, along with her mom’s sweeping cheekbones and razor-sharp jawline. But her sea green eyes and wavy hair and French toast–colored complexion came from her dad—or at least she figured as much, based on the photos she’d seen of him. Michael Kelly had been Holla’s backup dancer on her second concert tour. He was white and preppy-looking, with thick dark hair, a chiseled face, and soulful eyes, like Billy Crudup crossed with Mikhail Baryshnikov. In pictures he stood next to Holla, his head on her shoulder, smiling goofily into the camera. But they’d had a tumultuous relationship, and when the tour ended he broke up with her, just before she learned she was pregnant. He hadn’t been heard from or seen since, and Holla, out of pride, had never tried to contact him. Sometimes Hudson wondered if he even knew he had a daughter. Holla didn’t mention him too often, and most of the time it was almost as if he’d never existed at all.

“Mom, it’s just the Silver Snowflake Ball,” Hudson said. “It’s not Radio City or anything.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Holla said. “Every show is important. Your producer and your record-label executive are coming. They’re going to want to see how you’ll do this when it’s time to go on tour. So come on out here. You can’t hide behind those curtains all day.”

Hudson stepped out of the wings, still wearing the ripped jeans and black sweater she’d worn to her last final exam. As of today, school was officially over for winter break, and all she really wanted to do right now was go home and take a nap. Besides, she and her mom had already spent hours talking about this, planning this, and rehearsing this. In a million years, she never would have guessed that she’d end up singing at Ava Elting’s epic party. She hadn’t even been sure that she would go. But then Carina Jurgensen, one of Hudson’s best friends and the party planner for the event, had volunteered her as the night’s entertainment, and she’d had no choice but to go along with it. Needless to say, Ava had been hoping for the Jonas Brothers or Justin Timberlake or some other big star she thought Carina could get, thanks to her billionaire dad and his A-list connections. But Ava had settled for Hudson. And now she needed to be prepared.

And her mom was right. In just six months her first album would drop, and then she would be playing shows all the time, at even scarier places. She needed to learn how to do this now. And even though she had a feeling that she hadn’t quite inherited her mom’s performance gene, at least she was getting a one-on-one tutorial that most other beginners would kill for.

“Okay, let’s start the track,” Holla said. “Jason?” she called out to the wings. “Can we have the music, please?”

Weeks ago, when Hudson was trying to decide on a song for the Ball, “Heartbeat” had seemed like the perfect choice. She’d written it about Kevin Hargreaves, who was four years older, a senior at Lawrenceville boarding school, and basically a complete stranger. But he was a Capricorn, which blended beautifully with Hudson’s Pisces sign, and he had deep, bottomless gray eyes that had made her heart pound and her hands sweat every time she’d seen him. Which had been exactly twice—first on the beach in Montauk, and the second time by accident in the Magnolia Bakery near her house. Carina knew him and had practically pushed Hudson into Kevin’s face both times. He’d barely made eye contact with her, and had pretty much said only “hey!” while Hudson stared at him, speechless. When she’d heard he was going out with Samantha Crain, a tenth grader at Lawrenceville, she was crushed. She’d gone straight to her piano, and two hours later she’d finished this song—a slow jazz- and soul-inflected number that she sang leaning over her piano, in her deep, smoky voice.

But the song had since gone through a transformation. A few months ago, Holla decided that Hudson’s entire sound needed to change, that for the sake of her first album’s sales she would need to go bigger, brighter, and more radio-friendly. It wasn’t enough to have a small cult following—she needed to fill stadiums. So Hudson let her mom change studios. She let her take apart every track, layering it with digital beats and effects and backup voices. Until little by little, Hudson’s music sounded exactly like hers.

Now, as the song came over the ballroom’s speakers, Hudson fought the urge to cover her ears. It was bad enough that it sounded fake and manufactured. Now Hudson had to sing to it. She’d never tried to sing without sitting at her piano. She had no idea what she was supposed to do with her hands and arms and feet. Of course, Holla knew what to do.

“So, let’s practice those dance moves, honey,” Holla said, sidling up next to her. “First is the turn, like this,” Holla said, executing a perfect, weightless spin on the toes of her boots. “You try it.”

“Mom, I told you, I really don’t want to dance,” Hudson said.

“You’ve got to do something,” Holla insisted. “Come on. Try it. You’re such a good dancer.”

Hudson threw herself to the left and barely did half a turn.

“You’re not trying, Hudson,” Holla said. “Come on. I know you can do better than this.”

Hudson gazed out at the brightly lit ballroom, filled with tables and chairs yet to be moved out. At least nobody was watching them yet. How much more fun would tonight be if I could just go to this party like everyone else? she thought. Just hang out with Carina and Lizzie and check out people’s dresses and scope the room for cute guys?

“Mom, I really can’t do this,” Hudson said after trying to imitate her mom’s shimmy. “Do I need to dance? Why can’t I just sing?”

“Oh, honey, don’t be so negative,” said Holla. “Don’t you know what I always say about negativity?”

“ ‘Negative thoughts draw negative things,’ ” Hudson recited.

“That’s right,” Holla said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “And you, my dear, are being extremely negative about this. Let’s play that again!” she called over her shoulder to Jason in the wings.

Hudson waited for the music to begin. This isn’t right, a voice said inside her. Get out of this now. People will understand. Even Ava will have to understand.

“Come on, Hudson, here we go,” Holla said. “Let’s do the turn, and then a shimmy to the right… that’s it.”

It was just one night, Hudson told herself. She’d get through this, somehow. After all, she was the child of two dancers. She had to have gotten some of their talent.

But inside, she wasn’t so sure. Her mom was the star in the family. And something told her that it was always going to stay that way.