In early afternoon, a guy in a blue Idol shirt stood in front of Evan and Lily's section, megaphone in hand. He was young, around Evan and Lily's age, and he looked like the teller at a gas station, with curly, shoulder- length blonde hair sticking out from under a blue Idol baseball cap.

"Section 12," he said into the megaphone. "How we doing, party people?"

Everyone had filed back in to Evan's section as the wave had come around the arena. There was no reprieve if you missed your section getting called. Evan's section-mates all cheered ardently like plane passengers taking off after a day-long layover. Evan clapped. Lily didn't even look up.

The megaphone intern re-explained the process to the section. Contestants would line up in four rows down on the arena floor, and then they'd be sorted out in groups of four and sent to the audition tables. There they would sing and get a final judgement. Family members and companions would have to wait outside.

"Thank God," said Lily, still craving her cigarettes.

"I'll see you later," Evan told her.

"Good luck," she told him, standing to head out, still looking at her phone. "I mean, break a leg."

"Thanks."

Evan stepped out of his seat. Lily went up, Evan went down. The rest of the process seemed to fly by, the mirror-opposite of the day so far. Hours of waiting for about ten to fifteen minutes of action.

He took his place in line. The arena floor was smooth and gleaming under his shoes. Everyone was shooting nervous glances at each other. A few people bullshitted, yammering anxiously. The sorters stood like TSA agents at the end of the line, looking the contestants up and down with their arms crossed. When Evan reached the end, the sorters looked at him and his line-mates and said, "You guys are going to Table Five."

Evan walked over to Table Five. There was a bored- looking black guy and a bored- looking white guy behind the judges table. Both looked like they were struggling to stay awake, watching the four rows of contestants step up one by one and sing their stuff. Everyone in line was quiet. Evan couldn't really hear the singers over the general clamor, even though they were only about six feet away.

When Evan arrived at the back of his line there was a teenaged country girl at the front of the line. She held a guitar and took a moment to tune up before launching into her song. She sang Jolene. She was mediocre. So was everyone else in her row. Everyone was mediocre. No wonder these judges looked so sedated.

None of the tables that Evan could see were putting anyone through. No one had gotten through in nearly an hour. That wasn't a good sign. They were just looking to thin out the herd, not bothering to take anyone who wasn't exceedingly exceptional. Just moving the assembly line along as quickly as possible.

Evan wondered how many people around him were hiding tragic stories of their own, ones that would trump even his own family's recent tribulation.

The judges weren't really talking to anyone, either. They just listened, then called the groups of four ahead to dismiss them with a short speech. Also not a good sign.

The lines disintegrated quickly, and then suddenly the people in front of Evan had been dismissed.

It was his row's turn, all of them naked to the bored faces of the judges. Evan was in the row farthest to the left. The guy on the far right started, stepping up in front of the table and singing, without a word from the judges.

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Evan stood and listened. The first guy sang Respect by Aretha Franklin in a throaty country voice. The second guy sang I Want It That Way by Backstreet Boys in an overly affected boy band whine. The girl next to him sang Chasing Pavements by Adele in a thin choir-trained soprano. None of them were anything special.

Then it was Evan's turn. He walked to the table and handed the black guy his paperwork.

The black judge pointed at Evan's T-shirt as Evan stepped up.

"Vonnegut," he said, nodding. "I like that."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," said Evan hurriedly, his head vibrant with anxiety and the pressure of the moment. "It's-it's good stuff."

He took a step back, drew breath, and started singing.

But he didn't sing Do Lord.

At the last, last moment, he had a thought.

A memory of Molly the stripper dancing on him, his first lap dance.

A memory of Jason trying to show him a song on the stereo, a couple months before.

He opened his mouth.

He began to sing Everlasting Light.

It was a simple melody, derivative of old religious folk songs, just like Do Lord.

He sang it down the octave, not in falsetto like The Black Keys. In that way he made it his own, or hoped he was making it his own, just like Simon, Paula and Randy had always encouraged.

The black judge perked up.

"Black Keys," he said to the white judge, who still looked bored.

Evan sang the first stanza twice, and then looked down at the judges. He'd closed his eyes for the entire performance.

It was done.

"Yeah, man, good song choice," said the black judge. "You're the only one... only one who picked them. Black Keys."

"Thanks-I-," stammered Evan. "Yeah, I-I really liked their latest album. I-I-I wish it had been, y'know- y'know, m-more like the early stuff. Though."

He stepped back into line, his hands folded in front of him. How had he done?

He hadn't sounded bad. He'd sounded...okay. Maybe.

One thing was for sure, though— he hadn't embarrassed himself. Now would they ask him anything about why he was here?

They didn't.

The white judge remained mute and jaded-looking. The black judge beckoned the four in Evan's row up to the table.

The judge rubbed his hands together.

"All right guys, you know, it's a really tough year, we're looking for people who are as good as Carrie and David and Adam, and we appreciate you all coming out but unfortunately it is going to be a no for all of you."

As he recited this, the judge looked everywhere but at Evan and his fellow contestants.

Then it was over.

Evan didn't feel any different than he had in the moments before. No crushing sense of loss, no urge to dissolve into tears on his knees while cameramen rushed in and filmed the breakdown. He felt disappointment, but he'd been feeling disappointment since he'd arrived in Nashville. He filed out around the table with his fellow failed contestants and headed towards the non-winner door.

He'd made it about five steps away when he heard an elated squeal from behind him.

Amelia was running headlong toward him, making for the winner door, golden ticket in her hand.

Evan stood in place, shocked.

"Holy shit," he uttered as she approached at top speed. "Congratulations!"

He bent and tried to give her a congratulatory hug, but she charged right past him.

"Thank you," she exclaimed, then she was gone, through the door of the winners. She was the only person to have gotten through in the past hour.

Good for her, Evan thought.

He wondered if she was actually good or if they'd put her through because she would make a good reject. He genuinely hoped it wasn't the latter. If she got humiliated on national TV her cutting habit would never be broken.

The walk to the non-winner door was very short, very somber. Evan went up some stairs, rejected contestants all around him.

The doors to the outside were up ahead. Sunlight expanded Evan's pupils, making his eyes ache. The air was full of unhappy acceptance. There was a girl in tears talking to a camera near the outer doors. Evan burst through them and into the afternoon heat.

Lily was waiting for him at the front entrance of the arena, near the same doors they'd walked through two mornings earlier. She pitched a finished nub of cigarette as soon as she saw him.

There were consoling families and sad-looking people on their cell phones everywhere. It was melancholy, and yet at the same time no one seemed that broken up. There were no hysterics, no made-for-TV freak-outs. People were just talking quietly on their phones or talking quietly to each other. There was a lot of shrugging going on, a lot of heads shaking in defeat.

Evan shook his own head as he approached Lily. He shrugged.

She smiled up at him. Put her phone into her handbag. She opened her arms.

He hugged her. She hugged him back, squeezing him a little. His heart fluttered. She pressed her cheek into his manboob, then released him.

She looked up at him, still smiling.

"Let's go home," she said.