Tiana's POV
I threw my guitar against the wall so hard it left a hole.
The stupid thing made a terrible sound as the strings snapped. But I didn't care. I was tired of practicing the same songs over and over in this tiny, smelly studio while Joan Robert got everything I earned.
"Tiana, what was that crash?" my roommate Kelly yelled from the next room.
"Nothing!" I screamed back. "Mind your own business!"
I looked at the broken guitar on the floor. Three years of saving money from my waitress job, gone. But seeing Joan's perfect face on the TV screen made me so angry I couldn't think straight.
She was on every station. Every stupid news station was talking about her "amazing" show tonight. Her "incredible" voice. Her "stunning" show. It made me sick.
The worst part? I was supposed to be there.
Two years ago, I auditioned for Joan's record label. I sang better than her. I danced better than her. I even wrote my own songs while she just sang whatever people gave her. But did they pick me?
No. They said I was "too young" and "not ready yet." They told me to "keep practicing" and "try again next year."
Next year never came. Instead, they gave Joan Robert another album deal and made her even more popular.
I picked up the TV remote and turned up the volume. Joan was talking to some reporter about how "blessed" and "grateful" she felt. She kept smiling that fake smile she always wore in interviews.
"This has been such an incredible journey," Joan said sweetly. "I just want to thank all my fans for their support."
Liar. She didn't care about her fans. She only cared about being famous and making money.
I knew the truth about Joan Robert. I had done my study.
Three years ago, before she was famous, Joan auditioned for the same record label as me. But she didn't get in because of her ability. She got in because her uncle worked there. Her uncle put in a good word for her and made sure she got noticed.
Nobody talked about that, though. Everyone claimed Joan was just some small-town girl who made it big through hard work and talent. It was all lies.
My phone buzzed on the table. A text from my friend Marcus who worked at a music blog: "Did you see Joan's concert? She looked nervous about something."
I smiled for the first time all day. Marcus was right. Watching the concert video again, I could see Joan kept looking scared and checking her phone. Something had rattled her perfect little world.
Good. She deserved to be scared.
I texted Marcus back: "Yeah, I noticed that too. Wonder what's wrong with the princess?"
He answered quickly: "Word is she got some kind of threatening message backstage. Security is investigating."
A frightening message? My heart started beating faster. Someone else hated Joan as much as I did. Someone else was tired of watching her get everything while better singers like me got nothing.
But then a terrible thought hit me. What if the police probed and found out I had been at the concert tonight? What if they thought I sent the message?
I had bought a VIP ticket using the last of my funds just so I could watch Joan up close and see if she was really as perfect as everyone said. I wanted to catch her making a mistake or being mean to someone.
Instead, she performed wonderfully, and everyone loved her even more.
But I did take some videos of her on my phone. Nothing scary, just her being fake and pretentious with the other VIP guests. I was going to post them online to show people what she was really like.
What if the cops saw those videos and thought I was the one threatening her?
My hands started shaking as I grabbed my phone and looked at the videos I took. In one of them, you could see Joan looking right at me with a scared face. In another, I was clearly staring at her while she acted.
This looked bad. Really bad.
I needed to delete everything and pretend I was never there. But then another idea popped into my head. A terrible, wonderful thought.
What if I didn't delete the videos? What if I used them for something else?
Joan looked scared in those videos. She looked weak and nervous. What if I changed them to make her look even worse? What if I made it seem like she was being mean to someone?
I had learned film editing in college before I dropped out to pursue music. I was actually pretty good at it. I could cut and paste different parts of talks. I could make it look like Joan said things she never said.
My heart was beating with excitement now. This was my time. My chance to show the world that Joan Robert wasn't perfect. My chance to knock her off her high horse and take her place.
But who could I make it look like she was being mean to? It had to be someone people would feel sorry for. Someone young and innocent-looking.
Then it hit me. I could make it look like Joan was being mean to me.
I was nineteen, two years younger than Joan. I had that sweet, innocent face that people always said made me look even younger. If I edited the films right, I could make it look like Joan was bullying me.
Everyone would hate her. They would feel sorry for me. Record labels would want to sign me to make up for what Joan did. I would finally get everything I deserved.
My hands weren't shaking anymore. They were steady as I opened my video editing app and started working.
First, I took a video of Joan looking scared and angry during the show. Then I took another video of me looking sad and hurt. If I put them together just right, it would look like we were talking to each other and Joan was being mean.
I worked for hours, cutting and pasting and adding sound effects. By the time I was done, I had made a perfect fake video of Joan Robert bullying poor little me at her own concert.
It looked so real even I almost believed it.
But before I could post it online, my phone rang. Unknown number.
"Hello?" I answered carefully.
"Hello, Tiana." The voice was deep and masked, like someone was using a voice changer. "I saw you at Joan's concert tonight."
My blood turned to ice. "Who is this?"
"Someone who knows what you're planning. Someone who can help you destroy Joan Robert forever."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I lied.
"Don't play dumb. I saw you recording her. I know you hate her. And I know you just finished editing a very interesting video."
How could they possibly know that? Was someone watching me right now?
"What do you want?" I whispered.
"I want the same thing you do. I want Joan Robert to lose everything. But your little movie isn't enough. I have something much better."
"Like what?"
"Meet me tomorrow night at the old factory on Fifth Street. Come alone. And bring that video you made."
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone, my heart pounding in my chest. Someone else wanted to destroy Joan. Someone with a plan much bigger than mine.
But who were they? And how did they know what I was doing?
As I looked at my edited movie on the computer screen, one terrifying thought crossed my mind: I might not be the hunter anymore.
I might be the prey.