I Got Booked as a Taylor Swift Tribute Act to Save My Mom’s Daycare, But The Promoters Secretly Sold Tickets for the Real Thing
The Accidental Viral Moment
“Can you angle the camera away from the trash cans? I’m trying to give off ‘mysterious artist,’ not ‘suburban recycling day.’”
Marcus laughed, adjusting the tripod set up on his drum kit. “Relax, Ev. It’s just a test stream. Nobody’s watching except maybe my cousin in Ohio.”
The garage smelled like gasoline and old carpet, a scent that had become synonymous with freedom for me. I adjusted the strap of the acoustic guitar my dad gave me before he passed, feeling the familiar weight settle against my ribs. Jacob was tuning his bass in the corner, focused and intense.
We were days away from the City Sound Showdown, the competition that could finally put August Run on the map.
“Alright,” I said, stepping up to the mic. “Let’s just warm up. Something easy.”
I didn’t overthink it. I just started strumming the opening chords to ‘Love Story.’ It was cheesy, sure, but it was fun. I’d put on bright red lipstick earlier—a confidence booster for the eviction mess I was trying to forget—and as I leaned into the microphone, I let myself slip into the melody.
“We were both young when I first saw you…”
I closed my eyes. For a few minutes, the terrifying image of the eviction notice on my mom’s desk faded. There was just the vibration of the strings under my calloused fingertips and the thrum of Marcus’s kick drum.
When I opened my eyes at the bridge, Marcus was staring at his phone screen, his mouth slightly open. He wasn’t playing anymore.
“Uh, Everly?” he said, his voice cracking. “You might want to look at this.”
I stopped playing. “What? Is the audio bad?”
“No. The chat. It’s… it’s going vertical.”
I stepped over the tangled cables to peer at the phone. Messages were scrolling so fast they were a blur of text and emojis.
OMG IS THAT HER?
No way Taylor is in a garage right now.
The lipstick! The bangs! It’s literally her.
CONFIRMED: Secret acoustic session???
“They think I’m Taylor,” I whispered, reading a comment that offered to sell a kidney just to breathe the same air as me. “Marcus, tell them I’m not her.”
“Are you kidding? Look at the viewer count!” Marcus pointed. The number jumped from 40 to 4,000 in seconds. “This is the exposure we’ve been waiting for! Just… keep going. Give ‘em a smile.”
I hesitated, looking at my reflection in the dark screen. With the lighting dim and the red lip, the resemblance was uncanny. I felt a weird thrill mix with the nausea in my stomach. I turned back to the camera and gave a shy wave. The chat exploded with heart emojis.
PING.
A direct message banner dropped down from the top of the screen. It wasn’t a fan. It was an account named ‘EliteEvents_Promotions’.
“Ms. Grant. We represent a private client hosting a Tribute Night this Saturday. We saw the stream. We need that look. $10,000 for one set. Cash.”
The number hit me like a physical blow. Ten thousand dollars. That covered the back rent. It covered the next three months. It saved EPA. It saved Mom.
“Who’s that?” Jacob asked, coming up behind me. He peered over my shoulder.
I swiped the notification away instantly, my heart hammering against my ribs. The date—Saturday. The same night as the Showdown.
“Just… some spam,” I lied, my voice sounding thin and reedy to my own ears. I couldn’t tell him. Jacob lived for this competition. But he didn’t have a landlord threatening to bulldoze his family’s livelihood.
“We need to focus,” Jacob said, unaware that my world had just tilted on its axis. “If we win on Saturday, we get the festival slot. That’s the real dream, Ev.”
“Yeah,” I said, clutching my guitar neck so hard my knuckles turned white. “The real dream.”
I looked back at the phone. The viewer count was still climbing, but all I could see was that dollar sign. I wasn’t a liar. I wasn’t a fraud. But for ten grand? I could be whoever they wanted me to be.
