Me, I was a Texan with really great hair, and the first thing they did was chop it off into a shoulder-length bob. They said they wanted me to look “edgier,” presumably because I didn’t know how to dress myself. They advised a diet—which I promptly ignored—encouraged fishnets, and liked putting me in animal-print cocktail dresses. Every night we filmed an episode, Nikki and Gary sat me down in a makeup chair and lined my eyes with dark kohl and lips in dark plum. Tonight, I’m wearing a hot-pink-and-white zebra-print dress, dark tights, and combat boots. I don’t feel like me, but they assure me I look great.

Anna wants to continue chatting, but I can feel my throat squeezing shut. “I’m going to . . . ,” I mutter and then duck away to breathe in a corner.

While I’m humming my warm-up, a hand touches my shoulder. I turn and it’s Stephen St. James. I can never take in Stephen all at once. Sometimes it’s his long, angular nose. Sometimes I can focus only on his smell—freshly laundered clothes and a touch of cologne. Today it’s his hand; his well-manicured nails and pink-knuckled fingers that are now pulling away from my arm. “Good luck,” he says. It’s the second time he’s spoken to me directly and not in a group—the first being “hello” when we were introduced in the big room as the final twelve.

I nod as warmth starts creeping into my cheeks. “You too.”

He gives a thousand-watt smile and moves on. I close my eyes and hum.

SING IT, AMERICA! is a revolution in television. Oh, sure, reality TV competitions have been around for a while—Star Search, for one—but for some reason the public is primed for this type of show right now. Game show contestants have too much luck for the audience to feel truly invested, and scripted shows seem too contrived. Some executive somewhere decided that talented members of America’s public needed to be showcased and then bumped off week by week, with a record-deal contract and a shot at fame dangling in front of their noses at the finish line, and a million people leapt for the chance.

Every week, we sing. Every week, a panel of five judges gives their critique or praise. Every week, the judges, with input from the call-in audience, eliminate one of the contestants. And every week, the live studio audience and the people at home glued to their television sets have something to discuss for the next few days. And tonight our fates will be decided.

I want this so bad that my teeth ache. I tell myself to relax my jaw and I breathe slowly and deliberately through parted lips. I’m blinking perspiration off my eyelashes, blurring the row of televisions where we can see the broadcast backstage, and I’m not even under the hot stage lights yet. There’s a few seconds’ delay, but it’s almost live.

“Find your places, please,” says a PA, sweeping through the room.

Our host, Matilda Gottfried, walks her fingers over her lapels, adjusting every pleat on her outfit. She strides out of view and a few moments later, she’s on the screens. As the applause dies down, she clasps the microphone in her hands and shares a giant grin. “Welcome to the finale of Sing It, America! It’s been a long, wild ride with our three very talented contestants. Tonight, one of them will be chosen, by you, to be our next national pop star. They’ve been dreaming and hoping for this moment for all of their young lives. Will it be Anna Williams, a classically trained dancer who can also hit a high note? Will it be Stephen St. James, who has stolen the hearts of all American women since day one? Or will you choose Cassidy Holmes, our sassy sweetheart? Tonight’s the night when one of their lives will change forever. This entire time, you in the audience and you watching at home have been in charge of their fates. We’ve had to let some really talented people go over the past few weeks, but now we have three wonderful, dedicated hopefuls here tonight.

“Tonight, we’re going to hear three different songs from each of our contestants. We’ll hear a ballad, a pop hit, and one of their own picks. When we give the go-ahead, call in to vote for your favorite.

“But first, let’s meet our judges . . .” The screen cuts to the five people sitting genially in the first row. “Music producer Jenna Kaulfield.” A blonde with gray eyes and a thin mouth, she waves her acknowledgment. “Talent agent of some of the world’s greatest bands, Jonah Stern.” A man with so much bronzer on his face, his arms look like bone in comparison. “Emma Jake, eighties pop icon.” She still looks youthful, with a furry edge of false eyelashes shadowing her eye sockets and high cheekbones emphasized further with rosy blush. “Thomas Reilly, voice coach who has been working tirelessly with these contestants on honing their craft.” A man in tweed who smiles at the audience. “And finally, tonight’s guest judge, Marsha Campbell, from Big Disc Records, who will personally offer a record contract to our lucky winner. Hello, judges!”

“Great to be here,” offers Marsha into the microphone. Her hair is a tossed salad of brown and red and gold. She looks young, maybe in her mid-thirties, and is wearing a pair of glasses with bright red frames.

“It’s wonderful to have you all here again for this momentous occasion,” Matilda says, smiling. “But first, let’s recap our contestants’ stories.” She turns toward a large screen on the side of the stage as the prerecorded medley begins.

It’s our journeys from the audition to this night—five months of our hearts in our throats, of not sleeping enough, of being crammed into hotels, of eating craft services. Of Nikki and Gary controlling my hair and fashion choices. Of waking up early for our lessons with Thomas Reilly—at first all of us together, then whittled down to individual sessions.

Anna’s is first. From her audition in Minneapolis, where she showed up giggling and wearing a clear plastic rain parka over her clothes, to the warm-up lessons with Thomas in crop tops and bootleg jeans (an impressive scatting session with Thomas on the piano, her standing next to him emoting with her eyes closed, hands in the air, was used for this clip), to a smattering of her best performances so far on the show; glittery dress after glittery mini-dress; her five months with Sing It, America! summarized into a few minutes of visual poetry. After a particularly beautiful clip of her last week’s performance, the medley shows Anna at her audition again: her hair is a less radiant burgundy, her lips are pale pink instead of fuchsia, but she’s giggling and laughing as the judges ask: “Why do you want to win this competition, Anna Williams?”

“Because,” she said, “I’m young; I’m passionate; I’m driven.” Every word is punctuated with her clapping her small hands together. “I have the chops and I’m gonna blow you all away!” And there’s no doubt in my mind that she is all of those things. I glance over at Anna, who is standing off to my side. Her hands are on her hips, her eyes are closed, and instead of preoccupying herself with her screen time, she’s warming up.

The screen transitions and it’s Stephen’s turn. He had attended the call in Atlanta, Georgia. He’d worn cowboy boots to his audition and the judges poked fun at him. “You ride?” Jonah Stern had asked.

“If you count my sixty-five Mustang,” Stephen had replied with a suave smirk.

The clips continue: Stephen guffawing in disbelief when he was asked to move on to the next round. Stephen with a few of the now-axed contestants he’d become friends with, sharing laughs over a card game. A homemade video that he’d submitted at some point: a grade-school Stephen singing the national anthem at a local baseball game.