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Chapter 2
Boot Camp is a lot harder than she thought it would be.
She's never been an outdoorsy kind of person, and the city girl within her rebels against the campfires, bugs, and grime. Her hair is gone, but Cat still struggles in her breast trying to worm her way back out. The number she's assigned becomes the cage that bars her way.
She's Number 7A. (Cabin A, camper 7).
Something about the cold systematic way she's been classified as appeals to her. Being treated as machinery is useful when all she wants to do is reinvent herself.
6:00 AM: Physical stamina training.
7:00 AM: Dance.
7:55-8:10: Breakfast
8:11 AM: Dance
9:00 AM: Theater
11:00 AM: Instrumental music
12:00-5:00 PM: Singing, more dancing, more honing of skills, more strength training, more singing.
5:00-10:00 PM: Make-up, Professionalism, Portfolio, Auditions
Number 7A falls into bed each night with bruises and aches on top of those she accumulated the days before. She's too tired to think, too tired to cry, too tired to do anything but sleep and wake up the next morning, when she forces herself out of bed to begin it all over again.
The physical pace exhausts her, but the emotional strain almost kills her. There are no friends at Musical Boot Camp. There are no companions, no rivals, no relationships. There are only trainees.
The System toughens its trainees up, breaks them, or brings out the worst in them. Number 7A remembers the first days of Hollywood Arts, the cold looks and the apathetic smiles. She's been under the protection of JadeBeckToriRobbieAndre for so long that she's forgotten what it feels like to be alone.
To not have Jade yelling at her for sitting down at her table.
To not have Tori smiling at her or Robbie and Rex making everyone laugh.
To not have Andre and Beck ready and willing to protect her if she needs it.
Cat wants to go home, wants to call her mom and rush back to California—to throw herself at her friends and pretend that being seen as a bubbly, air-headed child doesn't bother her. Number 7A pushes Cat ruthlessly down, locks her in and throws away the key.
Her hair starts to grow back.
She's not sure when Number 7A changes into Caterina. Her body gets stronger, leaner, tougher. She gets muscles everywhere, long, wiry muscles that don't bulk but consume the fat on her body so quickly that soon she feels like she's all strength.
Her hair is chestnut with streaks of amber and she keeps it in a bun and out of her way—but it's pretty and she likes it better than the fire-engine red she dyed it when she wasn't sure who she was.
She can dance—ballet, hip hop, and jazz. She can flip and cartwheel both forwards and backwards and her voice has grown powerful. Sweet, vibrant, but powerful. She sounds like the star, not the shy background harmonizer.
The last day of camp, she looks at the girls next to her—some changed, some broke, some held on to their B-rated talent and hate those who didn't—and realizes that she doesn't know a single one of them. She also realizes that she doesn't care.
When she gets on the train back to California, the conductor asks her for her name and ticket.
She hands it to him, and smiles. "I'm Caterina Valentine."
There's still a month before school starts—has it really been only two months?—but she doesn't return the calls Tori and Jade left on her cell-phone. Her mom, dull-eyed and barely-registering her presence, doesn't comment on her changed look.
At a glance, her life hasn't changed.
Her mother is still disconnected with the world and rambling on about the day her dad will finally realize that he left the best part of his life behind when he ditched the Valentine family. Her brother is still a pothead who wanders in and out of the house depending on whether he remembers his address.
Cat ignored all this and tried to make things the way they should have been. She combed her mom's hair and made everyone breakfast, ignored the bruises when her mom's grasp got too tight or the vomit when her brother lost control of his body.
Caterina doesn't care anymore.
The auditions are so easy she almost laughs. They give her a piece of music and an hour to choreograph it—Boot Camp gave her fifteen—and she blows them away. All the steps are perfect, the movements graceful and yet sensual in a way fun, kiddy Cat never was.
She leaves the judges feeling flushed and makes her way out the door.
Sinjun nearly crashes into her as the judges call his name and he rushes into the room. His eyes meet hers and Caterina suddenly feels her chest tighten, but then Sinjun just flushes and fidgets and runs away with a brief, "Excuse me."
Even Sinjun doesn't recognize me.
The knowledge gives her power, strength, and makes her happy. She's won. Cat is gone, leaving Caterina in her place. At least for now, she's in control.
When the acceptance letter comes in the mail—all Gold classes, congratulations—she's not surprised.
She keeps her Camp routine—jogging every morning, strength and ab work before and after breakfast. Lots of dancing. Even more singing.
On the second day her mother stumbles into her room and tells her to shut up or get out.
Wash the red dye out of your hair or cut it all off.
Caterina walks out.
The classified ads don't really give her much to go with. Most need a special skill that she doesn't have, and she knows better than to call a number with the area code from the wrong side of town. Caterina has nothing but her guitar, a backpack of clothes, the money in her pocket, and her.
She considers calling Jade or Tori and asking for a place to stay, but that's something Cat would do. Not Caterina.
Caterina is strong and self-sufficient. Caterina is beautiful, powerful, and, more importantly, she doesn't need anyone. She can take care of herself.
The cell-phone drops out of her hands and into the street, where a minivan runs it over. A piece of plastic flies from the debris and strikes her on the cheek. There's blood.
Caterina Valentine rips off the end of her jacket sleeve and presses it to the cut until it stops bleeding.
Much later, when she finally gets a chance to look herself in the mirror, there's a small white scar just under her cheekbone.
In the end, she gets a job at a bar. The people raise an eyebrow at the fourteen year old striding through the booze, sex, and gambling towards the karaoke bar, but Caterina doesn't care. She vaults up to the machine and locks eyes with the owner, who's regarding her with narrowed eyes from the bar.
Terry, the bartender, shoots her a smirk. It's the closest thing to encouragement she'll get.
Caterina closes her eyes and tries to remember the woman's advice.
"You're a bit young to be here, aren't you sweetie?"
"I want to work. I need to work."
"Blunt little thing. Let me give you some advice. See that man over there? He's the Boss. Give him the same attitude that you gave me, and maybe he'll give you a chance to do—whatever you do."
Caterina looks at this woman. Terry is tall, willowy, and beautiful, with perfect make-up and a gleam in her eye that wavers between humor and the knowledge of the bitter irony of life. "Why are you here?"
"Ever heard of privacy?" Terry pulls out a cigarette and lights it, "Oh, what the hell. It's not like it matters. My bastard of an ex stole my wallet and left me with nothing but several broken ribs and a harsh dose of reality. Said he loved me, would always love me. The whole shitload.
Kept coming back, and I kept letting him. After the last time, I filed for divorce. He left me for dead in some alley. The Boss took me in, nursed me to health. Gave me a place to start over."
She slanted her eyes at Cat. "Don't get your hopes up, Sweetie. He's a businessman first and foremost. If I hadn't been hot and talented, I'd have been out on my ass the moment I got better."
"I want to sing for your bar."
The man doesn't even look at her. "Go home."
"Watch me."
Vincent Cornwell isn't a soft-hearted man, but he does have an eye for special things-so he doesn't leave when the five-foot two child marches up to the karaoke machine like she owns it. He doesn't turn away when she locks eyes with him. He listens when she starts to sing.
"This song is for Terry."
On the first page…of our story…the future seemed so bright.
Then this thing turned out so evil…don't know why I'm so surprised.
Just gonna stand there and watch me burn—but that's allright 'cause I like the way it hurts.
Just gonna stand there and hear me cry—but that's allright 'cause I like the way you lie.
I love the way you lie.
Working at the Broken Hearts is a new experience, but it pays well and combined with her tips, she isn't starving.
It's still not enough to get her a place to live.
Terry notices the way she lingers as late as possible before finally heading out, notices the bags under her eyes and the way she shivers when she's not performing. Before Caterina realizes what's going on, she's sharing an apartment with a woman she barely knows.
It's still much better than living with a drunk shadow and a sometimes-there brother.
She applies for financial aid three days before school starts, only to find that as an all Gold Class student, her tuition is free. Terry smirks and drawls out a congratulations when Caterina tells her the news, but there's a pride in the woman's eyes that makes her happier than the knowledge that she'll be able to afford Hollywood Arts.
That night, she sneaks back into her house to grab the remainder of her stuff, only to find her mother crying in her bedroom, a bottle of Vodka in her hand.
Cat would have run in hoping that the woman's tears were for her and that really, deep inside, Margaret Valentine loved her daughter. Caterina sees only regret and not repentance in her mother's tears and waits until the woman passes out before gathering up the rest of her stuff.
It's not much—just her laptop, some blankets, her old CD's and stationary sets. When Terry flips open her laptop screen and catches a glimpse of the screensaver, she smiles and asks who the red-head with the goofy smile is.
"Cat."
She'll reunite with her friends in the next chapter.
Also, "Love the Way You Lie," sung by Ariana Grande, (a.k.a. 'Cat'), can be found on youtube at /watch?v=GGlklDOTq2Q. Or you can just search, "Ariana Grande - Love the Way You Lie"