Backstage Harmony: When a Berklee Professor Crashes an Idol Show

My brother is a total C-lister. To recycle their dead weight, his agency threw him into a reality idol survival show.

Round two required the trainees to perform an original song. The trust-fund kid brought in a platinum-selling producer. The nepo baby dragged in his mega-star older brother. My brother brought me: an absolutely average music teacher.

After the first round aired, the song we produced went insanely viral across the internet:

"This is a masterpiece! His sister absolutely slayed this!"

"What kind of school does this music teacher work at?! She's a genius!"

My brother silently raised his hand: "B... Berklee."

I was right in the middle of grading my students' compositions when my brother called.

My top student was prepping for a new single release, and after eight revisions, he still wasn't satisfied with the demo. I was frantically marking up the sheet music with a red pen, snapping into the phone in total frustration:

"I told you I'm slammed. I can't fly back to the States right now. Find someone else."

I was fully prepared to hang up, but Leo's desperate voice pleaded through the receiver:

"Aria, you're my only sister! Just help me this one time. I swear, if you do this, I'll deflect all of Aunt Susans nosy marriage interrogations at Thanksgiving and Christmas this year."

Women know exactly how this goes. Once you hit a certain age, every distant relative suddenly becomes deeply invested in your marital and reproductive status. Since we still had our grandparents around, flying home for the holidays was mandatory. The mere thought of Aunt Susan's machine-gun-style questioning made me instantly cave.

I rubbed my temples and sighed:

"Text me the time and location. I'll clear my schedule."

I hung up just as I finished tweaking the demo. Chase, my student, was leaning against the desk. Having overheard the entire conversation, he flashed a bright, perfectly curated smile:

"Aria, are you flying back to the States?"

I packed up the sheet music and handed it to him:

"Yeah, family emergency. I have to head back for a bit."

With that, I grabbed my bag and rushed out to book a flight.

I was in such a hurry, I didn't even catch his final question: "Can I come find you?"

A week later, I stood outside the massive studio training camp, dragging three heavy suitcases, nearly blinded by the aggressive flash of paparazzi cameras.

Leo conveniently left out the fact that the show would be live-broadcasting our arrivals. So, while other mentors were stepping out of tinted Escalades draped in haute couture, I was standing on the curb in sweatpants, aggressively haggling with an Uber driver.

"We agreed on fifty bucks from the airport! Not a penny more."

"Lady, look at this mob! Do you see this traffic? I'm gonna be stuck here all morning. I need a surge fee."

I dug into my wallet. I had rushed back from Europe so fast I hadn't exchanged any cash, and my Venmo balance was sitting at exactly fifty bucks from a leftover pizza split. I prided myself on perfect budgeting, but today, I was officially screwed.

A reporter standing nearby couldn't bear to watch the tragedy unfold and handed the driver a twenty-dollar bill to cover the difference. I swore up and down I'd pay him back the second I got change, but he still blasted my face all over the livestream's front page.

#LeosSisterIsBroke

#LeoBroughtHisSisterToSaveTheFamilyFarm

#TraineeLeoEliminatedByRoundTwo

What can I say? Rumors end with the wise, but this was a PR disaster.

After finally sorting out the driver, I followed the production assistants down the red carpet toward the training facility.

The competition had split eighty contestants into eight groups of ten. Leo was placed in Group 3, a team entirely composed of indie trainees with zero corporate backing and zero budget for famous mentors. No wonder the kid was begging for his life.

The mentors took turns introducing themselves on the red carpet.

First up was the mega-star brother Leo warned me about. He debuted ten years ago and was the absolute reigning pop idol of his generation:

"Hey everyone, I'm Jaxon. I'm the mentor for Tyler's team, and I specialize in rap and dance."

The fans behind the barricades completely lost their minds. The host eagerly hyped him up:

"Jaxon is being too humble! Everyone knows that after a decade in the industry, his songwriting is just as legendary as his dancing."

Jaxon waved his hands modestly:

"When it comes to songwriting, we have a literal platinum-selling producer right here. I wouldn't dare claim to be a legend."

Right on cue, the woman standing next to me in a custom Dior dress stepped up to the mic:

"Hi everyone, I'm Vivian. I'm a music producer, the mentor for Cole's team, and I specialize in composition and lyricism."

She covered her mouth with a soft, elegant laugh, gently waving to her screaming fans.

I don't know if it was just my intuition, but I could swear Vivian was glaring at me with pure hostility.

Before I could overthink it, the microphone was shoved into my hands:

"Hi everyone, I'm Aria. I'm the mentor for Leo's team. I'm a music teacher, mostly working in music education, and I also specialize in composition."

The moment the words left my mouth, the atmosphere in the crowd turned incredibly toxic:

[Is this Aria chick trying to steal Vivian's brand?]

[Where did they find a random music teacher? Can she even read sheet music?]

[Leo and his sister are so desperate for screen time.]

[Ugh, my favorite trainee is stuck on Leo's team! Is it too late for him to switch?!]

The crowd was buzzing with insults. The host quickly tried to do damage control:

"What a coincidence! Miss Aria is also a composer. Do you have any published works we might know?"

I knew the host was trying to throw me a lifeline so I could win over the fans. Worried they wouldn't recognize my European releases, I picked a domestic track I had recently produced.

"Give Me Power."

The second I dropped the title, the crowd erupted into outright mockery:

[What the hell is that? Never heard of it.]

[I just searched Spotify. It literally doesn't exist.]

[Is this girl delusional? Does she count unreleased garage band tracks as 'published'?]

The host clearly thought the exact same thing. He let out a painfully awkward laugh, said, "Miss Aria is so funny!" and practically threw the mic to the next person before I could cause any more live-television disasters.

It wasn't until much later that I realized the sports committee had localized the title. To make it catchier for the domestic market, they completely changed the name. When fans eventually looked up the official songwriting credits for the Olympic Theme Song and saw the name "Aria" sitting in the composer slot, they completely lost their minds.

[I am the clown. The clown is me.]

[The Olympic Anthem Give Me Strength was originally titled Give Me Power!!]

After introductions, the mentors dispersed to claim their teams.

Before I even reached my designated zone, Leo practically sprinted over, dragging me by the arm:

"Guys, meet my sister! She's an insanely talented songwriter..."

"How talented? Like, 'zero published songs' talented?"

Before Leo could even finish, a blonde trainee named Dylan cut in with pure venom.

"Shut your mouth, Dylan. If you have a problem, go find another team," Leo snapped. He absolutely refused to let anyone disrespect me.

Dylan had an ego. Getting called out in front of the cameras was all it took. He immediately turned on his heel and marched straight over to Vivian's team. The rules allowed up to 12 members per group, and she still had open slots.

Seeing Dylan walk out, Leo shouted to the room:

"Anyone else want to leave? Door's right there! Go now before the other teams fill up!"

That shout prompted three more guys to walk out. From the original ten boys we started with, we were down to six in under five minutes. The live stream comments were brutal:

[Only six people left? That was fast.]

[These poor kids have zero resources.]

[Sister Uber-surge needs to quit. If she needs money, we'll start a GoFundMe.]

They left so fast I couldn't even say a word to stop them. Leo waited until the dust settled to introduce the survivors:

"Sis, these are our guys. This is Mason, veteran street dancer, currently ranked 70th. This is Spencer..."

He went down the line. Not a single kid ranked in the top 50.

"And then there's me, Leo. Sitting pretty at rank 20."

"So, basically, this team doesn't have a single debut-tier trainee," I sighed, looking at this ragtag group of kids. I felt like I had just been drafted into a boy band retirement home.

"Wait, sis! Let me formally introduce my absolute best bro, Ryder. Sings like an angel, dances like a demon, currently ranked number 3."

I looked at the boy Leo shoved toward me. Ryder was undeniably gorgeoushonestly, right up there with my star student Chase. He had this cold, aloof look in his eyes that teenage girls absolutely lose their minds over. No wonder he was top three. But...

"Everyone else bailed. Why did you stay? Aren't you terrified of losing your debut spot?" I asked.

Ryder stood there, effortlessly cool, tilting his chin toward Leo:

"I lost a bet to this idiot and promised I'd carry his team. I'm strong enough to survive this regardless. And if you don't know how to write a song, I'll do it for you."

Damn, I thought to myself. I'm shipping this. Am I getting a brother-in-law out of this show?

After the awkward greetings, we followed the host to draw our performance themes. By pure chance, we drew the exact same theme as Vivian's elite group: "The Four Seasons."

Youth and the changing seasonsit was a poetic, fitting prompt.

I gathered the boys in our assigned practice room and told them to share their life stories. Art requires a soul. You can only move an audience if your music bleeds with genuine emotion. That was my first official lesson as their mentor.

We were deep in an emotional discussion when the heavy doors suddenly banged open. Dylan, the kid who had walked out earlier, strutted in with his chin held high:

"Sorry guys, I requested this practice room first. You need to leave."

"What do you mean you requested it? You guys literally walked into Room 2 ten minutes ago!"

Mason, our lead dancer, had a notoriously short fuse and absolutely hated bullies.

Dylan stood in the doorway, a mocking smirk on his lips. He glanced back at a young production assistant named Jenkins. "If you don't believe me, ask Assistant Jenkins. We told her from the start we wanted Room 5."

Jenkins was fresh out of college. Hearing Dylan throw her under the bus, she realized she was being forced to lie. She cast a terrified look at Dylan, her eyes darting away nervously as she gave a slight nod.

I stared directly at Jenkins:

"Little girl, the path of your life is determined by where you set your baseline. Are you absolutely sure you want to start your career by bowing to people like this?"

That single question seemed to strike a nerve. The young assistant clenched her fists, staring at the floor. Something shifted in her eyes, and with a sudden surge of bravery, she blurted out:

"No! Dylan's team never asked for this room! Vivian thought Room 2's lighting was bad for her skin, so she wanted to switch. All the other rooms were taken by big agencies. She looked around and decided your team was the easiest to bully!"

Dylans scheme was dragged completely into the light. Furious and humiliated, he started screaming, demanding the camera operators cut the footage immediately and threatening to blacklist Jenkins from the industry forever.

Leo laughed, openly mocking him:

"Listen to this guy! You're a washed-up, serial reality-show reject, and you're acting like a mafia boss? Who the hell are you to order cuts?"

"Dylan doesn't have the authority, but I do."

The words echoed from the hallway as Colethe infamous nepo babywalked in with his entourage, followed closely by Assistant Director Hayes.

Hearing Cole's demand, Director Hayes immediately began kissing up. He ordered the cameras to cut, deleted the footage, and turned right to Assistant Jenkins: "Pack your desk. Don't bother coming in tomorrow."

The power of daddy's corporate money was truly terrifying.

The commotion was so loud that trainees from all the other rooms flooded out to watch the drama unfold.

Vivian finally emerged from Room 2, playing the picture-perfect, understanding victim. She offered an apologetic smile:

"I am so sorry. My eyes are incredibly sensitive to bad lighting, and I just couldn't read the sheet music in there. I just wanted to swap rooms... I had no idea it would cause this much trouble."

"Tell you what, Leo," she continued sweetly, "I won't just take the room for free. I know your team is struggling. When it comes to composing your song, you can come ask me for advice anytime."

She was literally offering a fake, non-existent part-time tutoring session in exchange for our studio space, while simultaneously stepping on my credibility as a mentor. Her manipulation was an absolute masterclass.

Before I could even lose my temper, Leo pretended to gag:

"Don't talk to me like we're family. I don't have a sister like you."

That single sentence wiped the fake smiles completely off Vivian and Cole's faces, leaving them pale with rage.

"Leo, don't push your luck!"

Dylan lost his temper completely, shoving his finger aggressively into Leo's face, mere inches from throwing a punch.

Ryder instantly stepped up, grabbing Dylan's finger with a vice grip:

"Point that finger one more time and see what happens."

Yep, I thought. Definitely getting a brother-in-law.

But future in-laws aside, I absolutely refused to let my kids get bullied right in front of me. We're all adults here; everyone has connections.

I pulled out my phone, ready to dial Sterling.

Sterling was my old college friend. Back when we were studying overseas, a bunch of us expat musicians bonded over our shared struggles, building a deep, mutual respect. After graduation, I stayed in academia to get tenured, while he returned to the US to inherit Apex Entertainment, turning it into an absolute corporate juggernaut over the past few years.

But before my thumb could hit the call button, a massive wave of screaming erupted from the end of the hallway. Amidst the gasps and cheers, Chase strode through the blinding lights, his ridiculously long legs carrying him effortlessly forward, flashing his trademark, million-dollar idol smile.

To everyone's absolute shock, he bypassed the VIPs, walked straight up to me, and gave a playful wink that practically screamed, Surprise!

[What are you doing here?!] I demanded with my eyes. Wasn't he supposed to be across the Atlantic right now?

Chase leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear:

"I asked you if I could come find you. You didn't answer, so I took it as a yes."

Huh? When the hell did this kid ask me that?

Before I could interrogate him further, the show's executive producers and top directors rushed over, practically tripping over themselves to introduce him to the crowd:

"Everyone knows the incredible Chase! He flew all the way back from his overseas tour just for this. He's going to be joining us as a guest mentor for this segment. Let's give him a massive welcome!"

Through the deafening applause, trainees were whispering frantically:

"The network must have spent a fortune! He's literally the biggest star on the planet right now. How did they get him?!"

"I know! Jaxon is famous, but that was ten years ago. Chase is an absolute A-lister at his absolute peak!"

"Actually, I heard the network didn't even dare to invite him. If they had, they would have hyped it for months. Chase's management contacted the show directly."

"Why would he volunteer?!"

"Duh, haven't you heard the industry rumors? Chase has always credited a 'muse' from Berklee for his musical awakening. And Vivian is literally Berklee's most famous outstanding alumna!"

"So he flew across the world just for Vivian?!"

"One hundred percent."

Hearing the gossip buzzing around the crowd, Vivian's face flushed with a perfect, bashful pink. She offered a sweet, secretive smile, gently telling her trainees to "stop spreading rumors," which only made it look even more obvious that she and Chase had some secret romantic history.

I honestly didn't care about Chase's tabloid love life at that moment. The practice room hostage situation was still unresolved. If he took my side, great. But if he sided with his supposed "Berklee muse," I wasn't going to let our student-teacher bond stop me from going to war.

With all the producers standing right there, I dialed Sterling on speakerphone. It took three sentences for him to grasp the situation. While he laughed his head off at the fact that I was getting bullied by reality TV kids, he immediately barked an order to his assistant to call the network executives.

While I was still bantering with Sterling on the phone, the executive producer suddenly turned pale, hung up his own ringing phone, and approached me with absolute reverence. He aggressively apologized, declared that Room 5 was ours by right, and explicitly told me that if I ever needed anything else, I could bypass the crew and call the head director directly.

In a matter of seconds, the power dynamic completely flipped back to our side.

Realizing she couldn't bully us out of the room anymore, Vivian immediately shifted her target to Chase. She looked up at him, batting her eyelashes, tears welling up beautifully in her eyes:

"Chase, it's okay. Even though the lighting in Room 2 hurts my eyes, I can suffer through it..."

She was putting on an absolute masterclass in crying on command.

Standing across from her, Chase furrowed his brows, looking deeply in thought, but didn't say a word.

I crossed my arms, also saying nothing.

I truly couldn't comprehend this level of petty drama. It was just a practice room! She was acting like I had stolen her husband.

Seeing that Chase wasn't taking the bait, Vivian turned up the heat:

"It's just that my doctors warned me about my severe light sensitivity. Working in that dark room is going to cause me physical pain..."

"Hey," Chase finally spoke up, cutting through the silence. Just as the crowd held their breath, expecting him to defend Vivian, he completely ignored her. He turned to me, gripping my sleeve with a deeply sulky, jealous pout:

"Who were you just on the phone with?"

"You guys sounded really close."

The jealousy in his voice was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

What is wrong with this kid? Why is he acting so weird?

"Just a college friend. I was getting bullied, so I called someone to have my back."

Chase frowned: "If you needed someone to have your back, why didn't you just ask me? I'm standing right here. And I have a pretty great back."

To prove his point, he flexed his core, the crisp lines of his abs faintly visible through his designer shirt.

...Dammit. A male idol's waist is a lethal weapon. Just looking at him made my heart skip a beat.

"Speaking of having my back," I deflected, raising an eyebrow. "When I asked how many fans you had back at the studio, didn't you tell me you only had 'a few'? Since when are you a global mega-star?"

"I said I had a few... million," Chase grinned, looking completely innocent.

When I was mentoring him overseas, I thought he was just a struggling, unknown indie artist, so I always went out of my way to take care of him. Turns out the kid was a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Seeing us effortlessly banter in our own private bubble, Vivian couldn't hold back her jealousy:

"Do you two... know each other?"

"Yeah," Chase replied coolly, barely looking at her. Then, as if remembering a crucial detail, he added:

"Also, out of respect for your peers, you should refer to her as Ms. Aria."

That single sentence was an absolute execution. The crowd of trainees who had just been swearing Chase flew back for Vivian practically felt the slap across their faces.

"Is Chase really here for Vivian? Because it definitely doesn't look like it."

"He's strictly maintaining professional boundaries! He's definitely avoiding rumors!"

I didn't care if he was avoiding rumors or not; Chase had handled this perfectly. He hadn't let some fake tabloid romance rot his brain, and as his teacher, I was deeply proud.

Realizing the practice room was a lost cause, Vivian gathered her trainees and retreated in total humiliation.