WHISPERS BEHIND THE CURTAIN
American Idol 2025 – Backstage, 7:45 PM. One hour before the live finale.
The hallway buzzed with tension—technicians rushing, lights being tested, producers shouting through headsets. But inside a dimly lit dressing room, a storm was already brewing.
“You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you, Jamal?”
John Foster stood at the doorway, his fists clenched, a manila folder in hand.
Jamal Roberts turned slowly from the mirror, his expression unreadable.
“What the hell are you talking about, John?”
“‘Shadow in the Mirror.’ That arrangement—my arrangement. Funny how you’re suddenly using it tonight.”
Jamal scoffed. “Seriously? You think you own a song arrangement? The producers sent it to me last week.”
John stepped forward, anger flickering in his eyes. “Don’t play dumb. I recorded my version Monday. Studio logs. Security cameras. Want me to go public?”
Jamal’s face didn’t change. Instead, a smirk curved his lips.
“You really think I don’t know who you are?” he said quietly. “Michael Foster. Executive music director. Your uncle.”
John’s jaw tightened.
“I’ve kept my mouth shut all season. But if you think I haven’t noticed the lighting favors, the solo stage time, the little tweaks no one else gets…”
Outside, the sound of footsteps and muted chatter filled the hall. No one dared interrupt.
“I’m not here for politics,” Jamal continued. “I’m here for music. But if you push me, I’ll push back.” He pulled out his phone. “How about we play your outburst after the dress rehearsal? You remember—cussing out the director because the fog machine was off cue?”
“You recorded that?” John’s voice dropped, suddenly hoarse.
“Just in case.” Jamal turned toward the door, then paused. “Win with your voice, not your family name.”
He stepped out, leaving John in the silence of his own boiling thoughts.
Seconds later, a voice echoed through the hallway:
“Finalists to stage—this is your last call for sound check.”
John slowly sat down, his hands trembling—not from fear, but from something worse: uncertainty.
For the first time, the golden boy of the season was rattled.
And somewhere beyond the curtains, as lights dimmed and the crowd roared in anticipation, the real performance was just beginning.
