Sweeter than Fiction: A Taylor Swift Fic

Chapter 2: The Road Less Traveled By

The applause for the last act faded, and the MC, a scruffy yet handsome man in his forties wearing the unofficial Bluebird Cafe uniform of jeans, plaid shirt, and cowboy boots, took the stage. “Next up, we have a very special young lady who is, while still in high school, already a promising songwriter.” Abigail smiled across the table at me, her damp red hair pulled into a messy red bun — she’d come straight from swim practice to make the showcase. I remembered her promise that if didn’t go well, we’d commiserate with Oreos (at least the icing, anyway) and the Romeo + Juliet with Leonardo DiCaprio we couldn’t stop watching even if we always ended up sobbing our eyes out. And if it did go well... well, we’d probably do the same thing. “Ladies and gentleman, please welcome Taylor Swift!”

Mom squeezed my shoulder as the applause started again and I walked onto the stage, taking a seat on the wooden chair in the spotlight and tugging my sundress over my knees. My stomach fluttered like all those clapping hands, but I took a breath and forced myself to smile. I’d sung anthems in front of thousands of people, this was just a few people in a café. A café with one of the most respected songwriting showcases in the country, but… I strummed my guitar to calm my nerves, made sure it was in tune. Show them what you’ve got, Tay.

 “Hi. I’m Taylor, and tonight I’m going to play you a song I wrote called ‘The Outside.’” Though I was tempted to play something newer (I had a song about Tim McGraw I was really excited about), I thought playing the only song I had published was a safe bet — maybe someone would remember it from the Chicks with Attitude CD.

 “My songs are kind of like my diaries, and this is a song I wrote about feeling left out, when the only thing scarier than playing a showcase at the Bluebird Café was just trying to find a seat at lunch in middle school. But being on the outside gave me something important... lots of time alone to write songs.” The audience laughed, and I felt my muscles uncoil, my hands loose on the strings. “Here at the Bluebird I’m still an outsider, but you all are much more welcoming that middle graders.”

 As I hit the first notes, I fell into the song, the words riding the notes, coming easily. By the time I got to the chorus, l felt my confidence building. I’d forgotten that my hair was frizztastic thanks to the November rain tonight, that the notes I sang didn’t always sound as good as in my bedroom. But I was on a legendary stage, singing about my feelings, and somehow that made them matter. Made me matter.  

 So how can I ever try to be better?

Nobody ever lets me in

I can still see you, this ain't the best view

On the outside looking in

I've been a lot of lonely places

I've never been on the outside

 As I played, I tried to take in all the details of the moment: the flickering candles on the tables, the twinkle lights around the stage, the photos of legendary songwriters on the walls. But what I savoured most was the faces in the attentive faces in the crowd: they were listening, really and truly. I saw one man with curly dark hair leaning forward in his chair, chin resting on his hands.

 I wrapped up the song and the audience started clapping — not just the obligatory claps of polite appreciation, but the claps of people who had experienced something, felt something maybe. I could hear my dad’s whistle above the crowd, and he met my eyes, giving me a big thumbs up. The guy who had been so still listening had come to life, and was on his feet clapping harder than anyone — even my family. I thanked the crowd and headed off the stage toward my family and Abigail, but I was intercepted by the curly haired man.

“Taylor, you were extraordinary tonight. The song, the voice, the musicianship... the complete package. I was blown away.”

I almost dropped my guitar I was so surprised. “Thank you—”

 “Scott. Scott Borchetta. And I have some good news and I have some bad news. The good news is, I want to sign you to a record deal. The bad news is, I’m no longer with Universal Records. But I’m starting a new company and if you wait for me, I’ll make you its leading star.”

 The chatter of people and the clinking of glasses faded away. I’d just been asked by a handsome stranger to wait for him, but this was bigger and better than any romance. And I had a feeling that maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t have to feel like an outsider in Nashville much longer.

 * * *

My phone chimed a reminder, telling me it was time to get moving, or I’d get scolded by my stylist (and you don’t want to annoy a man brandishing a curling iron). But surely there was time just to have a quick peek at my emails. As I loaded the new messages, two caught my eye, and I knew I had plans for next week:

From: Lautner, Taylor |

Hey Swifty, I’m in town for a few days and I hear there’s a county fair going on? The Michigan boy in me can’t resist. Up for some goat feeding and blue ribbon pumpkins? Other Taylor

From: Anderson, Abigail |

T, I’m home next week, and want to do something crazy. Want to do trapeze lessons? I think you should earn that ringmaster outfit you wear on tour. ;)  xoxo A

Who should Taylor make plans with, Taylor Lautner or Abigail? Let us know by commenting below!!