Ariel
6.21 Arthur Ashe Stadium, New York
There, standing center stage, surrounded by twenty-three thousand people, Ariel del Mar was as close to being among a sea of stars as she would ever get.
Adoring fans waved blinking LED wands shaped like clamshells and tail fins. The stage was still pitch-black, and the sixty-second countdown between songs had started. The final number did not require another costume change, or props, or backup dancers. No, the last song of their Goodbye Goodbye tour would end the way it had all started. Just them. Just Ariel and her sisters.
The only thing louder than the rhythm of Ariel’s heartbeat was the crowd. All the I love yous and cheering rose to the rafters, melding into a powerful storm of sound that could even be felt by those tuning in to the worldwide broadcast streaming in living rooms, in bars, in crowded subway cars, and on billboards in Times Square. Ariel imagined those fans were with her, too.
Momentarily stepping away from her six sisters, Ariel approached the lip of the stage. She never felt closer to her fans and her own music than when she was performing. After 276 shows spread out over two years, Ariel had tried to prepare herself for Siren Seven’s farewell concert. She wanted to hold on to that moment. To remember that she had been there. To know she’d given her all. To be sure it had been worth it. Hadn’t it?
She’d been famous since she was ten years old, and at twenty-five, she was ready to start over. She hadn’t quite figured out what “starting over” would look like. There were sponsorships, movie roles, book deals, and matchmakers all waiting for Ariel’s next move. Her father had promised them all a break from the limelight, but for the first time in her life, she didn’t know what the next move was, and it was thrilling. The world could wait, as long as she could sing one more song. One last song.
atch her breath. The crowd roared. Her bright scarlet hair cascaded in waves over her shoulders. Sweat pooled at the nape of her neck and seeped into her iridescent violet body suit. The high waistband of her cheeky shorts was leaving a semipermanent indent against her belly button. Cool night air kissed her scraped knee where she’d ripped her sheer tights during the last number. But Ariel only flashed her best smile and waved, turning effortlessly on emerald-green platform heels. The spotlight illuminated her path across the stage, and the youngest del Mar girl rejoined her sisters. Waiting behind a row of crystal-encrusted microphone stands, Ariel fit at the center of the lineup as if she were its apex, its heart.
“You are incredible!” Ariel’s bright soprano rang through Arthur Ashe Stadium.
“Of course I am,” said Thea, giving her fuchsia hair a flirty flick.
Ariel shot her sister a mock-chastising glare. She thumbed at the crowd. “I clearly meant them.”
After the ripple of laughter, Thea winked and blew a kiss.
Stella, who was usually brought to tears by any emotion, and also cute puppies, sniffled. “I just realized I’m really going to miss this.”
Alicia craned her neck down the line. “Just?”
“Oh, you know what I mean!” Stella squeaked in defense.
Ariel’s cheeks hurt from smiling. This was the last time she’d run through their end-of-show banter. “I told myself I was going to do this without crying.”
The tail of her sentence warbled with emotion she’d spent two hours trying to rein in. But how could she not be emotional at this moment? Their lives would forever be divided into two periods: Before Siren Seven and After Siren Seven. Everything they’d worked on, their television show, their albums, would be referred to as “an era,” if they were lucky. Or “their heyday,” if they weren’t.
Even Sophia, who was the eldest and never cried, wrinkled her nose like she was trying to stave off inevitable tears. She smoothed out the black silk of her ponytail, all tough-girl bravado as she said, “Come on, get it together, girls. There’s no crying in baseball.”
“Then it’s a good thing I never made the Little League team,” Elektra snarked, and their drummer doled out a ba-dum-tss.
“Let’s get serious for a minute,” Ariel said.
She couldn’t quite make out the faces of the crowd, except for some of the people in the front rows and those who were illuminated by a roving spotlight. But she took a moment to lift her gaze and look out at the very top seat in the farthest nosebleed sections of the arena. She wanted the fans back there to know that she saw them.
“So, I was supposed to write something down,” she confessed guiltily. “But every time I tried, I failed. It felt like rehearsing, and boy, have we done a lot of that. I guess I realized that I wasn’t ready. How do we say goodbye after fifteen years?”
Sophia squeezed Ariel’s hand as their fans hollered encouraging whistles and applause.
“My sisters and I have been blessed,” she continued. “We know everyone says that, but I don’t know how else to describe how lucky we are to have all of you here tonight. We’re just a little family from Queens, New York, and this feels like a dream. We have seen the world. Played stadiums and award shows.”
Marilou interjected with a wink, “Won a few, too.”
“We’ve played backyard birthdays and dingy clubs we were definitely too young to even be allowed in. We’ve read your letters and seen your videos. We have a room, a whole room, with your art and gifts. My sisters—and you all—remind me every day to dream of the impossible. Dream until it becomes real. Possible. Yours.”
Volleys of screams filled the stage as the intro notes to their first-ever single, “Your Once Upon a Dream Girl,” rang out. Ariel couldn’t have timed it better herself.
“So, I’ve decided we are not really going to say goodbye.” She pressed a trembling hand over her heart. “We’re family. You’re family. And family is forever. Now, put your hands together. We need a little help with this one!”
The drums kicked in, followed by sparkling chimes, the rhythmic keyboard, and then the entire stadium belting the first verse along with Ariel. She remembered the very first time they’d packed into the tiny booths at that cramped recording studio. How her dad had made them sing and sing again until their harmonies crested and rose, the perfect melody that would launch Siren Seven as a real band
She remembered taking her favorite purple gel pen and rewriting lines, the way her father would frown at her changes, then give her that stubborn smile when the song clicked into place. She remembered how it had felt the very first time they were driving across the Queensboro Bridge and the song had come up on the radio. Ariel remembered and held on tight to her sisters until Siren Seven stopped singing and it was just the crowd, just twenty-three thousand people screaming the final verse. That part, all these years later, never got old.
When it was over, the glitter confetti cannons showered the stadium and fireworks rocketed into the New York sky. The band hammered out extended solos, stage lights pulsing and spinning, until they became one collective howl of joy.
Ariel’s sisters shouted their goodbyes first.
“Thank you, everyone!”
“We love you!”
“¡Adiós, adiós!”
“Good night, New York!”
“Laters, baby cakes!”
“You are everything! Everything!”
Though her sisters rushed off the stage, Ariel lingered. How could she walk away so quickly? The fans were still chanting her name. They waved their colorful wands. They danced in the shower of confetti shaped like tiny
stars. She caught a fistful.
“I love you,” Ariel said, and stayed there, even as all the lights went out. ...
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