Over the next few days, I was more Alice in Wonderland than Lia in New Tazewell. Facebook became completely unmanageable, my YouTube channel began to drown in comments, and I was receiving Twitter messages around the clock from people with blue checkmarks next to their names.

Travis wanted me to join him on tour. Caleb sent me songs he hoped we could record together. More than one Grammy-winner contacted me about the possibility of working together. I heard through the grapevine, since he didn’t do social media or own a cell phone, that Ian Ion was dying to get me in the studio. It was dizzying.

An impromptu “concert” was set up at New Tazewell High, and I performed a set of cover songs to a crowd that I think was a little disappointed that I couldn’t convince any of my new, famous “friends” to join me on stage.

Girls who had been bitches to me before were suddenly inviting me to hang out, and guys who didn’t know my name wanted to take me to prom. And not just my prom, proms all over east Tennessee, southern Kentucky, and western Virginia.

I retreated into a cocoon inhabited by the Cavanaugh’s, Shelby, and my dad.

After a “family meeting” with my dad, Robert Cavanaugh, and Mrs. Pollard, who was New Tazewell high school’s music teacher, we decided that I’d spend a few days in Nashville when school was out. Robert, Mrs. Pollard, and Shelby’s family would accompany me. I’d meet with Travis, Ian, a rep from Vidas Artist Management, and some record company A&R folks.

We’d lay down a few tracks, and if things went well, we’d start talking to record companies and consult with a local attorney, Claiborne County prosecutor Leonard Evans, before signing anything. If we progressed that far, he’d put us in touch with a colleague who specialized in entertainment law.

I practiced with Mrs. Pollard each day for the final few weeks of school, fine-tuning my voice for what amounted to a massive audition in front of some very important people, and I felt as ready as I could possibly be.

The big day arrived, and a caravan left Claiborne County for Music Row. Shelby and her parents drove together, Mrs. Pollard took her own vehicle, as she planned to continue her trip and visit family in Missouri after we’d concluded our business. I rode along with Robert, since it was decided that I needed to rest my voice, and being in a car with Shelby for three-and-a-half hours wouldn’t be conducive to that.

I wore headphones, humming along softly to certain songs, trying to get myself “in the zone.”

When my playlist got around to Travis Zane’s song Bliss, I found myself staring at Mr. Cavanaugh’s rough hand on the steering wheel; the muscles in his forearms rippling when he adjusted his grip. It was a sexy song, and being alone with him, so close, brought my mind back to certain… fantasies I’d cultivated regarding my dad’s best friend. The more I got into the words of the song, your hands…your kiss…. every night with you is bliss…and the breathy delivery, I imagined Mr. Cavanaugh delivering some of the spoken lines Travis delivers to his lover near the end of the song, telling her how sexy she is, how badly he wants her, had me distracted by my need. I looked away from him and tried to count trees going by, fixate on other cars and trucks, anything to distract me from the effect the music and the man were having on me. The bliss my body was demanding I deliver.

“Are you okay, Liane?”

His voice startled me. I slipped my earbuds out. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Just asking if you were okay.”

“Yeah, oh, yes, yes of course. I’m fine. Just nervous.” I hadn’t realized it, but I’d been practically writhing on the seat next to him.

“You’ve got nothing to be nervous about. You’re going to be great.” He switched hands on the steering wheel, freeing his right hand to set it down. Right. On. My. Knee.

I was wearing a dress that came to mid-thigh, and when his hand came to rest on the bare flesh just above my knee, I thought I might faint.

He glanced at me a moment and smiled, before returning his eyes to the road. But he left his hand where it was for another two beats of my jackhammering heart before returning it to the steering wheel.

He’d never, to my recollection, touched me there before. Especially not since I’d reached a certain age, a certain maturity, when it became inappropriate for him to do so. Yet all I wanted was for him to do it again.

We completed our trip without incident, arriving at the address we’d been provided by my Vidas Management rep, Ashleigh Thomas.

It was a small, nondescript building a few blocks from the Nashville you see on television. But the collection of expensive cars outside made it clear that a collection of some music industry heavy hitters waited inside.

In Charlotte, I hadn’t had time to be nervous; it all happened so quickly that I just went with the moment and instinct took over. Now, however, I was nauseated by the stress.

We got out of our cars, and one by one pep talks were delivered to me. Everybody took turns trying to convince me that I was “going to do great” and “not to be nervous,” which, of course, had exactly the opposite effect.

Mrs. Pollard reminded me to breathe. Robert held my face in his hands and made eye contact with me, our foreheads nearly touching. “You’ve made us all so proud, Liane. You’ve put in the work. The hay’s in the barn, girl. This is just gravy. This is the fun part. Go get ‘em.”

And so I did.