Not every performance is a hit, though. Dressed more like Dracula than a magician, which sparks a few laughs from the front rows, one poor guy fails to conjure a dove or a rabbit—or whatever it is he hoped to pull out of his top hat—and my peers spring into ridicule mode, laughing and booing until he slinks offstage, looking surprisingly unbothered; instead, he examines the inside of his hat like it has a hole in the bottom.
Wish I had his mental fortitude—high school can be a brutal audience. My stomach swells with nerves just from watching him. I’d rather have my face painted like a clown again than step onto that stage.
Stephanie laser-focuses on the freshman girl with an angelic voice. “She’s going to win,” she says, clutching my arm when the girl serenades us with Ariana Grande’sOne Last Timeand hits every single high note. Even the hecklers in the third row clap for her.
“Not bad,” I say. “Could give Logan Humphries a run for his money.”
The meme-worthy look of disbelief Stephanie gives me draws a laugh out of me. “Let’s not elevate her to his stratosphere just yet,” she says. “He’s the first out of Maplewood Springs to become a famous pop singer, but who knows—maybe others will follow.” She turns her attention back to the freshman girl, who finishes her solo to roaring applause.
Next, Paige takes the stage.
She stands with her usual air of confidence, gripping a baton. The music starts, and she performs a flawless dance routine. I’ll give her credit—she’s talented, and the crowd seems to agree. But with the competition so fierce this year, I’m with Stephanie. That freshman girl’s voice is a tough act to follow.
Still, I clap when Paige finishes. Despite her flaws and my dislike of her, performing in front of a crowd takes courage.
Between acts, I keep looking around. Still no sign of Theo. My mind drifts back to his letter. What did he mean by proving himself to me? Where is he?
The principal steps up to the mic, her voice cutting through the chatter. “We have a last-minute addition to tonight’s lineup,” she says. “Please give a warm applause for Theo Pearson.”
If I was slouching in my chair before, I’m as straight now as a rocket blasting off to space. My mouth drops when I see him.
Theo parades onto the stage dressed like a clown. Not just any clown, but the most ridiculous one I’ve ever seen—red paint splattered all over his mouth, as if he’s devoured a strawberry jam sandwich Noah style, and his round, blue nose gleams under the stage lights, his hair a shrub of curly green chaos, and his oversized clown shoes make him trip as he takes his first steps. He falls flat on his face, rolling once before climbing to his feet.
The entire auditorium explodes with laughter. Stephanie twists and turns next to me, clutching her stomach with both hands like she’s about to pee her pants, and I can’t hold back laughing, either. Is this what he wanted me to see?
Theo juggles—or attempts to—but the balls go flying everywhere, and one even bounces off his head. I never saw him as a comedian, with his too-cook-for-school attitude, but maybe he should think about a career in slapstick comedy because I’m dying here. Next, he dances, his legs flailing like an uncoordinated flamingo with those shoes on. It’s so absurd, so out of character, that it’s impossible not to laugh. And through it all, he smiles, as if none of it matters.
The crowd eats it up. By the time he stumbles into a series of exaggerated bowing motions, everyone stands, howling, hooting, and clapping.
“He should’ve gone first,” Stephanie says. “That’s how youbreak the ice.”
I can’t look away from him. He’s standing there, looking out at the crowd, completely unbothered by how crazy he looks or how many mistakes he’s made. He doesn’t care. That’s the whole point.
My chest tightens as memories flood my mind—the past two years of high school, all the times I was made fun of, Paige’s party, the night at the concert—each memory sharp like a needle prick, but something clicks: I’ve survived every single one of those moments. Every time I thought I wouldn’t make it, I did. One hundred percent of my worst days, I’ve survived.
And it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Theo just proved that.
I swallow my pounding heart back into place. Can I do it? Can I be as strong as he is?
Only one way to find out.
I turn to Stephanie. “I’m gonna do it.”
She looks at me, perplexed. “Do what?”
I take a deep, steadying breath. “I’m gonna go out there.”
Chapter 21
“And next up, we have Savannah Thomas performing a violin concerto,” the principal announces.
“That’s Savannah,” Stephanie says, consulting the crumpled program in her hand. “You’re after Mason.” She taps the paper twice. “We need to move.”
Giddy with excitement, Stephanie takes my hand and guides me backstage.
Judging by the speed at which my heart hammers, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. “Breathe,” I tell myself, though it does little to calm the cyclone of nerves swirling within me. My hands get clammy and cold, and Stephanie’s grip tightens, as if sensing I might chicken out and pull away—which I definitely contemplate doing.
The backstage buzzes with frantic energy—other contestants pacing, wrapping up last-minute rehearsals, pep talking to themselves. The smell of hairspray hangs thick in the air, mingling with the sugary scent of the cupcakes someone brought for when the show ends.
