“We need a quick pit stop,” Stephanie says, dragging me into the bathroom. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across my terrified face as I stand in front of the mirror. She rummages through her bag—a Mary Poppins affair that somehow contains everything anyone could ever need—and pulls out a compact. “If you’re gonna show off your dance moves, you gotta look the part.”
“I don’t know, Steph.” My voice cracks. “What if I freeze up? What if I trip? What if—“
“What if you’re amazing and everyone loves it?” She cuts me off with a bright smile. “I’ve seen you practice. You’ve got this.”
I grip the porcelain edge of the counter like it’s the only thing keeping me upright, which, truthfully, it might be. Stephanie uncaps her eyeliner and traces it along the edges of my lids.
“Close your eyes. Don’t squirm,” she instructs, and I can hear her steady breaths as she concentrates. “Unless you want to look like a raccoon instead of a star.”
As she works her magic, my mind spins faster than a ceiling fan at full speed. Am I really going through with this?
Think positive. If Theo did it, I can do it.
Nope, not working. The knots of worry in my stomach do not untangle one bit; they seem to grow and multiply, twisting and coiling until breathing becomes a conscious effort. It doesn’t help that my mind conjures up images of what it would be like to stand on that stage in front of everyone.
“Hold still,” Stephanie scolds, adding a final touch to my lips. “All set.”
I glance at my reflection. The eyeliner sharpens my eyes, making them look wider, more intense. The soft blush adds a glow to my cheeks that masks my ghostly complexion. My lips shimmer slightly in the bathroom light. “Wow.”
Something loosens in my chest—not completely, but enough that I can breathe again. I throw my arms around Stephanie, nearly knocking her off balance. “Thank you.”
Stephanie’s smile is pride made manifest. “Now let’s go show them what you’re really made of.”
We rush to the dressing area, where I slip out of my sweater and eyeball my outfit: black leggings, a fitted crop top with a sequin silver pattern, and sneakers. It’s great for movement, and sufficiently stylish to make me feel confident—or at least feign it. Hair tie in one hand, I wrap all the loose strands into a ponytail.
Then Paige’s voice sounds from behind me. “Just because you put on makeup and got out of those awful clothes you always wear doesn’t mean you can change who you are.”
“You’re right,” I say, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “I don’t need to be anything other than who I am.”
Paige smirks and steps closer, her voice dropping to a mocking whisper as she says, “You’re a clown, and people will laugh at you. You sure you can handle that again?”
She walks away, muttering the most insincere “Good luck.”
Stephanie seizes my arms and whirls me around to face her. “Don’t listen to a word she says. You’ve got this, Chrissy. You’re amazing.”
“She’s right,” Theo says, appearing where Paige had been just a moment ago. He’s still wearing his goofy clown costume. “You are amazing, Chrissy Lang.”
It’s not so much the words, but the way he looks at me after he said them—his gaze soft, intense, full of yearning, like dad looked at mom when she came back from a three-month long escapade as a traveling nurse—that calms my nerves and sears my cheeks with heat.
Stephanie squeezes my arm. “That’s my cue. I’ll talk to Ian about your song.” She throws me a wink and leaves the room.
Theo comes closer until we’re inches apart. “Chrissy,” he begins, his tone serious, “I couldn’t care less about being popular or what my status is in school.”
My eyes roam over his farcical costume. “Yeah, I kinda got that when you walked out on stage dressed like this.”
His green bush of a wig sits lopsided on his head like a bird’s nest, and his face paint is already smudging at the edges—bright red circles on his cheeks bleeding into the white base, blue diamonds around his eyes creasing whenever he smiles, glitter speckling his blue nose and chin like he crashed face-first into a crafting station—while his oversized polka-dot bowtie flaps against his neck with every movement, threatening to smack him in the face.
Rubber squeakers bulge from his impossibly large shoes, making a funny wheezing sound whenever he shifts from one leg to the next.
His pants even have actual suspenders with plastic flowers that squirt water. I’ve never seen anyone look more ridiculous.
Theo grins, looking down at himself. “I’m glad you came to see my class act.”
“Every failed juggle attempt.”
We both chuckle about it, but then his smile fades as he looks at me with earnestness I haven’t seen before. “You told me once that you feel like a clown.” He takes my hand in his. “If you’re a clown, then I wanna be a clown with you. I wanna stand by your side as we go through this circus we call high school. Together.”
It’s as if a bubble of warm energy pops in my chest and flows in all directions, wobbling my legs, tingling through my arms, taking my breath away. I feel like I’m flying.
