8. The Consequences #2
I sit up, straighten my shoulders, and lift my chin. Let them film. Let them plot. Let them try to break me.
We spent the last four hours preparing for the show, and I stayed longer, practicing until I felt ready.
Except now I’m late as I make my way toward the makeshift dressing room, my cello case in hand.
Today feels like the chance to show Hayes a side of me that has nothing to do with trivia knowledge.
I’ll be just me, my music, and a dress that’s fit for a classical music magazine.
The deep emerald silk hugs in all the right places, and when I tried it on this morning, even my reflection seemed to approve.
I’m sticking with what I know—the prelude Bach’s Cello Suite No.
1, a piece I’ve been playing since I was twelve and could perform in my sleep.
Besides writing, music has been my other escape.
All those years of dragging my cello from house to house —music was another constant that couldn’t be left behind or forgotten in a hasty midnight move.
Lost in my thoughts, I make my way into the chaotic dressing area, which has mirrors, lighting rigs, and most of the women in various states of preparation.
My hair and makeup are ready, I just have to change into my dress.
The air thrums with nervous energy, hairspray, and that competitive anxiety that could power a small city.
I spot an empty corner near the windows and start toward it, already mentally rehearsing my fingering for the more challenging passages.
That’s when I notice the shift in the room’s atmosphere—conversations dropping to whispers, heads turning in my direction, with expressions ranging from pity to barely concealed schadenfreude.
Luna stands frozen near the costume rack, her face drained of color, eyes wide with what I assume is stage fright. But then I see Gabby beside her—a suppressed smirk playing at the corners of her mouth—sends warning bells clanging in my brain.
Wringing her hands, Luna looks at me and stammers, “I’m so sorry,” her voice high and shaky. “It was an accident.”
That’s when I see it. My perfect emerald gown that should be pristine and ready, is a crime scene of red wine and ruined silk.
“I was changing and bumped her.” Gabby’s voice dripping with false sympathy. “The wine just flew out of her hand.”
I drop my cello case and rush to the dress, my hands shaking as I examine the damage. The wine covers most of the bodice and one entire side, now soaked through the delicate fabric.
“Oh God,” I whisper, holding up the dress. “This is... this is completely ruined.”
Luna makes a wounded noise. “Brielle, I’m so, so sorry. I feel terrible. Is there anything I can do?”
Gabby steps closer, her perfectly applied makeup doing nothing to hide the satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. “Maybe you could borrow something from someone?”
She knows that we were allowed to bring only one item of clothing to the theater, and besides, everyone came with something tailored specifically for their performances. That’s out.
My mind races through the possibilities.
I could try to rinse the wine out, but there’s no time, and even if I managed to remove the stain, the dress would be soaking wet.
I could attempt some sort of strategic covering with accessories, but the stain’s too big.
I could wear what I’m wearing now, which is the worn activewear that I’ve had on all day.
The clock on the wall shows five minutes until showtime. Five minutes to figure out how to fix this.
“There are the costumes here.” Luna gestures toward a mostly empty rack of theatrical rejects in the corner.
I turn to look, hoping for some sort of miracle—maybe a forgotten cocktail dress or elegant blouse that could work with the right accessories. What I find instead makes my heart sink straight through the floor.
The rack contains exactly two items: a Freddie Kruger outfit complete with the head, and...
Oh, sweet mother.
A blow-up penguin costume. Full-body, complete with flippers, an oversized beak, and the battery-operated fan that keeps it inflated.
The reality of my situation crashes over me. I either play the cello looking like Freddie Kruger or an Antarctic bird, although that bulky costume would prevent me from properly holding the instrument.
Gabby appears at my shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out. You’re so creative.” Her smile could cut glass. “Good luck.”
The way she says it makes something hot and fierce flare up in my chest. This is the sabotage I knew was coming.
And I said I’d deal with it, so that’s exactly what I’m going to do. A costume isn’t going to break me.
I’ll just embrace it—turn it into an opportunity to do something completely unexpected.
It’s perfect. It’s ridiculous, but it’s perfect.
I’m going to miss the start of the talent show changing, but it’s just the bit where Skye makes introductions and we women cheer as a group. No one will even notice I’m not there.
I grab the penguin costume and march toward the changing area with as much dignity as someone carrying a giant bird suit can muster. Behind me, I hear whispered conversations and barely suppressed giggles, but I don’t care.
Let them laugh.