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.
“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.
Theo slides his hands past my hips, resting them gently on my back. “You matter to me most. You always have.”
His face lowers toward mine, and I close my eyes.
“Chrissy Lang,” the principal’s voice booms from the stage.
“It’s your turn now,” Theo says as my eyes open. “You’re gonna blow them away.”
I nod and move to stand just behind the curtain. The knot in my stomach is back, and it feels like it solidified into a boulder, my legs shaking under its weight, turning me into a statue that’s unable to take another step.
“Chrissy Lang, everybody,” the principal calls again. A few chuckles emanate from the audience. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
They can boo all they want; it won’t matter. I’m a nerd, I’m a dancer, and I can like whomever I want.
I glance over my shoulder at Theo. He’s always there to lift me up when I can’t quite reach. He’s like a net, catching all the butterflies in my belly. “You know,” I toss at him, “I kinda like you.”
A wide smile lights up his face, but before he can respond, I turn and step onto the stage.
The auditorium falls silent, and the first thing I notice is the panel of judges up front—a table with five teachers.
The students’ whispers start almost immediately, and I feel every gaze piercing through me.
Don’t look at their faces. Don’t look. But I can’t resist. My eyes jump from one person to the next.
They lean in and mumble to their neighbors, no doubt passing judgement.
No. It doesn’t matter.
I pinch the outside of my thigh and look above their faces.
When the music starts, my body moves on instinct. Kick-ball-change, repeat, whirl. Focus on the choreography, the rhythm of the song. Okay, two-step next—my feet slide across the floor—now pop-and-lock; I follow up with Running Man. That’s it. Keep going.
I flow into a spin, my arms extended like wings catching air, then leap out with the precision that comes from countless hours of practice.
The spotlight follows me as I transition into a body roll—slow, controlled, just like I’ve seen my favorite idols do—before snapping into a series of quick tutting movements that transform my hands into geometric shapes.
Nothing exists beyond this stage, this moment.
Each beat pounds through my veins, guiding my movements like an invisible puppeteer.
My feet slide into a shuffle step, then pivot for a pop-and-lock sequence that makes my joints hopefully appear robotic.
The hours spent watching tutorials on my laptop are paying off.
The choreography isn’t just dancing moves anymore—it’s become part of me, flowing from one position to another as naturally as breathing.
I throw in a quick hair flip that wasn’t in the original routine—a moment of rebellion—and catch a few gasps from the front row.
This is why I dance. This feeling. This power.
My heart thunders against my ribs as I drop into floor work, spinning on one knee before springing back up into a wave that ripples from my fingertips through my shoulders, down my spine.
For the finale, I gather every ounce of energy in my body, channeling it upward as I explode into a spinning jump that defies gravity for one glorious second. As the last note echoes through the auditorium, I land in a deep bow, my chest heaving.
Slowly, I raise my head. The crowd is silent, and for a moment, I’m convinced they’ll laugh. But then applause—it starts small and gradually grows louder until it transforms into a thunderous standing ovation. I did it. I can’t believe it.
What a rush!
I run off the stage, unable to stop the grin spreading across my face. Theo is waiting for me, clapping.
“You were incredible,” he says.
“That was such a thrill,” I admit, still catching my breath.
“I told you that you would knock their socks off.” He takes my hand. “I didn’t get a chance to reply before but”—his eyes seek out mine—“I kinda like you, too.”
This moment is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. My body shakes uncontrollably from the emotional ecstasy coursing through me like a wild river. Theo draws nearer, but before anything else can happen, the principal says it’s time to announce the winners.
Theo takes my hand, and we step onto the stage, forming a straight line with the other contestants. I turn to the left and see Paige eyeing me with a scowl on her face. Her gaze drifts to our tangled hands and she crosses her arms. To my right, Ian gives me a thumbs-up from behind the curtain.
“In the third place,” the principal says, “Chrissy Lang.”
No fricking way.
Everyone stands and claps once more. If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up. Theo wraps his arm around me, pulling me tight against his body.
The hula hoop dancer gets second place and first goes to the freshman girl with an angelic voice.
As all the participants receive the final applause, Theo places his fingers on my chin and turns my head to face him. Then he leans in, his lips finally connecting with mine.
Someone might as well have swept the ground from right under me, because I’m on cloud nine. Our kiss is gentle, sweet and exactly as I hoped—perfect. The crowd cheers and his teammates whistle, and when Theo finally pulls away, I bury my face in his chest, embarrassed but in the best way possible.