Chapter Twenty Five
"Are you nervous?"
I resist the urge to roll my eyes for the nth time. No seriously, why does everyone I talk to asks me this? Of course I'm nervous! My stomach is a mess. I have to constantly remind my lungs to breathe. My palms are slightly clammy; my heart thinks it's a good idea to beat really fast right now and I swear to God if one more person asks me if I'm nervous I'm going to choke them using their own entrails.
"Nah, I'm fine," I murmur, dropping the idea of replying sarcastically. Sharon wouldn't get it anyway, she's dense like that.
"You look really, really pretty by the way."
I smile at her. "All thanks to you. Thanks for letting me borrow your dress."
She shakes her head dismissively. "It's no big deal, honestly. Now you just go out there and burn the stage, you hear me? Burn it."
I can't help laughing out loud. "Haha, thanks for the encouragement Sharon." She hugs me goodbye and leaves, leaving me by myself.
Good, now I can panic in peace.
My stomach hurts. I am a nervous wreck right now. I just want to run away. I swear I will never do something like this ever again. With my heart in my throat, I take a step forward and peek from the curtains. The auditorium isn't completely filled, obviously, only the students in their junior year are here. I shouldn't be so worried. It's not even a real crowd, just a bunch of bored-out teenagers.
What's the worst that could happen anyway? Our performance could suck; we'd get bad grades, so what?
And you might end up making a complete fool of yourself in front of sixty people, so there's that.
I just love my brain and how supportive and encouraging it is. Just love it.
I tug at the edge of the emerald green dress I'm wearing, and try to pull it down. The dress is slightly tight on me, since Sharon is so skinny. It keeps sticking to my body and riding up. I run my fingers down the shimmery silvery-green sequins adorning the bodice of the dress. I never, never wear something so bright and shiny; it's just not my thing, you know? But here I am, all decked up in this glittery salsa dress. I'm going to stick out like a sore thumb, I just know it.
A pair of shiny green hoop earrings dangle down my ears. My hair is secured in a tight, elegant bun resting firmly atop my head. I glance at the pair of dark green four inch heels I'm wearing. I hope I'm able to balance myself in them. How humiliating would it be if I end up falling off the stage while dancing just because of them?
The door leading to the backstage area creaks open. I turn around.
He looks so classy in a crisp white shirt, and a pair of skin-fit black pants. His hair's all gelled and slicked back for a change. In short, he looks really, really, sexy.
And I should stop checking him out right about now.
I turn away.
Our performance is towards the end. A few more people have to perform on the stage, be it singing out a personal composition, or performing a mini play. Within minutes the back stage is occupied by some more teenagers, who slowly trickle onto the stage as there chance comes.
My nervousness increases.
Half an hour, for half an hour I sit glued to the chair, awaiting my turn. For half an hour I feel all choked up and shaky. Then finally, the stage assistant rushes over to me telling me it's time.
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