The Show Must Go On

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 Chapter 37

"You're too late." Bony fingers grip my bicep as the high notes of the first violins play. I jolt forward but the hold is solid and I'm anchored only inches from the stage. I flap my arm like a chicken, attempting to shake whoever's gripping me. "She's been announced."

"Let me go," I growl, tugging my limb away with every element of strength. I must progress forward. All I need is a few inches, an arms length max and then I'll be shining beneath the lights. This is what I've worked for. This is what I've always desired. I ought to persist. Not just for the sake of joining the major league but for Otto.

He only agreed to perform for me. That must be the case. I can't believe why else he'd be here when he's not fully recovered.

If I don't step out onto the stage right this instant, the second violins will enter the piece. The music can't gather too much momentum before I claim my rightful spot on the stool next to Otto.

Yet the grasp on my arm is rocklike. I buck my shoulder with force of a braying horse. I'm afraid my shoulder my rip from its socket. But paranoia drills into my psyche.

"It's supposed to be me out there," I beseech and glare at my captor who is none other than the sinewy stage manager, equipped with a black headset.

"Stop making a racket," the stage manager hisses.

"Be fair." I stop struggling and swivel to face the stage manager. I'm detained in the stage wings like a prisoner in a jail cell and she's the one holding me here!

"The piece has already begun," the stage manager insists. "Besides I can't allow you to step out there looking as you do. This is a production, a show, and the orchestra has standards. You like a guttersnipe."

A hand instantly rakes through my hair. "That's not particularly fair. I've run through the snow to get here."

The stage manager rolls her eyes with disgust. "What the heck happened to you, fancy missing rehearsal and then your slot? You can't expect the world to stop revolving because you missed your slot for whatever reason you've got. But honey, this is beyond unprofessional."

"Me, unprofessional?" I gasp. "I didn't know. Veronica set me up."

"Don't point the finger." The stage manager shakes her head and I can tell she doesn't believe me. "We all know your history Phoebe."

I inhale sharply, moisture coming to my eyes. I can not cry. Even though her attitude is completely unfair, even when the piano resonates round the concert hall and it's Veronica on the stool rather than me. I squeeze my eyes shut.

Veronica's a nasty little troll.

My lip wobbles and I flick open my eyes.

"If I release you, you're not going to charge on now, are you?"

I shake my head and her fingers release me. I rub my probably bruised arm and cock my head to the side, just far enough to witness both Otto and Veronica, sitting side-by-side, playing the duet.

That was supposed to be me.

My legs buckle beneath me and someone catches me from behind. "I've got you," Mickey whispers, her icicle hands support me until I manage to straighten up again on my legs. Mickey's skin is cold, her clothes are wet and she looks as bedraggled as I must. Her red hair is chaotic from the wind and mascara has run down her cheek.

I'm overcome with emotion. Mickey's a pillar of strength, always pulling rabbits out of hats. She's come to my rescue and now she'll probably get pneumonia. I'm supposed to be the protector being her elder sister but I couldn't even get to this one single opportunity of a life time.

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