The smell of sweat and hairspray assaulted my nose as I peered through the dusty velvet curtains at the crowd shuffling into their seats. Ugh, why did I let Sol talk me into this? I'm going to make a fool of myself in front of the whole school. I glanced around at the other kids milling about backstage. Most were veterans of the Plasticville High talent show, chatting and joking around, used to the nerves. Not me though. Not this time. My stomach was doing somersaults. The auditorium was huge, with shiny wooden floors and fixtures that probably hadn't been updated since the school opened in the a hundred years ago. Rows of folding chairs stretched up to the balcony, enough to seat the entire student body. Too many eyes. They'd all be staring at me, judging me.
"Hey, Lia!" Sol called from the wings, her eyes filled with concern. "You're not gonna, like, throw up or anything, right?"
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I retorted, rolling my eyes. Seriously, who needs enemies when you've got friends like her?
"Sorry, just checking," she said, shrugging apologetically. "But seriously, you're gonna be amazing."
"Right," I sighed, feeling the weight of my secret pressed against my chest, begging to be set free. "You're up next!" The stage manager bustled over, clutching his clipboard. "Now remember, you've got five minutes. Best of luck!" He gave me an encouraging smile and hurried off before I could tell him there'd been a huge mistake and I wasn't actually performing. Five minutes. 300 seconds to make a fool of myself. I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the sour taste of panic in my mouth. You can do this, Lia. Just get out there, sing the song, and get off stage. No big deal. Easy for me to say. But my traitorous feet seemed glued to the floor, and I couldn't stop thinking about all the ways this could end in disaster. The curtains parted, and a beam of light from the stage illuminated the dust swirling through the air. Showtime.
—
The stage loomed before me like a hulking, wooden beast, its planks creaking and sending shivers up my spine. Above me, the lights blazed a furious white, making my plastic sheen practically sing with power. I could feel the warmth on my face. The heat. The chatter from the audience grew louder, a cacophony of inane conversations and laughter. Somewhere in that sea of faces, my parents were sitting, their eyes full of love and encouragement – the ones who believed in me even when I didn't believe in myself.
"Okay, girl, you got this," I muttered as I walked out, trying to convince myself that my legs wouldn't turn into noodles the moment I started. My hands were clammy, gripping my guitar as if it were the only thing anchoring me to reality. But deep down, I knew this moment was different. It wasn't just about singing some pop-song cover with an auto-tuned voice like every other kid in town. I’d done that plenty of times before. No, this was my song, my feelings. I had something to say. And that's what scared me the most. I knew Plasticville might not be ready for that.
"Good luck, Lia!" someone screeched from backstage, loud enough to wake the dead (or at least the comatose). Thanks, random well-wisher. As if I wasn't already nervous enough.
"Good evening." I said softly into the microphone, my voice shaking just a smidge. "Hope you're ready for something a little... different." I smirked, feeling a flicker of defiance in my veins.
It was me. I was the one that was different. And the best I could tell, this wasn’t the type of place that was going to take that news well. So I’d put it in a song. Codified it. The song was different. But with any luck, they wouldn’t know that I was too.
In Plasticville, we’d always sang Plastic Pop hits. That’s everything we had on our two radio stations. But I’d found something new. A new sound. Actually, an old sound. And I wasn’t sure how they’d take it.
I took a deep breath.
"Alright, microphone. It's just you and me now," I thought to myself, adjusting the metallic beast towering over me like a judgmental giraffe. As if standing on a stage in front of everyone wasn't nerve-wracking enough, now I had this contraption to deal with.
I closed my eyes and started to sing.
I strummed the first chord, my heart pounding so hard that it threatened to burst through my chest like some deranged alien creature. The music flowed from my fingers, raw and untamed, filling the room with notes that danced and twirled like fiery rebels daring to defy the status quo.
Silence descended upon the crowd, so thick I could have cut it with a knife – if, you know, I had one handy. Their jaws slackened as they gazed at me, a potent blend of shock and disbelief etched across their plastic features. It was as if I'd sprouted wings and flown around the room, or maybe transformed into an incredibly talented armadillo. Either way, I had their attention.I felt comfortable. I was in the groove. It was just me and my song.
And right about then, everything went black.
