Every Girl Does It

Prologue

Oh no. This is not happening, not happening!

I wipe my hands over my pleated skirt, a painfully nervous habit. Sweaty hands are not attractive, or so Brad Macintosh said when he held them during couple’s skate my seventh grade year.

It is my first choir solo ever. Why couldn’t it be our fall concert instead of our Spring Spectacular? I feel ridiculous standing in front of the entire school with my mouth gaping open trying to find a middle C. Not to mention the fact that my mother, who is now standing up in the middle of the audience and waving with video camera in hand, forced me to wear a pleated skirt. Thus the outfit is now screaming “uncool” on my lanky body.

Never am I this mean, but when I get nervous, I tend to snap at people. All week I was at odds with my mom for taking pictures of me. She was literally documenting every day of my life up until the big solo or as she puts it, “my discovery!” Leave it to my mom to make a junior high solo into a performance that will get her daughter discovered and record an album all before her 18th birthday. Somehow I don’t think MTV is going to be knocking on our door anytime soon for the professional footage my mom shot in order to do a “diary” on my life before I was famous.

Shaky and sweaty, I begin my solo, praying I remember the words. When I finish I feel like I’ve ran the fifty-yard dash with the way my heart is hammering, but I then realize everyone is clapping. They are all clapping for me. I did well!

In fact, people are begin to stand up and clap and I actually feel famous, like I’m a popstar giving my first concert and people love me. THEY LOVE ME! I. Am. Awesome. Move over Britney Spears there’s a new girl in town.

I bow and do a little curtsy just so they know I am still humble and wave like Miss America all the way back to my seat with the rest of the choir. Blushing, I try to avoid eye contact with the rest of the choir as they whisper, “good job.” I look humble, but I’m actually soaring because of how proud I am. I actually did it! Now if only my mom would turn off that ridiculous camera and sit down. My dad gives me a thumbs up, and oh yes, my mom is wiping a stray tear from her eye. Looking at them you’d assume I’ve never done anything exciting in my entire life.

****

Our choir director grabs the microphone and clears his throat. The entire audience falls silent like he’s the president of the United States about to make his state of the union address.

Our town is small.

And when I say small I mean—everyone knows everyone. I sneeze and my parents ask if I have a cold when I get home.  Just because our choir director used to be a somewhat famous artist does not mean he should be elected mayor or given the key to the town; however, few agree with my practical assessment. After all, he did give me my starring solo, so I should probably act a little more thankful. So I, like everyone else, put the stars in my eyes and listen intently for what he is about to say next.

“Now, I know we normally end after the starring solo…” He turns and winks at me while I feel my face turn red and hot and hear people chant my name. “But,” he says holding up his hand, “we have a little treat for all of you today. Preston, why don’t you come down here?”

Preston? Weird, I didn’t know he was in choir. Poor boy. He’d be more attractive if he turned in the Star Wars t-shirts for some button-ups. He is the only member of the Star Wars fan club; he refuses to acknowledge that George Lucas did in fact make more of the films. He says it’s blasphemy to even speak of it, thus why he is the only member of his own club.