mirrorball, logan huntzberger

prologue

We have mirror balls in the middle of a dance floor because they reflect light, they are broken a million times and that's what makes them so shiny. We have people like that in society, too. They hang there and every time they break it entertains us. And when you shine a light on them it's this glittering, fantastic thing, but then a lot of the time when the spotlight isn't on them they're just still there on a pedestal but nobody's watching them.

A mirrorball is inherently fragile — fragmented pieces of glass pierce its surface. When it hits the ground it will shatter, breaking into a million pieces. Pieces that will sit there until they are eventually scattered across the floor.

A mirrorball can show one every version of themselves, but what separates the mirrorball from being a mere reflection of others and that of itself?

The mirrorball crafts a perception of itself, constantly reinventing itself to meet the needs and expectations of others.

The mirrorball doesn't come down from its pedestal when the party is over, it stays where it is hung forever. Even when people aren't paying attention the mirrorball is still up there, pleading for the attention of others – doing everything they can to keep people looking, to keep them coming back. If everyone is gone, if the party is called off and no one shows, there is no light for the mirrorball to reflect, it will remain in darkness. No one will notice it, until eventually they remember – attention brings the mirrorball back to life.

August Abernathy, to say the least, was an overachiever – she craved validation, it gave her a sense of purpose. She artfully crafted different versions of herself to present in front of all different people: the 'effortlessly' smart student, the poised daughter of her parents...

Yet was never a 'natural' – she just got good at pretending.

Oftentimes, when we say something earnestly enough to convince someone, it's usually to convince ourselves.

The countless hours spent in her room poured over textbooks – absorbing as much of it as she could. Teaching herself whole syllabuses before they were even taught just so she was ahead of the curve, so she could answer questions, so she could impress everyone with her knowledge, so she could make them take her seriously.

Maybe that wasn't normal, but it was all she had ever known – and she was sure that academic validation which she gained from it was worth it.

It was all worth it to her – the crying, the loneliness, the frustration, the fear of never truly being good enough.

She would keep trying, and changing, cause

If receiving validation was a drug, August Abernathy was addicted.

So there she stood, alone in the middle of the dance floor – and even when she thought no one was looking, he was.