In A Song

October 9th

"And scene!" Dominique Sanders yells triumphantly, throwing her arms in the air, and pulling me out of my daydream. The cooked ramen noodles she had been using as intestines fly onto the curtain. Some stick to the velvet.

The other kids in this class clap politely. Mr. Folger's very enthusiastic, clapping loudly and hooting, encouraging the other people to clap harder. I clap half-heartedly, sad that our scene was this first one we did. And that our idea had been the generic plan for most. And that she interrupted my daydream of Collin. I'm such a teenager.

"Now!" Mr. Folger jumps up from his chair, and flies onto the stage, faster than how I could've. There hasn't been a day where I haven't seen him act like a hyperactive squirrel on crack.

"I have an exciting announcement for all of you!" Mr. Folger jazz-hands, and all of us lean forward in our seats. When he says he has exciting news, it's legit, and not a false alarm for us to pay attention in class. Like how a lot of the core class teachers are here.

"There is going to be a talent show." Mr. Folger beams.

"And?" Artie asks, earning snickers from the other immature boys in this class.

"But not just any talent show!" Mr. Folger says loudly, ignoring Artie's jab. He goes into a corner and retrieves a stack of bright orange papers, and begins passing them out. "The West Coast Showcase. A talent show where children your age compete artistically to win eternal glory and a recording contract."

"What?" I hear myself and some other girls say. A recording contract?

He puts a pamphlet on my desk and I snatch it up. In big, bold letters, it reads THE WEST COAST SEMI-ANNUAL SHOWCASE. WHERE THE TALENTED CAN MAKE IT BIG.

A recording contract.... this could be my big break.

"So who can compete?" Aria asks. "Actors, singers, dancers, what?"

"Anything, my dear." Mr. Folger adjusts his glasses. "Once they get up to one hundred entries from Oregon, California, and Washington, they stop accepting acts, so if you're thinking about entering, see me immediately."

"Why you?" Artie asks. Does he not think about what he's going to say?

"Because my wife's best friend is the sister of the director of the entire show," he replies with a hint of irritation at him. "And I can contact him."

Artie immediately shuts up, and looks at me. I can see in his eyes what he's thinking. The band idea. It's the IJustHadAFabulousIdea Look. I shoot him the expression I normally give him when he looks at me like that: The Abso-freaking-lutely Not look.

"Now, Eric," Mr. Folger says. "Why don't you perform your horror act for the showcase?"

Eric Miller flips his long black spiky hair out of his eyes. "No."

I begin to lose focus, and I'm soon daydreaming of the day I win the show and how right after the announcer yells "Nichole Evans is the winner of the West Coast Showcase!", I'm going to kiss Collin full on the mouth. And then the crowd will scream even more. I have such a creepy mind.

The bell rings, and Artie pulls my arms out from under my chin, pulling me back into reality. "Wake up."

I shake my head, and realize that Artie's giving me the Look again. I sigh. "No." I collect my backpack and my bag of fake blood and monster makeup that Artie so conveniently has in his bathroom medicine cabinet. Weirdo. We rejoin Thom and Aria in the hallway, and Artie explains his brilliant yet impossible idea. Which is:

"We form a group, enter, win the showcase, receive eternal glory."

Thom shakes his head. "That sounds retarded. Come up with a better and more realistic plan, and we'll talk." He pulls Aria ahead into the cafeteria and they are lost among the sea of rainbow colored heads.