Louder than Words

Chapter Five

We ended up buying something simple, yet according to Rachel, hot as hell.

I feel hot all right, but not in the sexy way. I want nothing more than to shrug off the leather jacket, but then I'm worried people will see the armpit sweat on my white T-shirt. I wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans and try to catch my breath, though this is hard to do when the jeans feel like they're squeezing the life out of me.

At least I still have my beanie. If anything, I can pull it over my face to hide from my impending humiliation.

It's not like we're not ready. We practiced enough both last night and this morning that the song is repeating endlessly in my head. But there's too many different ways I can screw this up: stuttering, tripping, mind blanking from panic. I can't stop myself from imagining every possible thing that could go wrong.

Someone taps on my shoulder. It's Rachel, who is wearing a glittering silver tank top and black leather pants. She certainly looks hot, and not in the sweaty way. The thought only makes me feel more nervous.

You okay? she signs.

I take a breath, prepared to pretend everything is fine, but then I'm shaking my head no.

Alright, then repeat after me. She sucks in her breath slowly, her cheeks swelling like balloons before she gradually releases the air. She does it again, and I realize what she's telling me to do. I suck in my breath, this time not in a desperate gasp. Together we take several deep breaths, until Rachel signs, Feel better?

"No."

Hey, at least I'm able to talk now.

She cracks a smile, though I fail to see what's so amusing. Just remember, this is only about the music. Ignore everyone else.

"But I can't help it! No matter what I tell myself, the feeling won't go away."

Then just let it be. If you're anxious, let yourself be anxious. I think part of the anxiety is trying to push away the feeling.

Just let it be. It's easy enough to say, but how can I perform well when nervous? If I don't beat this feeling down, I'm leaving myself open to mistakes.

As if reading my mind, Rachel continues to sign, Everyone who performs is nervous. Me, Geoff, even celebrities. Being nervous doesn't mean everything is going to fall apart. Just you wait, once the music starts playing you'll feel differently.

Geoff hustles into the room. "Two minutes, guys."

Rachel gives him a thumbs-up, then returns her attention to me. Now shake it loose.

Before I can ask what she means, she begins to shake her limbs like an out of control marionette. The absurdity of it weasels out a laugh from me, which Rachel returns with her laughing grin. Then she raises her eyebrows at me expectantly.

I heave a sigh, my eyes rolling. Is that going to become a habit, now? But I know better by now than to argue. So I begin to dance around wildly, and with each jerk of my limbs, I feel any bit of dignity I have left fly away. Yet the loss of my pride doesn't leave me feeling embarrassed. Rather, I feel like a great weight has been lifted off of my shoulders.

"Everyone ready?" Geoff asks.

The answer is still no, but I guess we can't always wait for the moments when we are. I look to Rachel, and we both nod. I hold the mic close to my heart, imagining it as my weapon as I prepare to face my fears.

I think my heart is pounding harder than Geoff's drums as he and Rachel start the song. With trembling fingers, I raise the mic to my lips. But as I take a breath, my heart drops to my stomach. My lungs feel constricted, and everyone is watching, and—