When the music ends, our principal, Mrs. Partridge, introduces the next act. Ezer leans toward Josh and, speaking out of the side of his mouth, says, “Which band were they impersonating?”
I admit, the comment totally cracks me up. Especially when you consider how much effort went into Ian White’s hair swoop, modeled after the lead singer’s.
But then, when Ezer checks his watch and rolls his eyes, it’s clear he’s already tired, bored, and not taking this nearly as seriously as he should. Just seeing that makes my mood take a turn.
Whenever I’m upset, the first place it shows is my face. My dad used to joke that I should never play poker. Which I didn’t exactly understand until Dougall explained that poker is a game best played by accomplished liars. Which is why his uncle lost everything—his money, his house, his wife, and his family. Apparently he was just like me—he wore the truth right smack in the middle of his face—and yet he still tried to get in on the game.
Anyway, the point is, that unhappy expression is exactly the one I’m wearing when Josh looks over his shoulder and sees me standing behind him.
“When are you up?” he asks, his voice rising like he’s trying to lift my mood through sheer tenor alone.
“Second to last.” I’m forced to choke out the words. I mean, I’m actually having a conversation with Josh Frost!
“Good luck!” He grins, turning away and nudging Ezer hard with his knee when Ezer pulls out his phone and starts checking his messages.
Before I can even think of a reply, Mrs. Partridge is tapping my shoulder and giving me her scary face as she points to where the performers are waiting and tells me to get back in line.
After a bunch of my classmates completely slaughter some of my favorite songs (including a performance by Mac Turtledove that receives way more applause than it deserves), it’s my turn, and I can hardly believe that not one of the competitors thought to sing a Josh Frost song.
Probably weren’t up for the challenge—afraid of humiliating themselves in front of an International Superstar.
I take it as Good Omen #2.*2
I make for the stage, buzzing with the anticipation of a life that is about to irrevocably change in a very good way. Instead of being known as The Brainiac Nerd Who Sucks at PE, I’m moments away from being crowned The Most Talented Kid at Greentree.
I’m about to make Nerd History.
Thing is, the moment I’m standing before the mike, my palms go all clammy, my knees feel like they’re about to disintegrate, and my throat and gut conspire on the most effective way to throw up.
My eyes dart back and forth, searching the crowd, frantically looking for someone who might actually be rooting for me. Dougall, Sparks, heck, I’m so desperate even Plum will do. But there are so many students and teachers the faces all smear together into a mass of people stomping and clapping, some hurling trash at the stage.
I can’t do this.
There’s no way.
This is not at all how I fully imagined it.
The noise grows louder as my 150 classmates huddle together, anticipating the moment I’ll go down in flames.
I swipe my sweat-soaked palms down the front of my jeans and clear my throat repeatedly. I’m just about to claim laryngitis when I remember an early episode of Frost World where Josh talked about his first public performance and how he was sure he was going to hurl, until Ezer reminded him that people just want to be entertained and inspired and that it was Josh’s job to go out and give it to ’em.
If it’s good enough for Josh, it’s good enough for me.
Besides, when I think about the performances we were all just subjected to, well, it’s clear these people are in desperate need of a little inspiration.
I take a steady breath and lean toward the mike. “This one’s for you,” I say, pointing toward the general area where Tinsley Barnes usually sits in assemblies. I cue the music I rehearsed with the band yesterday after school, close my eyes for a moment, and pretend I’m singing to her.
At first my voice sounds kind of unstable, maybe even what you’d call croaky. But when I pick up the rhythm, everyone starts clapping, singing, and well, that’s when I decide to go with the bigger of the two alternate endings I’d planned.
Ending #1 basically involves me bolting from the stage in case things go terribly wrong. It also includes an additional scene where I beg my parents to sell everything we own so we can move to a state far away, where nobody knows me.
But now, with everyone clearly enjoying the show, I go straight for Ending #2, which requires a perfectly executed double-spin-hand-flash-wink-and-grin before I take my final bow and say, “Be nice to everyone—let peace lead your way.”
The official Josh Frost sign-off.
While it may sound simple in theory, the nearly simultaneous spinning, hand-flashing, winking, and grinning ends up making me so dizzy that by the time I lean in for the bow, my chin slams the top of the mike so hard it sends a loud bffffffttt sound screaming through the gym.