“Let peace be your guide,” I mumble, knowing I’ve completely and totally blown it. Hardly able to believe I’d come so far, only to fall apart at the end.
The crowd was clearly mine. The plan I spent so much time fully imagining was a success! For the entire two minutes and forty-seven seconds I was singing, every single one of my classmates was clapping and singing right along with me.
Until I flubbed the sign-off and the clapping turned into laughing.
I turn away, practically racing from the stage, wanting more than anything to avoid looking at Josh, but I force myself anyway. The least I can do is apologize for trying to steal his signature move.
But when I look over to where he’s sitting, the expression he wears is as unmistakable as a report card smothered with As.
Josh Frost is nodding.
Grinning.
Giving me an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
And I’m pretty dang sure he didn’t do that for anyone else.
* * *
*1 Don’t believe in good omens—they’re not what they seem.
*2 I really hope I don’t have to remind you about good omens.
1:52 P.M.—2:16 P.M.
FROSTED
An eighth-grade drama die-hard takes the stage last in a blur of jazz hands and clumsy dance moves. But now that I know I’ve got Josh’s vote, I don’t bother watching.
In my head I can still hear the crowd clapping and singing, can still see the approval on Josh’s face. The arc of his thumb as he jabbed it toward me, as if to silently say, You got this!
And to think it’s just the beginning.
Won’t be long before that kind of praise becomes a regular thing.
When the music ends, our class president hogs the mike and drones on and on about all of the supposedly exciting things happening at Greentree after winter break and blah, blah, blah.
I mean, is she serious? Can’t she see there’s not a single person here (other than her) who gives a flying flip about any of that?
The only thing these people are interested in is hearing the name of the winner so they know who to suck up to for the rest of the year.
The other performers gather behind me. All of them are busy high-fiving and complimenting each other’s mediocre performances. But not me. I sneak away from the group and linger near the stage. Better to be close to the steps when they announce me as the winner.
Also, if I lean in just so, I can actually make out a lot of what Ezer and Josh Frost are saying.
I inch closer, straining to hear. Barely able to breathe when Josh says, “I’m liking that kid at the end.”
Kid at the end?
A slow panic churns in my gut.
Does he mean the kid at the end-end? The high-kicking, jazz-handing drama nerd?
The one I ignored?
Is it possible the thumbs-up and eye-smile didn’t mean what I thought?
“That last one?” Ezer’s expression betrays just how he feels about that. “You’re joking.”
“No. The one who went right before him.” Josh reaches for his water and twists the cap back and forth as though he’s actually nervous about stating his opinion to Ezer, even though everyone knows Ezer works for him.
“Ah. ‘Twelve Days.’?” Ezer’s voice is impossible to read.
“That’s it. He’s the one.” Josh takes a long, steady drink as I use all of my strength to force my grin into submission.
“I don’t know.” Ezer frowns. “He’s a little rough around the edges. And the way he copied your signature move—didn’t that strike you as overly ingratiating?”
“Like you can ever be overly ingratiating in this business?” Josh laughs at a joke I’m not sure I get. Shaking his head, he adds, “He reminds me of myself when I was his age. I was rough too. Besides, that kind of awkwardness and adulation always makes for good TV.”
That’s it. That’s all I needed to hear.
Who cares if Josh called me awkward—I’m in!
In just a matter of seconds it’ll be goodbye, Brainiac Nerd—hello, International Superstar!
Dreams really do come true.
I’m living proof.
I make my way toward the rest of the performers and high-five with the rest of them, even lob a few fake compliments of my own, all the while feeling sorry that they don’t stand a chance.
There can be only one winner.
And it just so happens it’s me.
I gush over Chloe Fields’s total fail of a song.
I even say something nice to Ian White about his hair swoop.
It’s just like Josh always says: Be nice to everyone—let peace lead your way.
I glance toward the stage, inwardly rehearsing a few fake surprised expressions when Josh starts by congratulating everyone on a job well done…how Greentree is bursting with talent…and on and on to the point where I really wish he’d just announce me already so I can start my new life.
Still, despite my excitement, I remind myself to stay humble and cool. To wait for my full name to be called before I react.
And yet, the second Josh says, “And the winner of the Greentree Talent Show is—” I leap right past my fake surprised look and bolt for the stage wearing a grin so big, my face feels like it’s cleaved right in half.