Dream Chaser by Angie Stanton Page B

talking with Miss Ginny and Ms. Fuller, who had just arrived. I tried to ignore the whispers spilling over from the crowded backstage.
    “Willow, please move center stage. I’d like to hear you sing.”
    My head snapped up. Sing? I looked to Eli, I don’t know why. I guess an old reflex. He whistled like a missile soaring through the air and then hitting the ground. He watched its imaginary progress and made an explosion sound.
    Tyson stepped to the edge of the stage. “Eli, you can take a seat. Thank you.”
    Eli smirked and left me.
    Alone.
    Tyson Scott wanted to hear me sing. It hadn’t even occurred to me, which was so stupid. Of course I’d have to sing. This was a musical!
    Now don’t get me wrong. I love to sing, but in that “sing into a hair brush in the privacy of your own room” kind of way.
    My previous annoyance with Eli evaporated and panic replaced it.
    “Right now? You want me to sing right now?” I swallowed.
    I glanced from Tyson to Ms. Fuller and then at the growing group of cast members off stage. I swallowed again, my throat closing up.
    “Yes, that’s the general idea of an audition. Everyone else already has already been through this process.”
    Ms. Fuller nodded like a bobble head doll.
    “In fact,” he said, “why don’t we get everyone hiding backstage to come out and take a seat. You can show us all what you’ve got.”
    Tyson smiled in a way he probably thought would put me at ease, but there is no relaxing when you’re about to be forced into the vocal equivalent of standing on stage naked. I could cheer in front of a stadium of fans and dance in front of a packed audience, but when it comes to singing alone, I get stage fright.
    Now, Eli’s voice is another story. He’s good enough to cut CDs. He’s taken voice lessons for years.
    The kids from backstage came into the light like munchkins in the Wizard of Oz and found seats. Ms. Fuller stepped forward and handed me sheet music. “Why don’t you sing this. We worked on it in choir today.” She gave me a “you can do this” nod. Another copy of the music sat open on the piano. How convenient.
    I accepted the music, but felt like a mouse trapped in a corner by a really big cat. Make that several really big cats. Tyson Scott looked on without a care in the world. Eli relaxed in the front row, his legs stretched before him, waiting for me to fail.
    As I gripped the music, my hands began to shake. My throat now dry as a sandy beach on a hot day.
    “Ready?” Ms. Fuller chirped from her perch on the piano bench.
    Never! When would anyone ever be ready to sing alone in front of this mega important Broadway guy, let alone all these strangers in the cast who looked ready to lynch me for intruding on their private party.
    “I guess,” I squeaked, realizing my deodorant no longer worked.
    The rest of the cast watched my slow torture from their cushioned seats. I recognized a lot of them from my former dance life. Some watched with supportive smiles, but some didn’t seem happy to see me. Definitely not the positive reception I’d hoped for. Was this show really worth it, even if it let me escape cheer once and for all?
    Ms. Fuller began the intro. Tyson’s eyes settled on me; he smiled. I took a deep shaky breath and stared at the music.
    I missed the entrance.
      “Let’s try that again,” Ms. Fuller said with patience. I heard a few kids snicker from the safety of their seats. Ms. Fuller’s head snapped around to drill them with her evil eye. I appreciated the gesture of support.
    “Sorry,” I said. What did they expect? I never claimed to be a singer. I just wanted a small part in the chorus.
      “You know what?” Tyson walked to the piano, “I think we should start with some simple scales. I know we’ve put you on the spot here today. You didn’t audition the first round of cattle calls, so today must be pretty nerve wracking.”
    “Yeah,” I said, relieved he seemed to understand.
    “By the way, why