know if Zac is here?” I asked her.
She shook her head. “Haven’t seen him. But the night is still young. He could show up later.”
I groaned. “I’m on in about twelve minutes, so I hope he gets here soon.”
Ally’s eyes widened and she let out a shriek. “You’re performing? You go, girl!”
I laughed at her excitement. “Don’t cheer yet. You haven’t seen my act. I might be horrible.”
“As long as you make the audience laugh, you’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to do.” She clapped her hands. “I can’t wait. I’ll be out there front and center.”
She squeezed me into another hug before leaving me alone in the bathroom. I slipped into the stall and locked the door, dropping the bag to the floor.
I leaned my head against the cool metal door and let out a long breath. Had I completely lost my mind? I had no business going on stage at a comedy show.
The last time I was here flashed through my mind. When Zac had called me onstage and everyone had turned to look at me, I felt as if I’d been split wide open and laid out for everyone to criticize.
“The point of comedy is make people look at you,” I reminded myself. “Making them laugh is a good thing.”
Taking another deep breath, I reached down and unzipped the bag.
It felt like hours before I heard the muffled voice of the announcer saying, “And now, some new talent here at the Rose Castle tonight. Appearing for the first time onstage, please welcome Avery James!”
I had stayed in the bathroom during the wait, but now I pulled the door open, propped it with one foot as I shoved my hand back into my white puffy glove, and then made my way into the dining room.
The faces of the audience all turned as one toward me.
And then they laughed.
Making my way toward the stage dressed as Bob the giant hot dog and carrying my portable CD player proved to be a little difficult. I stumbled and bumped into a few tables and chairs before an old man took pity on me and helped me ease myself up the few steps to the stage.
“Hello, everyone,” I said into the microphone, jumping at how loud my voice sounded in the dimly lit room. “How are you all doing tonight? I’m doing really good today. I’m doing these daily affirmations each morning. It’s very important to start the day off on an optimistic note. So I look in the mirror and tell myself, ‘Go out there and face the world, Avery. You can do it. You’re the best. You’re a wiener!’”
Seeing the audience through the mesh screen over my face was almost impossible. But I could hear their laughter just fine. It sounded polite, but I had never expected to win them over with my jokes.
“But the thing that really helps me is this trick I learned from a good friend of mine,” I continued. “He has dance parties for no reason at all. Even when there’s no music, he dances because he feels like it. And we had a bet that if we made an A on our school project, I’d dance for him. So what better way to celebrate than shaking my bun around onstage?”
Several people cheered me on as I set the CD player on the floor and then took the microphone off the stand, setting it near the speaker so the audience could hear the music.
When “Who Let the Dogs Out?” blasted through the diner from my little stereo, I didn’t pause to think. I didn’t worry about what anyone else thought either. It didn’t matter if I was perfect or not, it only mattered that I made the audience laugh.
So I danced every dance I knew. The Hot Diggity Shuffle. The Running Man. The Twist. Cabbage Patch. Even a few moves that would never have been called dancing. I let the music take over, guiding me into chaotic movements across the stage.
And the audience loved it. Their cheers and laughs drowned out the song so I didn’t know if I was even still dancing to music at all anymore. Most of them stood up and danced along with me at their seats.
When I finally stopped, breathless and sweating, I threw back my head, laughing inside the hot dog costume. I finally felt free of myself, of every rule and total order I’d ever placed on my actions. I felt like the girl I had once been, back