Being herself has never been a challenge for Nyla until high school, where bitches, boobs and boys invades the minds of everyone... Well, everyone except her, of course.
Nyla never cared much about any of the three B's until she grew conscious of h...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It wasn’t fair.
The one person who deserved to be here the most was stuck at a stupid party, and it was just … It was just …
It was just not fair.
Forget that I was a nervous wreck and needed him here, Austin was the only reason this play was a success, and it broke my heart that he’d have to watch a recording.
Doug was right. Austin was practically the director of the play. He deserved the chance to watch it all take place—to come to life.
And he wouldn’t.
“Fifteen minutes to show time!” Mrs Smith shouted as our crew scrambled around the stage.
I peeked through the curtain, and the chairs were halfway packed with guests already. I gulped as my hands began to shake, and my throat closed up. Mrs Smith had already handed me my microphone, and my hands burned the second I touched it.
I needed Austin. Maybe not here, but I just needed to hear his voice.
I could do this. I knew I could. Austin ensured that. I practically knew the entire script word for word, so it would be like I was talking instead of reading. But hell, that didn’t make it any better.
I grabbed my phone from my tiny purse and instantly found Austin’s number. Just his voice—all I needed to hear was his voice and … Voicemail.
Wrong voice!
I tried again, but it yielded the same results.
If I was nervous before, this time, it was worse. My skin prickled with goosebumps, but not the good kind, and cold sweat washed me as Mrs Smith announced ten minutes till show time.
I didn’t have a choice. Only one other person could calm me down before the play began, and that was Ginger.
She still hadn’t spoken to me, no matter how many times I apologised, and it broke my heart every day. But I needed her now. I knew, yet again, I was calling her to my own selfish aid, but hell, I needed her.
So, I called her, but just like Austin’s, it went to voicemail. I decided to leave a message and hope for the best.
“Ginger, I know I’m the last person you want to see, but I need you, and I don’t know who else to call. Please, if you hear this in time, just come backstage. You’ll find me there.” I hesitated for a while, fearful that she probably wouldn’t yield. So I added, “Please, Ginger, I need you.”
