Oh, no. This was a mistake. This was a no-good, very bad idea.
Mitch felt hot regret melt down his body in a wave, his stomach sinking and head swimming. The bright light blinded him. The hard wood below his feet suddenly seemed as unstable as a rowboat. He could only remember one other time when he had ever felt this way.
---
"Up next, we have Mitch Grassi, with a poem. Mitch, the floor is yours."
A skinny, awkward seventeen-year-old made his way up the wooden steps to the microphone positioned in the center of the small stage. He ran his hand through his hair once, fixing the bangs, before pulling a sheet of paper folded in fours out of the back pocket of his jeans. Mitch unfolded it with shaky hands. He could hear his breath picked up by the microphone and relayed across the auditorium.
"Uh, hi, everyone. This is a short poem about... well, nevermind. I'm just gonna start." He laughed gently and looked up at the audience of high schoolers, but they were silent. He caught the eyes of a certain tall blonde in the front row, who gave him a thumbs up. Mitch beamed, then cleared his throat.
"I counted the stars tonight.
Oh, how they shine so bright!
I gather them all so we perfectly align.
While we gaze from far away
And separately watch the day
Come rising across the horizon in our minds.
But now I know my heart is strong.
Where you belong is by my side.
So will you hold? 'Cause time is cold,
But in your soul, I'm standing by."
Mitch's voice became clearer as he became more comfortable in the limelight. He could see Scott's eyes on him the entire time, proud and bright. There was an awkward pause, where the audience didn't quite know if he was finished or not, followed by some scattered applause and snaps.
Mitch looked at his teacher in the wings, who met his gaze expectantly, almost nodding to show she was ready for him to come off stage. Mitch turned back to the microphone, wanting to take advantage of his moment. He cleared his throat again.
"I , uh, I wanted to dedicate that poem to Scott Hoying," he said, smiling and expecting the crowd to snap their fingers, or "aww," or maybe just lightly applaud as they had before, but that is not what happened.
No, that was not their reaction at all.
"Gayyyy!" a boy shouted from the back of the auditorium. Mitch's face fell as the audience began to laugh. The teachers made vague attempts at hushing the students, but they had little success. Mitch panicked, looking for Scott's face in the crowd. He couldn't find it.
He'd find out later that Scott had ducked out as soon as the commotion broke out.
Oh, no. This was a mistake. This was a no-good, very bad idea.
