The Good, the Bad, and the Gwen | ✔️

8 - Kill Me Now

As my eyes adjust to the fluorescent glare, I suddenly feel very small. And I sense it coming on but am in no position to stop it:

PANIC.

FEAR.

VOMIT.

"What are we supposed to do now?" I hiss over at Hartley, but she's waving at the audience and blowing kisses like a festival queen on a parade float.

"Have fun," she whispers back at me. "You remember how to do that, right?"

Gulp.

Whatever happens, I cannot lose it right now. I glance down at Sully who's still grinning from ear to ear. He gives me a wave, and I wave back. I think. But when I twist around to look at Hartley, my voice rises to near hysteria. "They expect us to do something!"

"Then let's do something. How about the song we did at the middle school talent show?" she asks, not acting the slightest bit nervous. "I'm sure they have it on their playlist."

I shake my head and hold back a scream. "No, I don't think they do. We should probably just forget the whole thing and sit down."

Hartley makes a big show of rolling her eyes. "We're already up here. We could always wing it if you'd rather?"

My own eyes feel like they're about to pop out of my skull and jump around like bouncy balls across the stage. "We can't wing it—are you insane?"

"What choice do we have?"

"Let's just take our seats," I suggest again. I grab her arm and drag her toward the stairs, but she pulls me in the opposite direction with a surprising amount of force.

"Oh, no you don't! We're doing this—we'll regret it forever if we don't."

"But—" My stomach catapults as I squint into the audience. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"You are not gonna be sick!" She grasps my shoulders and looks me square in the eye. "You are going to be amazing, and you're going to prove it to everyone right now. You said you wanted to be breathtaking, right? Well, I have news for you: it's all a state of mind. If you believe you are breathtaking, then you will be. Now let them see it," she says, nodding toward the crowd.

My throat is so dry I can't mutter a protest. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping this is all a nightmare, but when I open them again, Lady Bijou is sashaying toward us, the long slit in her beaded gown exposing her impossibly long left leg. "All right, darlings. What's it going to be?"

Hartley whips her head in my direction, her blonde ringlets crashing over her shoulder. "Do you remember it?" I shake my head but can tell she doesn't believe me. "Bullshit. I'll bet you still practice in front of the mirror every day."

I swallow hard. Because how could she possibly know that?

"Do you have ..." Hartley whispers into Lady Bijou's ear.

A wide smile makes its way across the performer's face. "But of course! She's every queen's best friend, you know."

"Told you so," my best friend throws back in my direction. "Are you ready, Gwennie?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No," she says, flipping her hair. "I'll start it off and you follow. Then we'll join together for the refrain, just like before. Got it?"

I'm sweating buckets now, and it's not from the blaring lights. "I can't believe you're making me do this."

She grins. "You'll thank me later. I guarantee it."