Free Stepping Out by Laura Langston

full.
    “You good?” Jacob asks.
    There are nineteen others in my category. In terms of skill, I figure I’m about midrange. “Not as good as some, but better than others.”
    He snickers. “I meant, are you good to go?”
    The heat races from my neck into my cheeks. “Yeah, I’m good to go.”
    We turn back to the wings. “I hope you break a leg tomorrow,” Jacob says.
    I snort. “I hope I don’t. I’m already down one leg. I can’t afford to wreck another one.”
    Jacob laughs.
    It’s the first laugh I’ve gotten tonight. As we walk offstage, I take it as a sign of good luck.

Twelve
    “H ere you go, kiddo,” Dad says as he slows to a stop in front of the theater at ten the next morning. Thank goodness Brooke and the twins aren’t with us. When I met Mom in the hotel lobby a few minutes ago and she told me they were making their own way to the competition, I almost cried with relief.
    I’m too nervous to see my sister right now.
    My stomach flips as I stare out the window. I see a couple of news vans parked ahead of us: KPTV and KOIN 6. Reporters and camera operators too, standing by the theater entrance. I’m too nervous, period.
    I can’t believe TV news is here.
    I can’t believe I’m here.
    I can’t believe this is really happening.
    “I’ll find parking and let Mom and Grandpa walk you in.” Dad glances back and winks at me. “Go get ’em, Paige. Show those guys just how great you are.”
    Mom opens the van door and gestures me out. The gray sky looks threatening, but it hasn’t rained yet, and that’s good news for my hair. In spite of all the expensive hair products Carly insisted I buy, and though I spent more than half an hour styling it this morning, I’m worried about frizzing up.
    We walk toward the entrance. My heart begins to race. I’m about to face the biggest opportunity—and the biggest challenge—of my life. Making a crowd laugh. But I have to limp out onstage in front of them first.
    Frizzing up is the least of my worries.
    Grandpa slows in front of a heavily made-up blond holding a microphone. A bored-looking camera operator stands behind her. “This is my granddaughter. Paige Larsson.” Grandpa drops his arm across my shoulders like he thinks I might run away or something. I look at Mom for support, but she’s staring at the reporter and grinning like a fool. “She’s competing in the video-comedy category. You’d better memorize her name. That’s Larsson with two s ’s. You’ll be hearing a lot about her in the coming years.”
    My cheeks burn. Where’s that mega earthquake when you need it? Right now, I’d give anything for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
    The woman gestures to the camera guy, who hoists his machine to his shoulders. She sticks the microphone under my nose. “How does it feel to be competing, Paige Larsson?”
    I mumble something about it being a great opportunity and an honor to be shortlisted. I’ve barely finished speaking when someone else comes up, and the woman switches her attention to them.
    Mom and Grandpa present their tickets at the entrance. I hold up my name tag for inspection. The petite ticket checker, who’s wearing eyelashes the length of my baby finger, smiles at me. “Go on in. And good luck.”
    Inside the door, a middle-aged usher with longish hair and kind brown eyes is waiting to take me backstage.
    “Why don’t I walk down with you?” Mom straightens my vest, brushes something from my shoulder. I know there’s nothing there. I spent over an hour primping. My jeans and vest are perfect. My makeup is perfect. If only I could be perfect. “Give you some support.”
    “Thanks, Mom, but only contestants are allowed backstage.” I have no clue if that’s true, but I don’t want a mother escort.
    “Okay then.” Her blue eyes are full of emotion. “Remember, we love you, and we’re proud of you no matter what happens up on that stage.” She folds me into a hug. I breathe in her special mom