Free Stepping Out by Laura Langston Page A

smell: minty toothpaste, floral perfume and comfort.
    The usher leads me through a metal door that goes backstage. “The first category is just wrapping up,” he says as clapping breaks out in the theater. I hope Jacob makes it. He seems like a nice guy.
    I follow the usher down the hall, past the turnoff to the stage and toward the dressing room. When I hear a burst of laughter, my heart starts to thrum. They’ll stare at me as I walk into the room. I hate that.
    They’ll stare at you when you walk out onstage too.
    Sometimes I wish I had a Delete button for my thoughts.
    The usher stops by the open doorway. I freeze, suddenly conscious of my limp. “Here you are.” He smiles before he turns away. “Good luck.”
    I stare at the crowd. There has to be at least sixty people in the room. Contestants wearing the flamboyant orange name tags, ushers in their burgundy jackets, a pile of organizers. But everybody is huddled around three TV monitors. Nobody is looking at me. I take a breath, walk in and stand awkwardly at the back of the group.
    Jacob comes over. His face is flushed, and his hairline is damp with sweat. “Hey. Good morning.”
    “Good morning.”
    He’s dressed casually in jeans, a white shirt and blue high-top runners. Aside from a few girls wearing leggings, and one guy wearing khakis, jeans seem to be the outfit of choice. My nervousness eases just a little. My walk may be messed up, but my clothes are perfect.
    Jacob steers me over to a monitor. On the screen, I see the four judges sitting in the front row, iPads resting on their knees. Their heads are bent together. Raven Prest is sitting second from the end. My breath stalls. She’s my all-time, hands-down favorite comedian. I can’t believe she’ll watch me perform today. It’s like a dream come true. Except for the walking across the stage part.
    “They’re about to announce who made the first cut,” Jacob tells me.
    Twenty comedians start out in each category. Half will be eliminated after the first round this morning, and another half will be cut after this afternoon’s round. Only five in each category will go on to tomorrow’s final.
    The judges straighten. The room goes quiet. I stare at the screen as one of the judges—British comedian Connor Hillis—looks into the camera and says, “I speak for all four of us when I say this was a difficult decision, and every contestant is to be congratulated for his or her efforts. Based on our criteria, here are the contestants in the straight stand-up comedy category who will compete in this afternoon’s event.”
    Ten names flash onto the screen. There’s a moment’s pause and then comes a shout, followed by a burst of clapping. I barely have time to scan half the list before Jacob pulls me into a sweaty hug. “I made it.” His voice trembles with emotion.
    The next fifteen minutes are pandemonium as people are congratulated and consoled and the contestants in the first category trickle out of the room. I find a space against the wall and check my texts.
    From Carly: Good luck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
    From Hunter: You’re the funniest person I know. Remember that.
    From Mr. Roskinski: Let the audience reaction guide you.
    The next half hour is a blur of instructions and final details. I listen as the organizers remind us that we’ll be able to watch the event live on the monitor… that we’ll be taken to the stage area ten minutes before our names will be called…that there will be a lunch for all contestants following our category.
    Swallowing hard, I eye my competition. I recognize a guy from Idaho, one from Boston and another from Santa Fe. Girls from Tampa and Phoenix and Chicago. I’ve watched them all on YouTube. I’ve been awed by their talent.
    Today they look as terrified as I feel. The thought doesn’t offer much comfort.
    As the competition in my category begins, I calmly watch the monitor along with everyone else. But by the time the fourth contestant starts into her