Read Comedy Girl for Free Online Page B

confidence.
    â€œI loathe high school,” I began for the seventeenth time. But then reality hit me as I noticed the drooping eyes reflected in the mirror.
    What if I failed in front of the whole school?
    I jumped on my bed and crawled under the covers fully clothed, my brush still clutched in my hand. I had nineteen hours to catch the flu.
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    â€œI’m so totally excited!” Jazzy screamed as she drove me to school the next morning. “The best part will be the party afterward. We’ll be the stars—everyone will want to hang with us—especially with you, ’cause you have the best act!”
    â€œYou haven’t even see it!”
    â€œBut all the other acts tanked at rehearsal!”
    â€œI just hope I’m still breathing afterward!”
    â€œWe’ll get A pluses from Janson and party with Ricky and Gavin.”
    â€œDon’t say Gavin! Why did we take this class anyway?”
    â€œWe thought it would be fun,” Jazzy answered.
    â€œBoy, were we wrong,” we both said in unison.
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    At 10:55 I passed Gavin in the hallway. But today I kept my eyes on the floor, afraid to make eye contact, afraid to draw attention to myself. So when he stepped toward me for the first time ever, I ignored him like a coward and hurried to class.
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    The closed curtains concealed the arriving crowd—a small one, I hoped. We couldn’t hear them for all the noise backstage. Mr. Janson was rushing around trying to create some order out of all our chaos.
    I paced in the wings, wearing a silky dark blue dress, black tights, and black high heels. Why didn’t I wear high tops and a pair of shorts? I wondered, as I slid on a Talent Night program that was lying on the floor.
    â€œPeople, get in your places,” Mr. Janson commanded. “Remember the running order, remember to project,and most importantly, remember me when you’re famous!”
    â€œI need oxygen!” I said to Jazzy.
    Jazzy’s face was pale as she held on tightly to her cardboard Leo.
    I hadn’t ever seen Jazzy afraid of anything. I had to be strong for her. “Remember, we’re bush people,” I said, grabbing her hand. But our clasped hands were shaking. “We survived thorns and branches. Those people out there are just flowers in comparison.”
    â€œThanks, Trix,” Jazzy said, and squeezed me with all her might.
    â€œNow I must be alone,” I demanded. “We’ll talk after the show.” I needed to tune everyone out so I could run through my material. I wouldn’t be able to relax until my performance was over. I sat curled up on a backstage chair, waiting forever for my name to be called, trying to convince myself I was being thrown into a bed of roses and not another thorn bush.
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    I tried to tune out a shrilling rendition of “Memory,” a rap version of “Silent Night,” and finally Jonathan Marks reading from Othello —my cue to go on. I watched him from the wings as I shook, paced, bit my nails, and jumped up and down. I didn’t listen to a word of his speech. It was as if he was performing on speed.Jonathan, the center on Mason’s basketball team, was delivering the bard’s words as if he was speaking against the shot clock. There was a round of applause and suddenly I heard, “For our next act, please welcome to the stage…Trixie Shapiro!”
    I couldn’t move—my feet were frozen.
    â€œWhere is she?” Janson whispered, peeking backstage. “Trixie, you’re on!”
    Jazzy ran over, waving her arms. “Trixie, it’s your turn!”
    I stared at her with wide ghostlike eyes. She pushed me onstage like a mother bird pushing her baby out of the nest. I walked forward, my knees wobbly, my hands sweaty. I picked up the mike from its stand and squeezed it like a pacifier.
    I stood alone on the huge stage I had so often gazed at during study hall, in front of a sea of