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twisted her head, arched her body. Tried to slide out from under the hand.
    But the hand gripped too tightly for her to escape. The palm closed over Delia’s nose, blocking the air.
    Struggling, squirming, thrashing her legs, Delia stared up at her attacker.
    Saw the light hair. The narrowed, determined eyes.
    And recognized her.
    Karina!
    With an angry burst of power, Delia raised both arms—and batted Karina’s hand away.
    â€œKarina—” Delia choked out hoarsely. “Karina—what are you doing?”
    Karina’s eyes flashed in the darkness. And then Delia saw another flash.
    A metallic flash at Karina’s waist.
    The shape of a small pistol.
    â€œThis won’t hurt, Delia,” Karina whispered.
    Delia sank back helplessly as Karina raised the pistol. Raised it over Delia’s head.
    â€œThis won’t hurt,” Karina rasped. “You won’t feel a thing.”

Chapter
    10

    T he glint of silver rose higher.
    Delia stared up in horror. Waited for the explosion. Waited for the pain.
    â€œOhh!” She gasped as she realized she wasn’t staring up at a pistol.
    Karina held a silvery tube of lipstick in her hand.
    â€œKarina—wait!” Delia pleaded.
    She felt Karina’s other hand press down on her chest.
    And then Karina lowered the lipstick tube. Lowered it. Pressed the lipstick hard against Delia’s cheek.
    Delia felt the lipstick smear down her cheek. Across her chin.
    She struggled to sit up. But Karina held her down.
    Smearing the sticky lipstick over Delia’s forehead now. Rubbing it in her ears. Pushing it along the sides of Delia’s nose.
    â€œKarina—stop!” Delia begged.
    â€œStop. Please—stop. Please. Why are you doing this? Stop! Please!”
    As she begged, Delia suddenly realized that she was dreaming.
    She was in the dream—and outside the dream at the same time.
    She willed herself awake. Opened her eyes.
    Her face tingled.
    She sat up and rubbed her hands over her face.
    No lipstick. No Karina and no lipstick. Just a dream.
    Just a frightening dream …
    â€œKarina, I’m afraid of you when I’m awake. And now you frighten me in my sleep,” Delia murmured.
    What am I going to do?
    What am I going to do?
    â™¦ ♦ ♦
    Delia was number seven.
    Last.
    Shifting slightly in the springy auditorium seat, she crossed her legs. She banged into Britty. “Sorry,” Delia murmured. She uncrossed her legs.
    â€œSit still, will you?” Britty whispered, keeping her eyes on the stage where Stewart was performing his magic act. “You wanted to perform last.”
    â€œI thought I would be able to relax and check out the competition,” Delia whispered back. “But this is making me nuts!”
    Delia applauded mechanically as Stewart pulled his pet beagle out of a top hat.
    Britty giggled. “How did he get the dog in there in the first place?”
    â€œHow should I know?” Delia mumbled. She crossed her legs again.
    â€œRelax,” Britty ordered.
    â€œGreat advice,” Delia said, rolling her eyes. “Tell that to my stomach.” She uncrossed her legs again.
    Delia held her hands up in front of Britty. “My palms are sweating. My hands are shaking. There’s no way I’m going to be able to play the guitar. And how am I ever going to be able to sing my song?”
    Britty started to chew on a strand of her long hair. “Stop it, okay? You’re making me nervous!” she exclaimed.
    Delia scraped her wet palms against her black skirt. Then she reached for her purse and pulled out a little mirror.
    She checked her Midnight Wine lipstick—for about the millionth time. She straightened her brightly colored brocade vest. She tugged down the sleeves of her white blouse.
    If only she didn’t have to go last.
    I wish I could fast-forward my life, she thought.
    â€œAbracadabra!” Stewart whipped away the silk cloth he had