I stood there, knowing my cue had come. Sasha looked over, giving me a tiny nod. The gesture was kind, as she couldn’t break formation. My hands began to sweat and the crown on top of my head felt heavier than it had ever felt in practice sessions. Suddenly, the outfit felt itchy and my confidence wavered.

This day was bound to come, and I had rehearsed the steps a thousand times. No amount of repetition could prepare me for this feeling, though. The pit in my stomach was like a sinking void growing deeper and denser the closer my cue came. Growing like that seed my friends joked would turn into a full watermelon now that I had swallowed it at lunch.

I had no one to impress. My parents had refused to come. My friends were in the crowd, but they’d been my test audience for weeks now. They likely knew the steps better than I did with how many times I spun and twirled in the basement light.

Parker had joked my shadow was the real me as it danced in sync with my steps. It had the freedom of being itself on the wall. It looked like no one…had no expectations thrust upon it. And when the right light came on…poof! It disappeared until it came back during dinner, as I brushed my teeth, and as I lay in bed with my night light. It got to skip all the in between parts where my family didn’t discuss my upcoming recital.

“No,” I muttered to myself in the last milliseconds before my entrance on stage. This performance wasn’t for anyone other than me. This was me. I had put in the work, I had picked up the costume, and I put the blasted crown on my head because I deserved to! Me! I’m proud of this. I love this. I love me.

I took a deep breath. The deepest breath I’d ever taken. The pit disappeared, leaving behind warmth and light. Sasha’s nod became more than a kind gesture- it was a lifeline. I’d dance for me and those who rooted for me. Finally, the real Michael takes center stage.