SEASON TWO, EPISODE SEVENTEEN

STAGE FRIGHT

A.J.

          IF YOU DON'T GET HELP, YOU'RE GOING TO DIE.

          Well, then. Someone ought to do it for her if they thought it was that easy, right?

          A.J. couldn't remember the last time she'd gone without her hands shaking. She didn't have to use her hands too much, and the times she did, they worked just fine, such as writing her notes during lectures or having to hold something. However, there were times when she couldn't even hold a mug of tea or something heavier than a small dog without her arms faltering and trembling like jello.

          She couldn't even channel her frustration into rehearsals, aware there was always someone watching her.

          It was frankly distracting, as she had to focus on what she was doing—singing, dancing, harmonizing—and on being so damn perfect at everything she was doing no one would get to suspect there was something wrong. She was used to being watched, with years of theater experience and then Broadway, but these were her peers. They were more than normal NYSPA students to her at this point, and all traces of competitiveness should be directed towards the competition, not each other.

          They had been paired up to practice a group dance routine, so it was harder for her to be noticed in the middle of the chaos that was the choir room. As long as she didn't screw up, she'd slip past the radar.

          Her dance partner was Levi, who was probably one of the few people in the club she felt completely comfortable with; the others either couldn't pick her up because she was taller than them—Sasha, Miyu, Diana—or were already partnered up with someone else, like T.J., who wouldn't dance with anyone but Diana. The positions of each member during the actual performance would be different, as they were still trying to nail each step, but A.J. could use her influence to make Levi stand by her and continue being her partner.

          This wasn't even her song.

          It was Brody's solo for Nationals—not the National Championship, no—and everyone else was just there to sing background vocals and harmonize. The song required them to be there, even if it was technically a solo, with him being the main focus of the performance, but no man was an island, or something like that.

          She wished she was an island.

          The National Championship's solo was hers. It was hers by right, especially when she'd found out there would be a Wicked audition that very day, at the same time as the performance. They'd had to jump through hoops to fit it into their schedule, as A.J. couldn't possibly be in two places simultaneously, and she was immensely glad to not have to choose between one of the two. The rules for the final rounds of the competition were different, which had played a big part in making things easier for her.

          Showcase and Nationals both required the same three-song setlist, but they had no set theme. Solos could also include background vocals, like an actual choir, so Brody was getting his background singers to help further his career, as he apparently wanted to go solo. Good for him; A.J. had to pretend to care, but she'd also been asked to record the piano part for Allison's ballad, so her heart kind of was in it. That wasn't the worst, hardest part.

          The National Championship, if they could even get there, was the biggest change. They'd have to perform five times, with three of them having to be a solo, a duet, and a group number, but the other two could be anything. There was no predetermined theme, issued by the Committee, but there had to be one, chosen by each group, and one of the performances had to include a mash-up. With the solo being hers, A.J. had chosen the songs herself, using them to audition.

          It could either be the audition of her life, or the biggest mistake she had ever made.

          Nick and Janet had, too, moved along to the second audition, but so had hundreds of other people, including Hugh Jackman. In her perfect world, her Broadway utopia, she'd be Elphaba and her Fiyero would be a woman, but she doubted that would ever happen. The world still wasn't that progressive; giving typically male roles to a woman wasn't that common, even though there were some notable instances.

          "Again, from the top," Isabella said, unable to mask the exasperation in her voice. It was easy for her to get frustrated, as she got to sit back and watch them spin and jump around the room for hours on end, while she had the luxury to not have to move a muscle. A.J. knew where her frustration was coming from, but they would be having a much easier time with the choreography if her attitude was slightly more positive. "I don't need to remind you guys of how important it is to nail these choreographies. We'll be competing against the big guns next week, and we cannot afford to make any mistakes. You want that trophy as much as I do. Please, for crying out loud, focus on what you're doing. Everything that isn't show choir can wait until after we're done here."

          "We're tired," Sasha pointed out, wiping the sweat from her forehead with a small towel. "If you let us take a break—"

          "You won't be allowed to take a break between numbers," Isabella reminded her. "You need to nail these performances back to back, regardless of how tired you are, regardless of how lightheaded you are." Sasha scoffed, rolling her eyes. Then, Isabella looked straight at A.J., who had nowhere to run this time. She couldn't run, she couldn't hide; all she could do was face Isabella head on. "I understand you're going through a lot right now, but I expect you to tell me if you feel like this isn't something you can handle. Physically, mentally, emotionally, you name it. This applies to the rest of you, gang. If you think the routines are too hard on you, if you think the pressure is overwhelming, let me know beforehand. If anyone faints during the competition, we'll get eliminated. It will all be over."

          Isabella hadn't even tried to hide the fact that she was speaking directly to and about her. She did not need to be publicly called out and humiliated, over and over again, and, worst of all, she didn't need these people to think she was weak. She didn't need them to think she couldn't handle a marathon of competition rounds, one after another.

          Granted, she didn't have the best track record so far, but she hadn't run into any issues during Spring Awakening. Why didn't anyone talk about that? Why did they only bother bringing up her lowest points?

          "I'm doing great," she told Isabella. Even though she'd bent forward, hands on her knees, and was struggling to catch her breath, it wasn't like the people around her were doing that much better. They hadn't stopped in nearly an hour, but time seemed to flow differently in the choir room. "You don't have to worry about me."

         She was fine. She was. She had good days and bad ones, but so did everyone else. She had legs that carried her wherever she wanted to go, that let her walk, run, dance, spin, jump, and stop. Most importantly, she had her voice. The only way she wouldn't step on that stage to perform and compete would be if her throat was attacked and made her lose her voice.

          Her voice had never let her down, not once. It wouldn't happen now, not when she was so close to getting everything she'd always wanted. She'd gotten the girl, she'd gotten Spring Awakening.

          Then, the trophy. Then, Elphaba.

          (And a Tony. Eventually.)

          "I believe you," Isabella said, in a way that informed people that she didn't really believe anything, "but I'm not taking any chances. If I spot anyone struggling to get through this week and the next one, I'll respectfully ask you to step back and not perform. It's very easy for these things to quickly spiral out of control."

          A.J. closed her hands into fists, letting her nails carve moon-shaped indents into her flesh, just so she wouldn't say something she would end up regretting. It was getting harder and harder to bite her tongue, suddenly faced with a reality where people were beginning to doubt her. It was foreign, unknown terrain, and she had always liked to think of herself as being a pretty dependable person.

          The only time she had ever let them down was when she quit the club right before Sectionals, but she hadn't left them hanging. Sasha had done an impeccable job at filling in for her, something she would have never admitted a few months ago, and A.J. herself had been pulling her own weight ever since and making up for leaving. The reasons behind her departure were beyond her control, too. That should count for something.

          "From the top," Isabella repeated. "Brody, don't forget you also have your own choreography, so don't forget to control your breathing. If you run out of air mid-verse, we're going to have a problem."

          Brody, heaving like he had just finished a marathon, weakly flashed her a thumbs up. He was lucky to not have a dance partner, but he was busy enough with his own problems. Welcome to the Black Parade wasn't an easy song, especially when one remembered he would have to stay in tune with the background singers and had to hit—or, at the very least, attempt to hit—particularly high notes.

          A.J. noticed, unable to not feel slightly smug about it, that he was struggling considerably more than her. Then, the guilt and the frustration came rushing back like an earthquake, as Isabella wasn't being nearly as hard on him as she was being on her. Both of them had plenty to lose if they failed, but, somehow, she was the problem.

          It should be an extra incentive to do well, be perfect in everything she did, but it was having the exact opposite effect. She wanted to give up and go home to her apartment, to her piano, and turn her back on NYSPA. Everything about her senior year had brought her nothing but disappointments, making her bend and break to fit standards that were so far out of reach she'd been turned into a mangled mess in the corner.

          Levi's fingers dug into the side of her rib cage whenever he had to lift her, holding her tightly so she wouldn't slip from his grip and fall. It was a quick jolt of pain that spread across her chest, like a bullet exploding inside her lungs, and she'd flinch whenever it happened.

          It was easy to assume he was putting in more effort into it because he struggled with lifting her from the ground, even if she thought they worked swiftly and smoothly together. The very second that thought crossed her mind, it was impossible to push it away. Rinse, repeat. Lift, spin around, set her down, twirl, march. Move in unison. Don't miss the beat.

          Carry on.

          "I'm not letting you fall," Levi told her, at some point. They had just stopped to breathe and hydrate. "I don't know if that's what you're worried about, because you've been really . . . stiff, I guess, this entire rehearsal. Even if we fall here, it won't happen on stage. I promise you that."

          She sat down next to him, crossing her legs. "Aren't you glad we won't be wearing the gas masks and the steampunk clothes from the video? It would only weigh us down."

          Levi chuckled, fixing the fluffy towel around his neck. "Yeah, well. There are things that only work for music videos, not for performances where people actually have to dance around. We'd be one hell of a marching band." He playfully bopped her knee with his. It was true, though; their entire Nationals' setlist was designed around the Welcome to the Black Parade music video, with the roses and the marching band and a bit of the raccoon makeup, but there were limits. Anything that would significantly hinder their movements and ruin their performance was not on the table. "Back to what I said."

          "I'm not scared of falling. I'm . . . I don't know. I feel like everyone is just expecting me to do something wrong at this point. I quit right before Sectionals, I nearly passed out on stage at Regionals, so people kind of predicted something bad is going to happen in Atlanta. Maybe this will turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy now that I've said it out loud." She huffed. "Sorry for dumping this on you. It sounds ridiculous whenever I try to put it into words."

          Levi sighed, switching into a more comfortable position. "I'm gonna try to not be a dick, now. So, the thing is: no one thinks you're not capable of succeeding. No one is expecting you to fuck up. However, and this is important, people might feel a bit . . . scared for you. Not because you're not reliable, but maybe because you tend to overwork yourself. Put too much of yourself into the things you do. No one is questioning your dedication or your ability to be a good performer, but they just don't want you to go into full main character mode and take it upon yourself to carry us to victory. There's plenty of talent in this group; we can carry ourselves just fine."

          A.J. knew he was trying to be nice, which meant phrasing things in a way he thought wouldn't hurt her feelings. She didn't care much about people hurting her feelings, as there were plenty of other ways to hurt her a lot deeper than that, but she still appreciated him taking the time to take it into consideration. Still, she was well aware that was a problem; it had gotten her in trouble countless times before, she and her stupid habit to assume she had to do everything.

          She stared right ahead, watching the scene in front of her.

          The group was scattered around the room, divided into smaller groups, and, even though all of them looked borderline exhausted, complete with puddles of sweat, they were laughing. They hadn't ever looked more like a family than they did at that moment, albeit a very dysfunctional one, and yet, A.J. was still sitting on the sidelines, a perpetual watcher.

          When she had first returned to NYSPA, after Spring Awakening, they had rolled out the red carpet. People would part like the sea whenever she passed by them and, although it was invasive and quite annoying at times, it was still a bright period in her life. She had stood out in the middle of all of them. For once. Then, word about Brody's admission had spread, and no one cared anymore.

          Maybe she had plateaued. Maybe she had peaked in college. Maybe this was all she'd ever be.

          "You're right," she said. Even he could tell she was lying. "I'll keep that in mind going forward."

          His smile softened, but it was never condescending. "You'll move on to do great things, Jane." No one ever called her that. A.J., sometimes Allison—puke—but never Jane. It made her feel like a completely different person. "The person you are now is not all you'll ever be, but there's a point when you'll have to leave this behind. The real world doesn't wait for you to snap out of it. It just moves on without you."

          Isabella cut the break short. Everyone went back to their places, mechanically, and A.J. attempted not to wince when Levi pulled her up by the waist.

          It didn't work. It would never.

i'm once again asking you to please vote and comment if you read the chapters. it's tiring to spend three years writing a book only for people to stop caring