He doesn't have to say my name.

But he does anyways.

I hear it echo through the auditorium without even flinching. I can't move; it's like I'm playing night at the museum, moving means getting caught.

"Paris Andrist. Will you come on stage?"

It's a simple hum. Everything is just a numb sound—background noise as the memories begin flooding in. I take a step back, forgetting that I'm actually sitting. My foot pushes against the leg of the chair, and I tip over backward, falling roughly to the ground. I slowly rise to my feet to see Mike's camera angled at me.

I flash my best look of betrayal.

I turn to the screens for an unnecessary confirmation and see my side profile projected for all to see. My eyes go wide, and suddenly I'm frozen again. The cheers die out as if the crowd is disappointed that I haven't done anything.

What do you want from me, people?

Thousands of people are staring, judging, waiting for me to make the pilgrim's progress down the mountain and through the sea. Am I supposed to just keep my head high and trudge down on through? What then? Why does Lucas even want me on the stage?

I look between the camera and my face blown up to fit the size of the screen.

Nope.

Not doing it.

I sprint away from the camera, through the door in the back of the platform and hide behind the curtain separating the small room. I back into the wall and slide down it, desperately trying to steady my breaths.

It's fine.

You didn't just ignore thousands of people.

You didn't almost just have a panic attack.

The world isn't ending.

It's all good.

You're good.

Everything's fine.

Ｆｉｎｅ

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Ｆｉｎｅ

𝐀 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞

𝐀𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠

Fantastic

I rock back and forth, mumbling quietly to myself. "Paris?" a voice calls from somewhere outside.

I jump and hit my head against the wall. The noise brings attention to my hiding spot, and Lucas suddenly appears through the fabric of the curtain. The concern is written all over his face and relief floods color back into his pale cheeks. Luckily, my eyes are dry. I'm embarrassed by my red cheeks, but hopefully, he can't see it with the only light coming from the small gap his head is sticking through.

"I should have told you what I was planning, I just—" He cuts himself off.

"It's fine," I reply quietly. "Why were you calling me to the stage anyway?"

"I was hoping we could sing the next song together," he answers, a small smile playing on his lips. "You think you can gather enough courage to join me?"

I want a sarcastic reply to flow out of me, but none comes to mind. I feel like a dried river, what used to be such a huge part of myself is suddenly just gone. I don't know if my mind is just foggy from embarrassment, or my thought process is changing—either way, I feel empty. And with no reply, I just stare blankly.

"Well?" he asks, holding out a hand in a kind, comforting gesture. I find myself accepting the warm hold, and he helps me to my feet. "We're going to sing a song that I'm sure you know." He whispers it in my ear, and I nod. I even give out a little giggle at his choice of song.

He leads me down the stairs (how did he get up them so quickly?) and once we reach the bottom, he pulls me through the thick sea of people. They part for us, some reaching a hand forward to touch Lucas or get a random strand of hair. The cheering and screams seem to grow louder the closer we get to the stage and suddenly we're swept off the ground. Hands pass me along until I'm thrown onto the stage. Lucas follows right behind. He throws me a mike, and I barely manage to catch it. I back up gingerly, trying not to focus my eyes on the screens projecting my face. The stage lights half blind me from the roaring crowd; my senses manage to stay intact. The music begins, matching the beat of my heart.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The edges of my vision blur. But I manage to steady myself in time to begin with Lucas. "You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life."

I feel dizzy, but I ignore the memories pounding in my head and force my mind to concentrate on the lyrics.

See that girl.

Watch that scene.

Digging the dancing queen.

I smile as my limbs steady slightly until my hand hardly shakes. The neon lights I see through the blinding stage lights swaying with the beat give me encouragement. "Friday night and the lights are low. Looking out for a place to go." I let Lucas sing those lyrics, my mind focused on the next lines.

Where they play the right music.

Getting in the swing.

You come to look for a king.

I look at Lucas as I say 'king'. I direct my words to the crowd and use them to connect Lucas.

I can feel it.

They can feel it.

I'm sure Lucas can feel it too.

He's the guy.

He's the king.

"Anybody could be that guy," Lucas sings. He sounds as though he's insisting and denying, but no one seems to believe him. "Night is young and the music's high."

"With a bit of rock music, everything is fine!" the crowd sings.

"You're in the mood for a dance and when you get the chance," I continue.

"You are the dancing queen." Lucas directs his words at me now. "Young and sweet." Young, yes—sweet, no. "Only seventeen." Sixteen, but who counts age anymore.

"Dancing Queen," we all sing together.

I sway to the beat and my smile grows bigger as my nerves settle comfortably.

I feel like I can get through the entire song.

In fact, I kinda feel like I can do anything.

But then I receive an arrow that shoots through my heart. My eyes fly open and the lyrics die on my lips. No one notices my hesitation or the way my pupils shrink suddenly. They're still too focused on the song.

My hands tremble and hardly manage to hold on to the microphone. I try to move my eyes away and back onto the lyrics lighting up the screens but it's like I'm stuck in a trance. Shackles connect my eyes to hers, an imprisonment that I've been trying to rid myself of for years.

She knows my fear.

She knows my weakness.

She locks on, refusing to let go. She uses the things that make me weak against me. She loves doing that. She loves tormenting me.

She did it once.

I could never forget.

The ringing bounced around in my head, cutting the edges of my mind until it overwhelmed my senses.

Step.

Step.

Step.

My feet fall into the rhythm of the memory, of the song, of the time all those years ago. How could I forget? How could I suppress something engraved in that familiar scratchy handwriting? It is scrawled deep in my mind. It isn't something that can be erased, only pushed back. But I've pushed it so far that it's hit the edge and now it's bouncing back.

"Are you scared, Andy?" her high voice screams in my head. "What if I dared you? You would have to do it, wouldn't you?" As she steps forward in my memory, I step back. I do so in the present too. "Look at everyone. They're waiting." Her step forward; my step back. "Watch them as they judge your every move, scrutinizing and deciding whether or not you're good enough.

Step.

Step.

"Well, Andy? Are you good enough?"