And then, suddenly, Rabbi Adler calls, “Milla Bloom.”

It is my turn.

My legs feel like jelly as I walk to the microphone. I look for Mr. Sandler again, and of course he is still not there.

I close my eyes. I can hear my breath roaring in my ears. And then from far away I hear Mrs. Sandler’s voice—Wouldn’t you say he was talking about you? I swallow and open my eyes. The lights from the stage are making the sequins on my cardigan sparkle.

I take a deep breath and say into the microphone, “Ladies and gentlemen, rabbis, parents, and students—” My voice sounds a little wobbly, but also deeper and louder. I take another breath. Then I smile and hold up my orange. “How’s everybody peeling?” I see the audience’s amused expressions, laughter at their lips. They’re with me!

Time slows down. All the bits I did in class are big hits here too—the Talmudic discussion getting an especially loud response from a section of Judaic Studies teachers sitting together.

I hardly even pause to register that I’m about to do the new part I’ve been practicing. “Take my mother, for example …” I say, smoothly going into a mischievous voice. “Who reveals much about herself in the simple act of how she peels an orange. Because in fact she despises the smell of orange peel on her fingers, and yet she loves my little brother so very much …” As I act out my mom peeling an orange with her latex gloves on, peeling it both carefully and disgustedly, laughter fills the whole auditorium and bounces back to me. I even see my mother laughing so hard she’s leaning into my father. It feels like a light has come on inside me, warming me up. Making what is inside me glow so everyone can see. It is the best feeling in the world. As I get ready for the ending, I keep my gaze front and center, on my mother.

“And in conclusion, you may not have realized this before, but now you do: How you peel an orange says a lot about you. So”—I pause and smile mischievously again, my eyes now scanning the room, taking it all in—“orange you going to ask me how I’m peeling? Thank you.”

I hear the audience’s full-bodied howls and then crashing applause. There are whoops from the midsection of the room and shouts of “Mi-lla! Mi-lla!” My heart is racing, but the machine in my stomach has stopped its whirring. I somehow find my way back to my seat.

Time goes by in a daze. I watch contestants stand up, go to the podium, and then sit down.

Rabbi Adler is back at the podium. “And now we are going to ask the contestants for something extra this year,” he says into the microphone. My head snaps to attention. What?

“Before the judges make their final decision, we would like each contestant to come up and tell the audience and judges why they think their speech deserves to win. Because words have power, and it’s important to understand the power you wield with them.”