Oh, boy. I wasn’t sure what Rafe would think of that. He’d probably spend the whole performance in the bathroom, barfing, with his hands over his ears.

“WE WERE GREAT! RIGHT, GEORGIA?” Rhonda asked.

“You were fantastic, Rhonda,” I told her. Then I gave her a hug as she blushed and smiled.

“Georgia?” asked a soft voice behind me. I don’t know how I heard it over the cheers of the crowd, but I did.

“Um, Georgia, I just wanted to say that I thought you were really good. I’m sorry Missy was so mean out there.”

“Thanks, Bethany,” I said.

“I’m Brittany.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, anyway, thanks.”

“She’s really awful, isn’t she?” Brittany asked. She looked like she was about to cry.

I felt sort of bad. It must have been hard to have Missy as a friend. I squeezed her shoulder. “Yeah, she’s horrible.”

Brittany burst into tears.

Just then Sam shouted, “Georgia!” I saw him waving, hurrying over to join me. My performance was over. My band had rocked. The best part? Now I could spend the rest of the evening dancing with Sam.

I grinned and waved back.

Best.

Dance.

Ever!

My Mom Is… My Mom

How was it?” Mom asked when I climbed into the car later that night.

My mind was whirling with all the things I wanted to tell her about.

“We won the Battle of the Bands!” I said. “And I danced with Sam! It was, like, the best night of my life!”

“I’m so glad! You and your band worked very hard.” Mom smiled warmly. “You deserved it, Georgia.”

Suddenly, I felt like a heel. Mom had bought me this great dress and encouraged me to perform… and I hadn’t even told her the truth about my detention. If I’d told her, she probably would’ve grounded me, and the best night of my life never would’ve happened….

I felt ill, like I’d accidentally stolen something.

Mom deserved to know the truth.

I took a deep breath. “Mom, I poured pudding on Missy Trillin’s head and I got a week of detention plus I had to talk to the school psychologist but I swear that’s it and I’ll never do anything bad again and I’m reallyreallyreallyreally sorry.”

“Oh, Georgia,” Mom said. She shook her head.

“I know.”

“I wish you had told me.”

“I know. I meant to tell you before the dance, but—”

“No, Georgia,” Mom shook her head and reached for my hand. “I wish you had told me you were having so much trouble with Missy. I could’ve helped you.”

I sighed. “I kind of think it’s solved now.”

“That’s good. And Georgia—about being adopted. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you earlier. I guess… I guess I hoped it wouldn’t matter.”

We sat there in the dark parking lot for a while. Did being adopted matter? In some ways, it did. Somewhere out in the world, I had a biological mother and father. We shared genes. That was important.