Before I know it, Tony is telling me to get on my mark. Through the crack in the curtain, I see only the faces of the first few rows, then head-shaped silhouettes back to the wall. I can’t see Cora and Glenn in the darkness, but I imagine them like I used to picture Mom and Dad, their unseen strength helping me face the crowd.

“Glinda, go!” a crew member shout-whispers to me.

As I step onto the stage, Asad’s massive spotlight finds me, and when it does, an instant gasp surges through the audience.

And then, silence.

Standing in the beam of light, I feel every eye on me, the light revealing every inch, every burn, every scar.

My neck itches white-hot as I eke out a single, shaky note. But fear chokes off my voice. I look to the right, trying to find where Cora and Glenn should be. And Piper.

A whispering from the darkness crescendos. I close my eyes, trying to shut out the people, the eyes. I try to envision my parents and Sara, lifting me up from the darkness. But fear flicks my eyelids back open.

I seriously consider darting offstage, when suddenly, like someone flipped a switch, the spotlight goes out.

Black.

Through the darkness, all I can see is Asad, backlit by a flickering fluorescent ceiling light in his booth, giving me a thumbs-up.

He’s taken away the crowd.

Just me and him.

And then, to the right, a single, small beam of light pierces the darkness. A voice splits the air.

“Keep flying, Ava!”

Piper.

I turn toward the light that looks like a cell phone. Two other lights flick on beside her, and I imagine Glenn and Cora holding their phones high in the air. Bright stars cutting through the darkness.

Pinpricks tingle my skin. Air fills my lungs.

A new strength courses through my body, which as sure as I’m alive is part of who I am.

But as I cling to those three stars, I am more than my body.

More than my scars.

One by one, more lights blink on, like a smartphone Milky Way punching through the black, reaching the part of me the fire couldn’t touch.

I breathe deep.

My voice finds the words.

Through the darkness, buoyed by the glow of countless tiny lights, I sing.

Acknowledgments

This book would not have been possible without the burn survivors who shared their stories—and scars—to help me tell this story.

Marius Woodward, you were my first inspiration, with your courage and humor and absolute knowledge that you are so much more than your scars. Thank you for being you. To Elizabeth Watson and Hope VanderToolen-Thatcher, you helped bring Ava to life by sharing your own pain and triumphs. Amy Farnsworth and Stephanie Nielson, thank you for reading and for being examples of strength to so many.