I’m laughing. They’re cheering. This is joy, leaning into this roar from the audience. Here, right now, for always, my body is mine—it isn’t bare skin; it’s not nudity. It’s ownership. It’s feeling absolutely, deliciously, wildly sexy, totally in control. Letting the audience come along for the ride because I’m nice like that.

I thought I would feel naked. Frozen, embarrassed. Naked. But I don’t. And it’s with that total, utter joy that I let them watch me put my foot up on that little chair and glide that garter off, flip it into the air with a toe, wiggle out of my corset and down to a glittery bralette, dance my way out of the petticoat, revealing my satin tap pants and even more sequins, all flashing in the light, almost as bright as my smile.

And finally, standing there—having shared all the secrets this audience is lucky enough to see, filled with happiness and pride and disbelief at my own luck to be me, here at this moment—finally, I bow.

18

I’m glowing. Glowing, full of bursting, shining, shimmering sparkles that snap and pop, revved up in a way I’ve never been after a performance. The light inside me should be lighting up the whole room, spilling out into the hallway, but I’m still just me. Except somehow more. Electrified, powered up. We did it. We threw our arms around one another, breathless, and jumped up and down and we screamed, Holy shit, we did it, we did it. And I said, Thank you, thank you, thank you so much and they said, This was amazing. We did it, and every moment—the roar as Nevaeh whipped her tie off, the laughter when Katherine spun her Hula-Hoop all the way along the length of her body, the way Jack kept the audience directly in the palm of his hand with just his voice, his terrible puns that had us snickering behind the curtain, where we stood hand in hand, amped up with adrenaline. The hot light sparking off my skin, and the pure love and admiration from the audience. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Almost addictive.

I’m smiling as I dance with the broom through the performance space, which feels too empty now, thinking about teaching Jack to get into first position and plié. Stumbling a little bit, the audience laughing, holding his hand as we dipped down and he came back up smoothly to a cheering crowd. He took an enormous bow, grinning, eyes bright, and I was socked with the need to cup the angle of his jaw and kiss the annoying, lush curve of his bottom lip when he smiled at me, amused and delighted by his own performance, warm calloused fingers squeezing mine tight.

Shake it off, because it was just heatstroke under the hot lights, I tell myself.