This book is about FOLLOWING YOUR DREAMS. To anyone who has ever watched me, come out to meet me, bought my books and cheered me on as I pursue my passions and follow my dreams in dance, acting, fashion design, makeup, the arts—and just living my life . . .

I want you to know I’m cheering you on, too. I love what I do so much, so thank you for sharing the journey with me. I love you!

Maddie

An Excerpt from The Audition

An Excerpt from The Audition

Don’t miss where it all began:

I’m standing just offstage, waiting for my big moment. I know my mom and dance teacher are in the audience, holding their breath in anticipation. This will be the most challenging dance I’ve ever performed—not only that but the most challenging dance anyone at DanceStarz Academy has ever performed. There’s a lot of pressure on me.

My costume is amazing—beautifully detailed with thousands of sparkling rhinestones—my makeup is flawless, and my headpiece is sewn in tightly but not so tightly it will give me a screaming headache later.

“You can do it, Harper! Love you, Harper!” My new teammates are encouraging, but I know they’re questioning how this will go. This routine is nearly impossible! How could any twelve-year-old ever possibly pull this off? My adrenaline is racing.

The announcer says:

“Please welcome to the stage: Harper McCoy, performing a solo.”

I walk onto the stage, my toes pointed, my head held high. I get into my opening pose and the music begins. Five . . . six . . . seven . . . eight!

And I dance! I’m in the zone as I leap and turn and flip and practically fly. The crowd is gasping. I’m nailing it! And I go into my grand finale: my new signature turn series. I do an insane number of tuck jumps and pirouettes. Twirling, twirling, twirling . . .

The crowd is going wild! The audience is chanting: “Harper! Harper!” My mother’s voice in particular stands out from the crowd.

“Harper! Harper!” Mom was whispering loudly. “Stop twirling!”

What? Stop twirling?

I opened my eyes and snapped out of my daydream.

“You’re twirling your hair,” Mom said quietly.

Oops. I was spacing out. I let go of the piece of hair I was twisting from my ponytail. I wasn’t onstage at a competition, amazing the audience. I wasn’t even on a competition team—yet. I was sitting in a new chair, in a new dance studio, waiting to audition for a totally new competition team.

“Oh, no!” My eight-year-old sister, Hailey, dramatically fake-gasped and pointed at me from the couch across from me. “It’s the apocalypse! Harper has . . . wispies!”

My hand flew to the top of my head to smooth any wispies that might have escaped my tight ponytail. I wanted this audition to go perfectly, and that included the details that could distract the judges, like flyaway hair.