I start first, and my own voice, so loud in my ears with the mike, washes over me like a peaceful wave. I take the lower part, and Well joins in a little higher. We’re good together. We sing a pretty decent harmony even though we’ve never rehearsed. The music thrums in my chest, and it’s familiar, like an old friend, from all the long rehearsals.

At one point I hear a cough from someone in the audience and have to close my eyes and picture Lake Tahoe, cold and clear and calm. It works, like Tucker said. It’s enough to keep my voice steady and my feet in place. When we make our way to the very end, I feel Well next to me, readying himself for it.

On the last refrain, Well and I glance at each other, and our voices fade out together. I don’t let myself look at anyone but him as the lights dim. At last, we turn and walk our separate ways offstage. When it’s over, I sink to my knees in the darkness next to the cardboard cow.

“Come on! Come on! They’re calling for you!” Well gestures at me like a crazed mime from across the stage after the curtain closes.

No way. Uh-uh, I mouth back, and shake my head.

Geneva runs toward me in her witch’s robe with threats: “I will grab you by the arms and drag you out if you do not walk on this stage right this minute.”

Tucker gives me a thumbs-up.

I feel around in my AD binder until I find the purple earplugs and stuff them in my ears. Here goes nothing, I think, and step out again, under the lights.

It’s weird and wonderful to stand before a muffled crowd. I see them clapping, their hands moving at double speed, but they have no effect on me. It’s like watching the TV with the volume on low. I see fingers in mouths, the suggestion of whistles and shouts. But it’s all a distant hum. Like floating underwater. I am safe here. I turn my head to look at Well. He does not hold my hand. But we bow together.

“That was fan-freaking-tastic!” Tucker pants. He ran from backstage to congratulate me and Well and Geneva. Then everybody’s there all at once—stagehands, extras, parents, Principal Myers, Andrea. Mrs. Nicky passes out daisies to the cast and crew. She pauses in front of me, kisses a daisy, and hands it to me with a whispered “thank you.” Despite all my instincts, I want to give her a hug. I hug the daisy instead. She smiles and winks and walks away.