“Ha,” the assistant offers. “I have a sister with a shirt, too, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, I definitely know what you mean,” Natasha says. “And I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

She makes her way to the cracked, rusty mirror in the back of the room. She once saw Tina Fey pump herself up in front of a mirror during an episode of 30 Rock, and since then, she does the same before anything that sends her anxiety into overdrive.

“You’ve got this,” she tells her reflection. “Just get out there and do you. Don’t think about your competition. This is your moment.”

Granted, she didn’t think her moment would be in a place that has crushed peanuts and crumpled wet beer-bottle labels on the floor, but it’s still her first time to show what she can do, and that counts for something.

Natasha’s phone lights up with a text from Suhani. It’s a GIF of Amy Poehler doing a peace sign.

The assistant taps her shoulder. “Are you ready?”

“Yup.” Natasha takes deep breaths and hopes they slow her heart down.

“Next, we have Natasha Joshi,” a chubby thirtysomething guy says in a monotone voice.

Good, he got her name right. The Joshi children were used to people assuming their first name was “Josh.” Every time Natasha was called to the principal’s office, a hesitant voice on the intercom would say something along the lines of, “Uh, Josh Natasha, the principal needs to see you.”

“Please remember to make as much noise as possible,” Monotonous Guy continues. “This will help our judges pick the four contestants that will move to the next round. The contestants will be picked later this week, so make sure to follow us on Instagram and Twitter if you don’t already. Now, without further ado, let’s bring out Natasha Joshi.”

There’s a soft ripple of applause and then a murmur from the audience.

Natasha wipes her slick palms on the sides of her jeans and steps onto the stage. The light is so bright that she can see scuff marks and spots where the polish has worn away. Her stomach does somersaults. A blast of air-conditioning hits her face when she steps in front of the microphone. Luckily, it’s at her height. Even though the room is dark, she can tell that it’s a full house. Fuck. She scans the crowd for Anuj but can’t distinguish him from the other silhouettes in the front row.

“Hi, everyone,” she breathes into the microphone. “Wow, there sure are a lot of people here.”

Silence.