ELLE’S POV
Friday arrived faster than a rumor spreads through DE-Fountain's hallways. One moment I was signing up for the contest, the next I was hiding in an empty classroom instead of the contestants' waiting room, my heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape.
My palms were sweaty as I anxiously waited for my turn. The school announcement system crackled with the sound of performances happening on stage—the perfect pitch of Katherine Williams, the soulful tones of Marcus Reid. Each finished performance meant I was one step closer to my own.
"Heard you joined the contest."
I looked up to see Noah smirking with his arms folded across his chest, biceps straining against his designer shirt.
How did he always manage to appear when I was at my most vulnerable?
"What do you want?" I asked, wiping my hands on my jeans.
"Just checking if Cinderella's ready for her big moment." His eyes traveled over my outfit—the nicest clothes I owned, which still looked thrift-store chic compared to what everyone else would be wearing.
I didn't reply, focusing instead on the lyrics I'd been practicing all week. Just then, my name crackled over the speaker.
"Elle Willsmith to the stage, please. Final contestant, Elle Willsmith."
I gathered my notebook and stood up, my legs feeling like they might give out beneath me. I didn't stay in the room next to the stage because I didn't want the girls to bully me into leaving. I wondered how Noah found me here, in this forgotten classroom on the far side of the building.
As I brushed past him toward the door, he reached out, his fingers grazing my wrist. I flinched away instinctively.
"What?" I snapped, nerves making my voice sharper than intended.
His expression shifted into something unreadable. Then he muttered, "Good luck, Fluffy."
I ignored him and walked out, trying to shake off the conflicting emotions his presence always stirred in me. The hallway stretched before me like the Green Mile, each step bringing me closer to potential humiliation.
The backstage area was mercifully empty when I arrived, everyone else had already performed. A stagehand with a clipboard gave me a bored once-over.
"Elle Willsmith? You're up. Center stage, microphone's already set."
I nodded, my throat too dry for words. Through the curtain, I could hear the polite applause for whoever had finished before me.
"And now, our final contestant," the host's voice boomed. "Please welcome Elle Willsmith!"
The curtain parted, and suddenly I was blinded by stage lights, feeling intimidated by the stares of the judges before me.
Three industry professionals sat at a table directly in front of the stage, their expressions impassive. Behind them, the auditorium was packed with students, teachers, and parents.
Someone was waving frantically from the third row. I squinted and saw Lucas, giving me an enthusiastic thumbs-up. The sight of one friendly face in the sea of indifference steadied me somehow.
I stepped up to the microphone, my fingers clutching my notebook like a lifeline. The music I'd selected began to play—a stripped-down instrumental I'd found online that matched the song I'd written after the masquerade disaster.
"This is called 'Unmasked,'" I said softly into the microphone.
And then I sang.
I sang with all my might and passion. I sang about masks we wear and the ones that are ripped away from us. About standing exposed but finding strength in vulnerability. Each note carried years of swallowed pain, of feeling less-than, of hiding who I really was.
In that moment, nothing existed but the music. Not Noah, not Benita, not the judges or the crowd. Just me and my truth, flowing from my lips in a melody even I hadn't known I was capable of.
When the final note faded, there was a moment of complete silence. I saw the judges stare at each other, exchanging glances I couldn't interpret. One leaned over to whisper something to another, and it made me more nervous.
Had I completely embarrassed myself?
"Thank you, Elle," the head judge finally said, making a note on her clipboard.
I was the last person on the list so they asked me to move to the other podium as they called the other contestants out for the results announcement. Nineteen of us lined up, a row of nervous energy and forced smiles.
Benita was first to be called to join the lineup. She glared at me as she walked forward, her perfect makeup accentuating the venom in her eyes, but I ignored her.
The tension was high in the sky. My hands were shaking and my whole body trembled with adrenaline and fear.
"Go home, Fluffy. You stand no chance," I heard Benita's voice hiss from beside me, so I shut my eyes.
Someone else chuckled and they giggled amongst each other. The contempt in their laughter was familiar, the soundtrack of my high school experience.
The head judge approached the microphone, tapping it twice. "After careful deliberation, we're ready to announce our winner."
My heart hammered so hard I was sure everyone could hear it over the sound system. The auditorium fell silent, a collective breath held.
"The winner is...."