Chapter 1: Panic, Popcorn, and Pink Panties
The backstage air was thick with the smell of nervous sweat, cheap floral perfume, and the unmistakable greasy scent of stale popcorn from the half-empty bowl on the snack table. A flickering stage light, its housing cracked, buzzed and cast jumpy shadows over a landscape of chaos: a tangle of extension cords, abandoned props, and a single sequined glove lying forlornly next to a mop bucket. Lisa’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of Rose’s forearm.
“You signed us up for what?!”
Her whisper was a blade of pure, hissed panic. Rose didn’t flinch. She just offered a grin that was all teeth and glittering mischief, her long blonde hair almost glowing under the sickly neon strip lights.
“For the talent show! It’s perfect,” Rose said, her voice a stage whisper that several clustered drama students definitely heard. One of them, dressed as a rather unconvincing tree, glanced over sympathetically. “You’re an amazing dancer, I can carry a tune, we throw in that routine we messed around with at my cousin’s wedding–”
“We were drunk! That wasn’t a routine, it was a public nuisance!”
From a folding chair propped against a wall plastered with old show posters, Jisoo let out a loud, snorting cackle. She shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth, crunching obnoxiously. “She’s got you there, Rosie. That move you called ‘the tornado’ looked more like you were trying to swat a bee in a wind tunnel.”
Rose shot her girlfriend a look. “You said it was innovative!”
“I said it was intestinally troubling. Different thing.”
Lisa’s face felt like it was on fire. The heat crept from her cheeks down her neck, and she was intensely aware of every person in the cramped space. She was tall, always feeling a little too seen, and right now she wanted the sticky, tape-marked floor to swallow her whole. Her eyes, wide and pleading, darted toward the only calm presence in her orbit.
Somi leaned against the cracked mirror, her arms crossed. A small, knowing smirk played on her lips. She watched the scene unfold with the amused detachment of a queen observing her court jesters. She was, as always, effortlessly cool where Lisa was currently a puddle of goofy dread. Somi pushed off the mirror and slid next to Lisa, her presence a solid, calming line of heat. She didn’t say anything to Rose or Jisoo. Instead, she leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of Lisa’s burning ear. Her voice was a low, private hum.
“Just don’t let her steal my girl too hard up there.”
The words, the warmth of her breath, sent a different kind of shiver through Lisa. It was a tether to reality, a reminder of something other than impending public humiliation. She managed a weak, sideways glance at Somi, who just winked.
The tinny sound of the host’s voice echoed from the main stage, muffled by the thick velvet curtain. “...give it up for our next act, a dynamic duo promised to ‘shake up the night’! Please welcome to the stage… Lisa and Rose!”
A smattering of polite, expectant applause filtered through.
Lisa’s stomach dropped through the floor. The world narrowed to the pounding of her own heart, the rough texture of the curtain under her fingertips, and Rose’s impossibly bright, determined face.
“That’s us!” Rose chirped, as if announcing they were going for brunch.
“I’m going to kill you,” Lisa muttered, but her legs were moving, propelled by Rose’s insistent tug on her hand. “I swear, after this, I’m hiding all your left shoes. For a year.”
“You love me,” Rose singsonged, pulling her toward the curtain gap.
“Debatable!”
Jisoo’s voice chased after them, bubbling with glee. “Do the tornado! I dare you!”
And then they were through the curtain, the darkness of backstage replaced by the blinding, hot wash of stage lights. The applause swelled, meaningless noise. Lisa blinked, spots dancing in her vision. She could just make out the sea of darkened faces in the auditorium, a single, collective, judging entity.
Rose snatched up two wireless mics from a stand, tossing one to Lisa with a flick of her wrist. Lisa fumbled the catch, the mic thudding against her chest before she clutched it. A few people in the front row laughed, not unkindly. The heat on her face reignited.
The music started—a thumping, familiar pop track they’d indeed danced to at a wedding, completely intoxicated. Rose launched into movement without a hint of hesitation, all confident shimmies and pointing at the audience. She was selling it, selling them, with every ounce of her adventurous spirit.
Lisa stood frozen for a beat, a tall, toned statue of pure mortification. Her mind was blank. The carefully drilled moves from their single, sober rehearsal vanished.
Then, from the side of the stage, she saw a movement. Somi had slipped out from the wings and was now visible in the narrow space between the curtain and a stacked speaker. She wasn’t smiling. She simply met Lisa’s wide-eyed gaze and, very slowly and deliberately, gave her a single, firm nod. Then she mouthed one word, clear as day.
Go.
Something unclenched in Lisa’s chest. The absurdity of it all—Rose’s manic energy, Jisoo’s popcorn-fueled mockery, the crack in the mirror backstage, her gorgeous girlfriend playing coach from the shadows—crashed over her. It wasn’t fear anymore. It was just… her life. Weird and chaotic and hers.
A goofy grin broke across her face, transforming her features from panicked to playful. She brought the mic to her lips, not to sing, but to ad-lib a loud, “Oh, you wanted a show?!” in a terrible game-show host voice.
Then she moved. Not with Rose’s practiced flair, but with her own natural, athletic grace. She didn’t do the tornado. Instead, she spun into a series of sharp, clean pops and locks, her body—a dancer’s body, honed and strong—hitting each beat with a satisfying precision. It was a juxtaposition to Rose’s freeform bopping, and it worked. The crowd whooped.
Rose caught the change in energy and adapted instantly, mirroring Lisa’s style, turning their disjointed mess into a playful call-and-response. They fell into a rhythm, a genuine back-and-forth, their friendship translating into movement. Lisa forgot the crowd, forgot the blinding lights. It was just her and Rose being dumb, just like in her living room, just like at the wedding.
They ended on the final beat, Rose striking a dramatic pose while Lisa simply stopped, hands on her knees, breathing hard and laughing into the mic. The applause this time was real, warm, enveloping.
As they bowed, gasping for air, Lisa’s eyes found Somi again in the wings. The smirk was back, but now it was soft, proud. Somi blew her a kiss.
Back behind the curtain, the world slammed back in with its smells and shadows. Jisoo was on her feet, applauding theatrically. “Ladies and gentlemen! The wind tunnel has been upgraded to a category five!”
Rose flung an arm around Lisa’s sweaty shoulders, squeezing tight. “See? Told you. We killed it.”
Lisa, still buzzing, shoved her off playfully. “You’re still buying me pizza for a month. And my soul is permanently scarred.”
“Worth it,” Rose declared, beaming.
They started moving back through the cluttered maze toward their corner, the adrenaline beginning to ebb. A stagehand with a clipboard rushed past. Someone tuned a guitar, the notes whining through the din.
It was as they passed a dark, narrow alcove leading to the fire exit that Lisa slowed. The door was propped open with a cinderblock, letting in a slap of cool night air to cut through the backstage fug. A figure was silhouetted there, leaning against the brick wall outside. Not a student. Older. The glow of a cigarette tip flared, illuminating a sharp suit sleeve and a watch that glittered coldly in the shadows.
The man’s head was turned, not toward the parking lot, but back inside, his gaze fixed intently on the retreating backs of the performers. Specifically, Lisa felt with a sudden chill, on her. On Rose. On them.
He must have felt her stare. His head turned slowly. The cigarette glow lit the bottom half of a bland, unremarkable face. He didn’t smile. He just looked. Then he took a long drag, exhaled a stream of smoke that curled into the hallway, and dropped the cigarette, grinding it under a polished shoe.
He turned and walked away into the night.
“You coming?” Rose called, already ten feet ahead, laughing at something Jisoo said.
Lisa blinked. The figure was gone. The doorway was just an empty rectangle of darkness.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice sounding strange to her own ears. The lingering high from the performance was gone, replaced by a sudden, deep hollow in her gut. She hurried to catch up to her friends, to the light, to the noise, but the feeling clung to her, cold and precise as the click of that polished shoe on the asphalt.