"You'll be fine, Reese. I promise you." she said, motioning towards the gigantic stage, the lights once again stealing through me, hardening what nerves I'd had left. The girl grinned and grabbed my hand, pressing a microphone into it.

"Just sing like you did in rehearsals, and dance like you did in rehearsals. This is your time to shine, right?" she said, and I tried to contort my face into a grimacing smile.

"Miley, we go on in five minutes!" came a hurried voice, and Miley disappeared into the throng of people issuing right and left, trying to find the source of the harried yell. I looked at my mic, and felt my throat tighten. A blonde girl beside me squeezed my shoulder, readjusting her sparkly outfit, consisting of a short jeweled jean skirt and a matching cropped jacket and hot pink sequin tank top, complete with high white socks with a hot pink ribbing and boots. Her hair was in loose waves that cascaded down her back - matching my own deep brown ones. My outfit matched hers as well, except instead of hot pink, mine was studded with lime green throughout. I nodded softly at her, and she took a bracing look at the stage, and then back into my own fearful, blue eyes.

"Its okay. Miley never puts on a bad show at the TCAs - and you dance better than the rest of us put together, you know that!" she said, cutting through my dead silence.

I blushed heavily, looking down at my feet.

"You have an amazing voice, too. Just go out there and do your thing, girl! You'll be fine." And with a flourish, she threw a long lock of wavy hair over her shoulder and stalked off to go find someone else. I continued standing by the stage, just in the light enough to feel the piercing gaze of it, the endless yells and screams. Would they stop for me? Would I even make it up the stage without fainting? I closed my eyes and remembered where I started out - in the right quadrant of the stage, right in front of whoever happened to be cursed with that spot. I shook my head vigorously, trying to rid myself of the feeling. I heard a faint song playing from a CD player in the corner, and I found myself bopping along absentmindedly. Admittedly, it helped clear my mind. The song floated through me, and althoug I couldn't hear the words, the rough grunge yet playful boy-band beat stuck in my head. I found the melody pushing me, telling me I'd be fine. I came back to Earth with a loud catcall from the stage, and my heart soared. It was time.

I remembered how long I'd waited for "my time." I'd been dancing forever - ever since I had turned two. It was a part of me I couldn't see myself without, and neither could the rest of the population that knew me. In Los Angeles High, I was known as "that dancer girl," or "Miss Dancing Queen" to my teachers. A part of me unleashed itself on the stage that it didn't unleash anywhere else - I was unbelievably shy, had an extremely low morale, except for my dancing. No one had to explain to me that I was good. And yet I always held back part of my skills, because I was still so afraid of the spotlight. Until my mother, who is the pushiest,most charasmatic dance manager on the face of my planet, made me try out for a contest labeled "Dancer Duet."

The only bad part was, I'd never sung before. And the job required not only just exceptional dancing skill, but uncomparable vocal talent. And I'd never opened my mouth to let out a note higher than the ABC's. I was petrified upon learning this - but my mother assured me that if I just sang a little, and wowed the judges with my dancing, I would be fine.

How could I be fine when all I'd ever counted on was my feet to carry my personality? My voice had never had much of a role in my life, even with talking.

But I'd stuck it out. And done, surprisingly, amazing on the vocal portion. I had a voice deemed, "Uncanny and extremely exotic!" I almost snickered upon hearing it. Me? An "uncanny" voice? I had never used my voice past a volume of "level two" in elementary school. Looking back, I was the most unlit up and least opinionated person on the planet, probably. I got the job, and was immediatly signed as a backup dancer and singer to popular teen queen sensation Miley Cyrus. Our first gig with me as the lead backup dancer/singer was the Teen Choice Awards. I was extremely self concious.

I wasn't ugly. I was average height, and lean, with a dance-toned body and thoroughly dark hair that was long and straight, falling in perfect layers around my face. My skin was deep and olive complexioned. I had startling blue eyes that caught evreyone else's attention. But yet I was never the center of attention - only that double take, yet forgotten when they saw through my beauty and entered my facade of quietness and timidness. I could be forgotten faster than a name of a stranger.

Yet I'd been the most prosperous dancer, never venturing out of my league, but always giving my all in every routine. With each plie and each assemble, I seemed to fly through the air, my dark swept up hair gliding and slicing the air behind me. I put on a mask of boldness, one that disappeared the moment the lights dimmed - my moment was through, and back I went to being the miserable, lonely girl who danced constantly and never had a social life. My mother was my voice - behind every itty bitty decision, her face loomed, and she controlled me like a puppet. Until that night - the Teen Choice Awards. That night, I let go. That night, my soul escaped. That night, I met someone who would, gradually, change every thing I'd ever known.

My head was spinning. The lights were blazing even brighter now, if physically possible. I grazed my stiffly waved hair, and straightened my sequined jean skirt, looking towards Miley. She grinned at me, and I stared back at my mic. The pink sequin ribbon around the bottom made me even more nervous - it was a girly omen of mistakes, I was sure. I squinted when the host of the TCA's yelled Miley's name, and she took a deep breath, smoothed her own outfit, and pulled my hand out onto the stage, the rest of the dancers cascading behind us. She raised her microphone to the crowd, then lowered it to her perfectly glossed lips.

"How's LA doing tonight?" she called, her southern drawl just what the crowd had ordered. They cheered and screamed, and I couldn't help but smile, much as my heart wanted to do constant front flips at the sight of the huge audience.

"I'm doing great too! Tonight, we're introducing the winner of Dancer Duet, a hit new contest that produced this winner right here - Reese King!" I blushed heavily as the applause deafened me slightly. "She's going to be accompanieing me tonight, and we'll be singing a few duets of my songs together! Who is ready for this?" she yelled, and the crowd screamed louder than ever, praising and screaming. I felt my cheeks redden even more.

"So lets start the night off with one of my favorites - GNO!!!!!!!!!" she bellowed, the last word trailing as the beginning of the song began, and I felt the familiar trance the choreographed music pulled over me. I let my feet glide and slide across that floor - let my hips shake, my head bobble, and my face contort in facial expressions I could never reproduce without a stage to dance on. I opened my mouth to sing my part - but nothing came out. I felt my vocal chords tighten, afraid - and my eyes began to water, sure as the world I was ruined. But then I heard something - who was it? That voice was so exotic, so perfectly accented, so - and then I realized it.

It was my own. I felt heartend by my own success, and continued singing, the stage lights filling me with fuel to keep going. I felt the floor rise and fall, as if breathing along with me. The clapping became a senseless hum, egging on my power. The notes cascaded down, one by one, and I let my once-locked-up soul open and show its contents. I couldn't even hear myself anymore, my ears were trained on the gentle beat of my feet, still dancing, still repeating the steps that had been instilled in my athletic brain. As Miley took over, my heart closed again.

Dancing could no longer fill what singing had undone inside me. I was empty again. I danced just the same, but my heart sank. I needed to sing again. I would go breathless without that rush, that power. The dizzying affect. The withdrawl. Then it was my turn again, and as I started the bridge, I let the moves flow out of my toes yet again, and the desire to win filled me with glee. As I uttered the last line of my part, "Feel me when I tell you I'm fine, and its time for me to draw the line - " I dropped into a right split facing the audience, straight in front of my assigned section. I stared quickly into the crowd in front of me, and caught a hasty glimpse of glossy curls and deep eyes, wide with amazement, but then I was off again, still dancing in the split, forming arm motions and doing things I'd never attempted until the choreographer had shown me them. I felt the wonderous gazes bore into me, and I loved it. The heat, the stuffiness. They were awed, the crowd, and yet still watching, jealous and wishing they had my talent. I swelled, as I opened my mouth to utter the last line of the song, and then it was over. And I was breathing so hard, I was going to faint, I was sure of it. Miley put an arm around me, and whistled into the mic.

"Wasn't she great, you guys?"