"Opening up, letting the day in. Pour you a cup and say, "Hello, how ya been?" Weeks passed like that, suddenly it was the night of the showcase. Turns out, this wasn't only for the softmores. This was a payed fundraiser for Be More Chill. There was a buzz amongst us backstage. Everyone kept peeking through the closed green curtains, then running to fix their outfits and makeup. The house was packed, one by one we watched our friends begin to panic. Rachael and I managed to keep our cool, until we both looked into the audience. People filled the seats as if this was Idina Menzel's last performance of Wicked. Rachael began to fan herself with lace clad hands. She had decided to sing Satisfied, despite her best interests. I began to wipe my sweaty hands on my khakis. The scarlet red scarf began to feel tight around my neck. My outfit had been picked out as an homage to Phillipa's red Amelié look but with a genderbent twist. I began to take deep breaths fluently, sucking in the cold air of the theater's backstage fan. As the clock tediously ticked faster, I gripped the leather handle of the prop suitcase, now covered in authentic French stamps. I watched my friends disappear and reappear. I was last. Apparently my rehearsal was so superb I deserved to be last.  The announcer, Dr. King, called my name. I breathed in, breathed out, and walked on the stage. While the curtains were still closed, I unbuckled the suitcase and put the red scarf into the large compartment. I closed the suitcase again and stood it up. The mic ran down the back of the back of my neck and up to my chin. I took a final breath and the curtains opened. The pianist played a few beginning bars and I began to sing. "They say times are hard for dreamers, but they are not hard for me. I've saved up everything I know to take that step beyond the lawn. Keep walking till I see the station and then see it go..." At this part I knelt down to open the suitcase. I pulled out the scarf and wrapped it around my neck. I closed the suitcase and picked it up. I grasped the handle tightly and began to wonder downstage slowly at first, then speeding up with a dazed look on my face. The instrumental interruption paused and I began to sing again. By this time, a small iron stool had been placed center stage. I sat down and placed the suitcase next to me. "Inside the train, up through the glass. My finger tracing all of these towns I've never heard of racing past. Off the train in Paris, half a mile from Sacré-Cœur
The city's waking up for me!
A sign says an apartment's vacant on the second floor! And suddenly I hold a key..."  I got up from the stool and stood in front of a doorway with an opening door on wheels to the left of me. "I turn a lock, the rooms appear
And all it takes is one more step, and then I'm here! Just me behind my door! It isn't what I have, it's only what I have in store. That matters now, the past can only fade! And everything I'll ever need is here, this is how my world gets made!" Another instrumental rift ensued followed by a reprise of the first  verse. "They say times are hard for dreamers and who knows, maybe they are. People seem stuck, or lost at sea! And I might be a dreamer But it's gotten me this far And that is far enough for me. Look out my window there's a view, of other windows! My own museum full of paintings I look through! Where everything is clear! It isn't where I am, it's only where I'll go from here! That matters now! And I am not afraid! As everything I'll ever need appears this is how my world gets made!!!" I finished by holding out the last note, arms spread wide. I opened my eyes to the sight of a standing ovation from a wild audience. They closed the curtains and Dr. King began his closing speech. As I began to change into the blue striped polo and jeans packed in my theater bag. I felt a tap on my shoulder. As I turned around three girls, all seniors shoved roses, the white kind, into my face. I jerkily grabbed the jeans and used them to cover my pale torso and boxer clad area. The girls giggled and I felt myself turn tomato red. "Can I talk to you girls when I'm decent?" I asked smiling hesitantly. The girls began to exit through the back door. The last one out, a pretty blonde, fluttered her manicured fingers before closing the door. I quickly changed and exited through the same white door. The girls weren't far away from the door, and once more I was bombarded with white roses. I grabbed the bouquets and behind them were not one, not two, but three beautiful seniors. "So?" The blonde one asked. "Are you coming to the party?" She glanced at her nails then back at me. "What party?" I asked. The girls erupted with shrills of laughter. "The seniors party. Select few underclass men are invited." The brunette flipped her hair and then winked at me. "We can give you a lift, seeing as you can't drive." I gave them a goofy grin and placed my hand behind my head. "Think about it." The redhead finished. They sashayed out of the theater. David approached me a moment later. "Were you invited too?" "Yeah." I replied. You goin?" He asked again. "Yeah," we approached the glass doors, pulled on the handle, and stepped outside. The cold October night felt good on my skin. We had a party to go to...