“Okay it’s this number and then you guys, good luck!!”
Miss Stephanie runs from backstage to rejoin Miss Maryellen right behind the judges, eager to watch us compete. Hours and hours, weeknights and weekends, all spent in the studio for this moment. Nerves, anticipation and excitement soar as the group onstage moves towards their ending pose and their music slowly fades away. We take a step up in the wings, staring into the bright stage lights and dark abyss. The announcer calls, “Now welcome to the stage, 12-15 production category, number 111, Grease!”
I am entranced. Muscle memory kicks in, my toes point, a smile paints my face and no level of fear can take away the joy that I am feeling. 6 minutes later I am grasping hands with Nick, beaming as I skip offstage, knowing that Sandy and Danny performed “over the top, with extra parmesan cheese”. Tears in her eyes, Miss Maryellen embraces us both. Her babies are all grown up.
But the thing is, it didn’t feel like 6 minutes. One second I was walking on stage and with the blink of an eye, we had 8 counts to skip off. If I didn’t pay attention, it would have all passed me by, and I would not have enjoyed the moment. I would not have gotten to watch my “beauty school dropouts”, the babies who I know look up to every move I make just as I did with the older girls before me; I would have missed the chance to be entranced by my talented best friends, “hand jiving” to set the scene for my re-entry to the stage; I would not have appreciated my moment on the box after my costume transformation, looking into the audience and knowing that my parents were watching with immense pride.
High school is the same way. One day you are a freshman, watching the upperclassmen and waiting for your number to be called, for the chance to be great just like the group before you. A moment passes by, and suddenly you have but 8 more counts to “wow” the judges and to leave your mark on stage. 8 more counts to make an impact on Whippany Park, to be a role model for the underclassmen just as the grades that preceded you did.
Being a second-semester senior is like dancing the final 8 counts. You skip to the front of the stage, reflecting on the positives of your performance instead of the trivial mishaps along the way. You take a second to stop and relish in the moment, because one day it will all be over. The announcer will call the next number and Mr. Kelly will read your name at graduation and the cycle repeats. Suddenly you are a freshman again, this time in college in an unfamiliar world.
