Allison Larien's Arc

Chapter 3 of 2

Jarion believed in her now. But Jarion was one person. The whole school still saw only her face, and a poll lead built on looks could melt in a week. Allison needed the crowd to see what he'd seen. Walking the hall the next morning, she found her answer stapled to the wall. A flyer. The spring talent show. Sign-ups open. She signed her name that afternoon. Piano. Voice. The two things she'd hidden her whole life. Her family went loud when she told them. Her little sister, Lily, grabbed her hands and spun her in circles. Their mother booked a dress fitting before dinner. A custom gown, pale and flowing, with a flower crown woven for her hair. Her father watched from the doorway, arms folded. "You're sure," Alexander said. Not a question. His flat way of asking anyway. "No," Allison said. "But I'm doing it." He studied her a moment. "Good answer." He turned back to his papers. The night came fast. Backstage, Allison heard the crowd through the curtain, a low roar that filled the auditorium. Her palms went cold. Out there sat the whole school, the people who'd only ever wanted the looking. She pressed her hands flat against the gown to still them. Jarion stood near the wings in his tank top and gold chain, there to watch, not perform. He caught her eye. "They came for a pretty girl," he said. "Show them the rest." Then he stepped back and let her go. The curtain opened. Light hit the flower crown and the crowd whistled, loud, hungry, the reaction she'd always gotten. She let it pass. She sat at the piano, lifted the lid, and played. The whistles died. The first clean notes carried out over the seats, and the room went still. Allison didn't look up. She let the music do the work, the way she had at home. Then she opened her mouth and sang. Her voice came low and steady and warm. It didn't shake. When the last note faded, the silence held one full second. Then the auditorium stood. Not whistling now. Clapping, hard, the sound of people who'd been surprised. In the third row Lily jumped up and down. Her mother wept into a tissue. Her father clapped slow and sure, nodding once. Allison stood and bowed. For the first time, the whole school looked at her the way Jarion had. Not at her face. At her. Backstage, phones were already out. A clip of her singing spread through the school by midnight, shared and reshared. By morning her lead wasn't built on looks anymore. It was built on proof. But the clip did more than she planned. Strangers now expected the girl who sang like that, flawless, every time. The real Allison had been private. Now she belonged to everyone. And the formal was coming, with its own stage, its own lights, waiting.