I sense Jordan’s eyes on me as I make my way around the equipment, pausing at the microphone propped up in its stand. I tap it hesitantly with one finger and dizziness rolls through me.
“Relax, Kass,” he says, trying to suppress the amusement on his lips. “It won’t bite you.”
Doubt seeps in through every pore, trickling right into my core and I tell myself to be brave. What’s the worst thing that could happen? I suck and they have to find someone else? That would be the answer to my prayers. But still—as much as I want this miserable situation to end—I don’t want to be told I suck.
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