The Season of Mia

The Season of Mia

Mia was the girl who could disappear into a room with no one noticing she was there. Sixteen years old and quiet to a fault, she had perfected the art of staying in the shadows—hugging the edges of every space, her head down, her voice barely above a whisper. Fading into the background was her superpower, and she clung to it like a life raft.

But then there was Zoe. Zoe, who crashed into every room like a wildfire, demanding attention without ever asking for it. Loud, fearless, and brimming with confidence, she was everything Mia wasn’t—everything Mia secretly wished she could be.

“Come on, Mia,” Zoe had said one night, her grin as bright as the neon lights of the karaoke bar. “Just try it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

The thought of being onstage terrified her. Zoe's words planted a "what if?" seed. What if she stepped into the light?

Confidence exuded from Zoe as she walked onto the stage. She belted out the first verse, her voice booming.

Crowd energy remained low throughout the song. Sparse applause, a few nods—not the roaring applause Zoe expected.

Her presence was fleeting; conversation resumed at once. Zoe smiled crookedly, exiting the stage nonchalantly. Mia saw her shoulders sag slightly as she sat.

Zoe forced a laugh, then put down the mic. “Not every swing's a home run.”

Grinning, she sat down, but a hint of disappointment showed in her eyes.

Mia traced her glass. "You come every weekend?" she asked softly.

Zoe raised an eyebrow, reclining. "Yeah," she shrugged. Any reason not to? Mia saw through her playful smirk.

Jokes and lighthearted critiques filled their idle chat. Mia laughed at Zoe's whisper about a tone-deaf cowboy. “He’s still having fun, try it.”

Late into the night, the bar owner took the stage. He cleared his throat, silencing the crowd with a squeaking microphone.

"Alright, folks," he boomed authoritatively. “I have an announcement.”

A ripple of murmurs spread across the room, but he wasn’t done. “And guess what? Actual judges from a talent agency will be here to decide the winner.”

Mia froze, her glass halfway to her lips. She glanced at Zoe, whose eyes were locked on the stage, suddenly alight with something Mia hadn’t seen before—determination.

“We only have room for twenty contestants,” the owner continued, his eyes scanning the crowd. “So, it’s first come, first serve!”

As he stepped off the stage, clipboard in hand, he made his way through the room, stopping here and there to pass the sign-up sheet to eager faces. When he reached their table, he didn’t hesitate. With a knowing smirk, he handed the sheet straight to Zoe.

“Figured you’d want in on the action,” he said with a wink.

Zoe grinned, her confidence snapping back into place like a rubber band. “You know me too well,” she replied, grabbing the pen like it was a microphone.

Mia watched, her stomach twisting as the reality of the contest settled in. She could already feel the weight of Zoe’s expectant gaze, even before Zoe turned to her with that mischievous look in her eyes.

“There are already 18 contestants, Mia,” Zoe said, her voice practically buzzing with excitement. She slid the clipboard across the table, tapping the blank space at the bottom with the pen. “Put your name on here. You can be the last one to try out.”

Mia’s stomach twisted into a tight, unrelenting knot. Her hands felt clammy, and her pulse thudded in her ears. She opened her mouth to say no, to insist she couldn’t possibly do it, but the words caught in her throat.

Zoe’s eyes softened, her usual playful smirk replaced with something gentler, almost encouraging. “You’ve got this, Mia. Trust me,” she said with a small smile.

Mia swallowed hard, her hand trembling as she reached for the pen—only for Zoe to scoop it up herself. “Fine, I’ll do it for you,” Zoe teased, scribbling Mia’s name at the bottom of the list with a flourish.

Mia stared at the sheet, her name glaring back at her like it didn’t belong. Her heart sank and soared all at once. There was no turning back now.

Mia walked down the quiet sidewalk from Zoe’s house to her own, the cool night air brushing against her skin. Her thoughts swirled like leaves in the wind, alive with the idea of being on stage. She could almost feel the weight of the microphone in her hand, the warmth of the spotlight casting her in its glow. The thought of all those eyes watching her sent a nervous flutter through her chest—but also a strange flicker of excitement.

As her mind drifted, she imagined herself singing one of her favorite songs, her voice carrying through the room, the melody filling the air. Without thinking, she started humming the tune softly, her steps falling into rhythm with it.

Then her thoughts shifted to Zoe. She pictured her friend up there instead, effortlessly belting out a popular song, her charisma lighting up the stage. Zoe had a way of drawing people in, like she was teaching Mia not just how to sing, but how to stand out—how to be noticed.

But in Mia’s mind, she wasn’t trying to be as popular as Zoe. No, she wanted to carve out her own moment—something quieter, something about hers. The thought made her smile faintly as she rounded the corner toward home, her humming trailing off into the night.

Mia stood under the warm spray of the shower that night, her heart pounding as she tried to convince herself: I can do this… I can at least try out. The doubt still lingered, but she pushed it aside as she began to sing softly, her voice echoing off the tiles.

She chose "Popular" from Wicked, the lyrics striking a chord deep inside her. The song felt like it was written just for her, like it understood the awkward, quiet girl she was and the confident, outgoing person Zoe kept trying to help her become. As she sang, Mia almost believed it herself—that she could step onto that stage, that maybe she could be more than just the wallflower.

For a moment, the world melted away, and she let herself imagine the spotlight, the music, the applause. This could be her moment.

But the next morning, reality had other plans.

Her brother barged into the kitchen as she poured herself a bowl of cereal, his face scrunched in annoyance. “Did you have to practice your dying-animal impression last night?” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Mia blinked, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You woke me up. Sounded like a pig stuck under a gate or something,” he said, grabbing the milk with zero hesitation about how his words might land.

Her stomach sank, the confidence she’d worked so hard to build crumbling in an instant. She stared at her cereal, suddenly not hungry, as his words replayed in her head. Maybe the stage wasn’t for her after all. Maybe she wasn’t meant to be heard.

Mia had done her best to push the contest out of her mind. The thought of it made her stomach churn, and as the days slipped by, she buried herself in other distractions. But a week before the big night, the doubt crept back in. Sitting across from Zoe at lunch, Mia hesitated before blurting out, “What… what would happen if I chickened out?”

Zoe froze, mid-bite of her sandwich, before setting it down with an exaggerated sigh. “Why would you even think that?” she asked, narrowing her eyes like Mia had just said something completely absurd.

Mia shrugged, staring at her untouched lunch tray. “I don’t know. Maybe because I’m not… cut out for this?”

Zoe leaned forward, her voice softening but her tone firm. “Mia, I’ve heard you sing, and you’re amazing. Seriously, you should be on Broadway or, like, one of those shows where the coaches fight over you because they want you on their team.”

Mia blinked, caught off guard by the intensity in Zoe’s voice. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” Zoe said, a grin tugging at her lips. “You just don’t see it yet, but trust me, everyone else will. You just need to give them the chance.”

Mia wanted to believe her, but the knot in her stomach refused to loosen. Still, Zoe’s words lingered in her mind long after their conversation ended, like a tiny spark trying to light something bigger.

With her brother out of the house, Mia finally had the space to let herself try. She stood in front of the full-length mirror in her room, clutching an imaginary microphone in one hand. Her reflection stared back at her, nervous but determined.

Taking a deep breath, she started singing the words to "Popular" from Wicked. At first, her voice was shaky, barely above a whisper, but as the familiar melody filled the room, she grew louder, more confident.

She didn’t just sing this time—she moved. No more standing stiff like a robot. She swayed, gestured, and even tried a little twirl, mimicking the playful energy of Glinda in the song. Her movements were awkward at first, but as she kept going, they started to feel more natural, more like her.

The lyrics hit differently now, almost like they were written for her. “When it comes to popular, I know about popular…” She smiled at her reflection, imagining herself on stage, the audience clapping, Zoe cheering louder than anyone else.

For the first time, she felt a flicker of excitement instead of fear. Maybe, just maybe, she could do this.

With only two days left until the contest, Mia felt the pressure mounting. She had avoided thinking about it for so long, but now it was real, and she couldn’t show up on stage in just anything. So, clutching her savings, she headed to the mall alone, her heart racing with a mix of nerves and excitement.

She wandered through the racks of clothes, her fingers brushing over fabrics as she tried to imagine herself on stage. Something bold? Something sparkly? Or maybe something simple but elegant? She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but she knew she wanted to feel confident—like she belonged up there.

After what felt like hours, she finally found it: a dress that wasn’t too flashy but still made her feel like someone who could command attention. She paid for it quickly, tucking the bag under her arm as if it held a secret she wasn’t ready to share.

Back home, she locked her bedroom door and pulled the dress out, draping it over her bed. She stood in front of the mirror again, this time holding her hairbrush like a microphone. The familiar melody of "Popular" played in her head as she practiced, her voice growing stronger with each verse.

She tried to move like she had seen Zoe do—confident, playful, and alive. Her reflection still looked a little awkward, but for the first time, she didn’t cringe. Instead, she smiled.

For a moment, she let herself imagine the crowd cheering, the lights shining down on her, and Zoe’s proud grin from the front row. Maybe, just maybe, she could pull this off.

The coffee bar was packed, the hum of conversations and clinking cups filling the air as Mia stepped inside. Her heart thudded in her chest, but she stood a little taller, the dress she’d chosen to give her just the faintest hint of confidence.

Zoe spotted her instantly, waving her over with a huge grin. But as Mia got closer, Zoe’s eyes widened, taking in her outfit.

“Wow,” Zoe said, leaning back in her chair. “I didn’t even think to get a costume. You look amazing!”

Mia felt her cheeks grow warm, but she smiled anyway. “Zoe,” she said softly, sitting down across from her. “You’ve encouraged me so much through all of this. I’m doing this… for you.”

Zoe’s expression softened, her grin turning into something gentler. “Mia, don’t do it for me,” she said, reaching across the table to squeeze Mia’s hand. “Just have fun with it. Don’t think about anything else. Just… have fun.”

Mia let out a shaky breath, nodding. The nerves were still there, but Zoe’s words hung in the air, steadying her. Fun. Maybe if she focused on that, she could get through this… and maybe even enjoy it.

Zoe leaned in, nudging Mia gently and pointing to the back of the room. “Uh… don’t freak out, but your family’s here.”

Mia’s stomach dropped as she followed Zoe’s gaze. There they were—her parents, sitting at a small table near the back, smiling and waving when they saw her. And next to them, her snotty little brother, Billy, grinning with that familiar impish look that made her want to disappear into the floor.

“What… why are they here?” Mia hissed, whipping her head back toward Zoe. “I didn’t tell them for a reason.”

Zoe winced, giving her a sheepish look. “Okay, so… I might have told my brother about the contest, and he might have told Billy.”

Mia groaned, burying her face in her hands, but her mom was already walking over with a warm smile.

“Why wouldn’t you tell us, honey?” her mom asked, her tone kind but curious.

Mia lifted her head, shooting a glare at her brother, who was now smirking like the little troublemaker he was. “Maybe because someone said my singing sounded like a pig stuck under a gate,” she said, narrowing her eyes at Billy before looking back at her mom. “I didn’t want to live with the embarrassment at home if I messed up.”

Her mom’s face softened, and she placed a hand on Mia’s shoulder. “He shouldn’t have said that. And he knows it.” She shot a quick, pointed look at Billy, who suddenly found the floor very interesting.

“You have a wonderful voice, Mia,” her mom continued, her voice steady and reassuring. “Now go do your thing. We’re here to cheer you on.”

Mia glanced back at her family, her brother’s smirk slightly less smug now, and then at Zoe, who gave her an encouraging thumbs-up. Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

Standing on the stage, Mia felt the heat of the lights shining down on her, so bright they blurred the faces of the audience into shadows. Her palms were damp, her knees shaky, and the microphone in her hand felt heavier than she’d expected. The room suddenly seemed much bigger from up here, and the murmurs of the crowd felt like a low hum in her ears.

One of the judges leaned forward, their voice cutting through the silence. “What’s your name?”

Mia swallowed hard, her voice catching in her throat before she managed to answer. “M-Mia. Mia Carter.”

The judge smiled faintly, trying to put her at ease. “Well, Mia, have you performed before?”

She hesitated, gripping the microphone tighter. The truth felt like a weight pressing on her chest. “N-no,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “This… this is my first time.”

The judges exchanged glances, a mix of curiosity and encouragement on their faces. “Alright,” one of them said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Mia took a deep breath, her mind spinning. She glanced out into the crowd, spotting Zoe’s bright smile and her parents’ encouraging nods. Even her brother wasn’t smirking this time. Closing her eyes for a moment, she steadied herself.

This was it. No turning back now.

It was like a switch had been flipped. The shy, hesitant wallflower who had shuffled onto the stage was gone. In her place stood a confident, dynamic performer, her voice strong and clear as it carried through the room.

Mia belted out the lyrics with perfect pitch, her tone filled with emotion that made the words come alive. She wasn’t just singing—she was performing. Her movements were fluid, her body language expressive, and her face captured every nuance of the character she was portraying.

As she sang, she brought the audience into the world of the song, her energy magnetic and impossible to ignore. Every gesture, every glance, every note felt deliberate, as though she had been born to be on stage.

The crowd was silent, completely captivated, and even the judges leaned forward in their seats, clearly impressed. Mia wasn’t just singing anymore—she was the character, and for those few minutes, nothing else in the world existed.

When she hit the final note, holding it effortlessly, the room erupted into applause. It thundered through the air, a wave of sound so deafening it seemed to shake the walls. The noise wasn’t just loud—it was alive, filled with something Mia had never felt before: recognition. She stood there, breathless, the heat of the spotlight warming her skin, and for the first time, she didn’t shrink from it. She didn’t want to.

At that moment, Mia wasn’t just the quiet girl who hugged the edges of every room, hoping to go unnoticed. She wasn’t the girl who let doubt and fear keep her in the shadows. Up here, with the crowd cheering and Zoe’s proud grin lighting up the front row, she felt unstoppable. She wasn’t trying to be anyone else, wasn’t trying to mimic Zoe’s wildfire spark—this was hers. Her voice, her moment, her light.

As the applause swelled, Mia let herself smile—wide and unrestrained. She’d stepped into the spotlight, and for the first time in her life, she knew she belonged there.