|buy prints of select halfsquatch photographs at etsy or dawanda. (prints of all photographs are available upon request)||day 85
Rebecca was shaking. Eleven singers sang eleven songs and they were all good – each one could carry a tune. The performers represented banks and schools, gift shops and hotels. Some were professionals who had released CDs and played at music festivals and toured the country. Her breath was shallow. She thought she’d hyperventilate.
She was the twelfth and final performer of the night. She froze when a local stand-up comedian — who also doubled as the event’s emcee — called her name. Her legs wouldn’t move. Devin nudged her. “Go,” he said.
Rebecca released the microphone from its stand. She nodded to the emcee to cue the music. By the time she reached the chorus, the crowd was screaming, cheering her on.
Half-breed, that's all I ever heard
Rebecca belted it out. That her voice was shrill and off-key was no matter. She tossed her head to the side and held the microphone above her face the way she imagined Cher herself might do. Rebecca’s fear dissolved. She was out of herself, caught in the rush. She didn’t want the song to end.
We weren't accepted and I felt ashamed
“Half-squatch! Half-squatch! Half-squatch!” The chant erupted again. Rebecca took a bow. Then she curtsied and thrust the mic into the air before running off the stage.
Backstage, she flew into Devin, her arms outstretched, almost toppling him to the ground. She was covered in sweat. Devin pushed her back gently. “Hey there, take it easy.”
Paula looked on, amused and smug.
“I’ve been talking with Paula here and we think it might not be a bad idea for you to have that little chat with her for the Reporter,” Devin said.
“It doesn’t have to this second,” Paula said.
“Can we do it tomorrow?” Rebecca jumped up and down beside Devin. “Please?”
“That’s not a problem for me,” Paula said.
“Alright then. Tomorrow it is,” Devin said.