Though she’d walked onto the stage more often than she could recall and she’d long since stopped being nervous about it, this time, the lights made Brooke sweat in her concert-black dress. To her right, the alto soloist glittered in a blue sequined dress, her hefty body tottering on pencil heels. The tenor soloist, a slender whip of a man, had added a wild red tie. Directly across from her, Kenneth caught her eye, looking handsome in his tux and freshly trimmed beard.
He winked.
What was I thinking, agreeing to this? she fretted. I haven’t soloed in years. Not since college. Do I want to do this?
What was I thinking, agreeing to this?I haven’t soloed in years. Not since college. Do I to do this?The time to protest had passed, so Brooke steeled her spine and turned forward, intentionall
