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Chapter 12: Talent(less) Show Trials, Shakespeare in the Trash, and the Girl Who Tried to Sing to a Dog
Leon's POV
Let me explain something about high school talent shows.
They're not about talent.
They're about survival.
And emotional scarring. Mostly scarring.
It started at 3:15 PM sharp.
The auditorium lights flickered like they were nervous. I wasn't.
I had a clipboard. A pen. And five hormonal disasters pretending to be co-judges.
I was not emotionally prepared for what walked through those doors.
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Audition #1: The Return of Despacito Kid
Same kid. Same recorder.
But now… interpretive dance.
And by "interpretive," I mean flailing like he was being swarmed by invisible hornets.
Felicia cried. Not emotionally. She physically cried. From laughter.
Gwen turned off his mic halfway through.
MJ: "My ears have filed a restraining order."
Me: "I just aged five years."
Despacito Kid: "Can I go again?"
Us: In unison "NO."
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Audition #2: Shakespeare in the Trash
A sophomore in a tunic bellowed "To be, or not to—"
Then tripped.
Right into a trash can.
Stayed there.
Finished the monologue from inside the can. Honestly? The man had commitment.
Roxy gave him a standing ovation.
Gwen whispered, "More relatable than Hamlet ever was."
I gave him bonus points for concussion.
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Audition #3: The Girl Who Tried to Duet With Her Chihuahua
She brought a chihuahua. Named it "Sir Bark-a-lot."
Proceeded to sing a ballad to the dog.
Sir Bark-a-lot barked once, pissed on the stage, bit MJ's shoe, and fled through the emergency exit.
MJ: "I am spiritually done."
Me: "We need an exorcist."
Felicia: "Do you think the dog's single?"
Me: "Y-you're into emotionally unstable canines now?"
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Audition #4: The Human Beatbox (RIP)
Started strong. Rhythmic. Talented.
Then tried to burp-beatbox.
Science broke.
He hiccupped, burped, and made a sound like an overheating fax machine before collapsing.
We gave him a juice box and whispered encouraging things.
Still made the "maybe" list. Because compared to the rest? He was Beyoncé.
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Audition #5: Spaghetti Ballet
Look. I don't know what it was.
There were girls. There was pasta. There was tap dancing.
Someone slipped and it became a fight for survival.
Someone screamed "IT'S RAW!" like Gordon Ramsay had taken control.
Someone else threw a meatball at the ceiling. Another food fight broke out... And I'm still telling, "I don't know what's happening!" from underneath the table.
Ten minutes later, the stage looked like an exorcism at Olive Garden.
We took a break.
I stared into the void. Wondered how Gen Z got here. We had "How I Met Your Mother." They had… this.
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Break Time
Backstage, Liz livestreamed our descent into madness.
Her chat thrived:
People's_Hole: "This is better than Euphoria."
MisunderstoodSon: "Why does Clipboard Guy look like he's aged 80 years?"
CatMummy: "Bring back the chihuahua. #DogKing"
I threw a Cheeto at Liz. She caught it in her mouth. I considered proposing.
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Audition #6: The Mysterious Magician
Called himself "Dark Phantom."
Wore a cape made of sadness.
Pulled a rubber chicken from a hat and screamed "BEHOLD!"
Then disappeared in a puff of flour. Not smoke. Flour.
The janitor is now in therapy.
Roxy: "He was beautiful."
MJ: "You need help."
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Audition #7: Tap-Dancing Twins
Perfect synchronization. Until one twin yelled,
"YOU STOLE MY BOYFRIEND, TRACY!"
And then slapped the other mid-tap. Reminds me of that one tiktok viral meme where people expose cheaters in the worse way possible.
Chaos. Hair pulling. Tap shoes flying.
Felicia offered to be their new boyfriend.
I slid under the table and whispered ancient prayers.
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End of Day One Recap:
Eight nervous breakdowns
One possible lawsuit (thank you, dog girl)
Flour allergy
Mystery bruises
A haunting sense that Xander was watching from the shadows. Just smirking like a hoodie-wearing Bond villain.
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Later That Night
I lay in bed, surrounded by crumpled notes and a broken ukulele someone left behind like a cursed artifact.
And then—buzzing.
My fingertips tingled like they were caught between dimensions.
ZAP. My finger phased through my phone.
I stared. Blinked. Whispered, "Nope."
Threw the phone across the bed like it was haunted.
Ceiling said nothing. Rude.
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Special Chapter: Dream Weaver, Nightmare Fuel
Sleep? Not happening.
I dreamt of spaghetti demons. Shakespeare in trash armor. The chihuahua returned—this time in a tuxedo.
The Human Beatbox grew into Xander, burping earthquakes into reality.
A voice echoed through the chaos:
"Talent is just potential. I offer evolution."
I woke up tangled in sheets, soaked in sweat.
Clock said 3:00 AM. Of course it did.
I needed cereal. Cereal fixes everything.
I stumbled to the kitchen.
The buzzing returned.
From the fridge.
"Are you KIDDING me?"
I yanked it open expecting cosmic horror.
Just pickles.
But beneath them… a pulsating purple light.
"Oh no. Not the orange juice."
I grabbed the juice carton and uncovered… a small, carved wooden box.
Purple. Like Xander's creepy lightshow.
Inside: a single feather. Rainbow-hued, cold to the touch.
I touched it—
Vertigo hit like a truck.
Flashes:
Dark water. Spiral towers. Cow bikini girls. (…Wait, what?)
Then silence. And… sorrow.
I slammed the box shut.
Nope. Not talent show stress.
This was plot development. Straight plot device the author forces on characters like me.
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Take Two: The Re-Auditions and the Missing Limb
Back at the auditorium, my judges looked like survivors of a very stupid war.
Roxy wore sunglasses.
MJ chugged coffee like it owed her rent.
Felicia was humming "Despacito."
Gwen was just… gone. Spiritually.
Me: "Alright. Day Two: Electric Boogaloo."
Surprisingly, it started okay.
A decent guitarist.
A kid who solved a Rubik's Cube while juggling torches (we said no—fire hazard).
Then… him.
Dark Phantom. Again.
New cape. New trick. Less confidence.
Dark Phantom: "I need… a volunteer."
His eyes locked on me.
"You! Clipboard guy. You look trustworthy."
Me: "Wow. That's a first." I replied sarcastically.
Roxy was vibrating.
MJ gave me the "just do it" look.
"Oh! You're serious!?" I sighed. "Fine. But no flour."
He draped a cloth over my arm.
"Imagine your arm… gone."
He chanted something. Something Lovecraftian.
He yanked the cloth away.
My arm was gone.
Just a sleeve. Floating.
Collective gasp.
Dark Phantom fainted.
Cue chaos.
Roxy screamed. MJ called 911. Gwen blinked. Felicia yelled, "He's disarmed!"
I just stood there, staring.
It didn't hurt. But I could feel the absence.
It wasn't gone.
It was somewhere else.
And I had a feeling that "somewhere else" was where all this madness led.
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Chibi-Rightarm: "The beach seems noice"