The air backstage buzzed with nervous energy voices overlapping, makeup brushes clicking against palettes, the rustle of clothing and last-minute adjustments.
The styling contest had drawn participants from schools across the city, and the narrow hallway behind the auditorium felt cramped with anticipation.
Lila sat at her assigned station, hands trembling slightly as she laid out her supplies.
Brushes arranged by size. Palettes organized by color family.
Setting spray, highlighter, eyeliner—everything in its place.
Maya stood beside her, arms crossed, trying to look calm. "You good?"
Lila exhaled shakily. "I don't know. Maybe? I think so?"
"That's not exactly confidence-inspiring."
"I know, I know." Lila pressed her hands together, trying to steady them. "I just—what if I mess up? What if my hand slips, or the blending isn't smooth, or—"
"Lila." Maya grabbed her shoulders, forcing eye contact. "You've been practicing for weeks. You're good at this. You know you are."
