Chapter 39

Being third meant she didn't have to go first. She waited, pounding the words through her head, then running the soothing smoothness of the bridge across the bruises they left. She'd refused wardrobe's attempt to dress her as a rapper. She wanted to stay Marilyn, at the last second she snatched a hat from a tech.

"I'll give it back, promise."

He shrugged and she walked to her spot to wait the signal to go.

Charisse, who told Marilyn at dinner she was half Lakota, struggled with her song. Her coach had given her a torch song, soft, sultry seductive. Charisse would have been better with the rap Marilyn had. She sang with fire, and energy. The song was drowning her. The applause turned the knife and the judges, caught up in their role each twisted it harder.

Marilyn saw the despair in Charisse's eyes as she ran from the stage.

"Give me a second," Marilyn said to the tech.

"I can't."

Marilyn caught Charisse and looked her in the eye.

"It isn't over," she said. "It's not."