“To the Nerd Mobile!” said Q’s mom.

Mrs. Applebee looked about as happy as I had ever seen an adult. Unfortunately, the three of us—Beanpole, Q, and I—were about as joyful as a rained-out holiday parade.

We got in the car, closed the doors, and fastened our seat belts.

“Oh, where’s the fun, Nerd Girls?” asked Mrs. Applebee as she began driving. “A little nervous, huh?”

No one answered.

“Well, that’s understandable,” she offered. “But you’re going to do fine this evening,” she said. “I just know it, because when you hit that stage you’ll have the one thing you need most.”

She took a left at the traffic light.

“Each other,” she said. “You’ll have each other.”

Beanpole and I were as silent as a piece of wood. Q took a long, slow slurp off her scuba tank—Wheeesh-whooosh. Wheeesh-whooosh—and the car continued along.

Occasionally I looked over at Q. And occasionally she looked at me. But we never looked at each other at the same time. Either her eyes were staring out the window, or mine were staring out the window, but we both seemed to know to follow this rule: not to ever look at each other at the same time. Though we were in the same car going to the same place at the same time, Q and I might as well have been a bazillion miles apart.

A few minutes later we pulled into the parking lot and saw, like, ten thousand cars with all sorts of families getting ready to come see the talent show. When I recognized how far we’d have to park from the auditorium due to the lot being so full, the realization of just how many people were going to be in the audience that night hit me.

A lot. It would be a heck of a lot. I looked to the heavens.

Come on, Marty, you gotta come through. You just gotta.

Mrs. Applebee kissed Q on her forehead, wished us good luck, and left us to get a good seat for herself inside the auditorium. Beanpole, Q, and I, dressed in our outfits, walked around to the side of the building and then signed in backstage with Mr. Piddles.

“Nerd Girls, check,” he said when he saw us. “Please wait in the assigned area. And good luck tonight.” He smiled softly. “But based on what we saw yesterday, I’m not sure how much luck is going to play a part in this evening’s show, right, girls?”

The three of us faked small smiles back at him, and then did as we were told, taking our proper places backstage while the audience took their seats. There was no sign of Marty anywhere.

Beanpole bit her fingernails. I looked at Q.

Wheeesh-whooosh. Wheeesh-whooosh.

We sat on our stools in silence. To our left, Disgusting Danny Dortenfuller loosened up his fingers for the cello. Turns out he was going to be able to perform, but with his booger-picking fingers still wrapped in all kinds of thick bandages from having been smashed by his father, no one expected him to be able to do much at all.

Wheeesh-whooosh. Wheeesh-whooosh.

We waited some more.

About ten minutes later the lights dimmed and Mr. Piddles took the stage and prepared to give a few welcoming announcements.

“Where’s Marty?” Beanpole asked.

“Sshh,” I said. “I want to hear this.”

“Maureen,” she asked again. “Where is Marty?”

“Don’t worry, Beanpole,” I said. “He’ll be here. Now, I want to hear this.”

Beanpole stared at me, then turned to Q to see what her thoughts on this matter were. Alice didn’t say a word. Instead she just sat there dressed in her pretty, pink, sparkly little outfit, waiting for the nightmare of this entire evening to end.

Wheeesh-whooosh. Wheeesh-whooosh.

Come on, Marty, I thought. Come on.

Mr. Piddles took the microphone and made a joke about how all of the contestants were really talented, ending with the line, “Even if their abilities might be less obvious to the untrained eye.” The parents laughed. I think it was the same corny line he’d used for the past seventeen years, but still, the whole audience knew that what he was really explaining to them was that “Look, some of these kids absolutely stink, but please be nice and applaud and realize that they are trying their best tonight.”

“Ha-ha!” I said with a big laugh in response to Mr. Piddles’s joke. I turned to Beanpole and Q, trying to lighten the mood. “Mr. Piddles is a good teacher.”

They stared at me like I was from another planet.

“Oh, just relax,” I told them. “I’m sure Marty’s gonna bring the dog in, like, five minutes, so be ready to rock it tonight, okay?”

Again, Beanpole bit her fingernails while Q looked at me with an unmistakable expression on her face: she had absolutely no desire to “rock it” at all.

Just then the ThreePees came out of their own private dressing room—of course—and took their positions on the other side of the backstage area, directly across from us. Thank goodness we couldn’t hear them. But we could see them, all right. They were dressed in black and gold with peacock-style tails coming out of their butts. Top to bottom they shimmered like volts of high wattage, golden electricity.

The three of us stared. There was no doubt that with their hot bods, skintight outfits, and professional makeup, they looked absolutely great.

Just great.

Kiki puckered her lips and blew me a mean-spirited kiss. I lowered my eyes and looked away.

“Like, five minutes?” Beanpole asked in a hopeful manner after she saw Kiki taunt me. “Like, five minutes,” I answered. “For sure.” Q just stared into the distance.

Wheeesh-whooosh. Wheeesh-whooosh.

Come on, Marty, I prayed. Please, you gotta come through.