For the rest of the week, Sophie's mind was consumed by the thought of the open mic night. Every time she tried to write a new poem, doubt crept in. What if her words weren't good enough? What if no one understood her?
By Friday afternoon, she still hadn't made a decision.
"Just say yes already," Rachel said as they walked home together. "You're overthinking it."
"It's not that simple," Sophie replied, clutching her notebook tightly.
Rachel rolled her eyes. "Sophie, when has writing ever been about pleasing people? You write because you have something to say. Just share that."
Sophie stopped in her tracks, staring at Rachel. "How do you always know what to say?"
Rachel grinned. "It's my gift. Now promise me you'll do it."
Sophie sighed. "Fine. I'll think about it."
"That's not a promise," Rachel called out as Sophie crossed the street toward her house.
---
That evening, Sophie sat at her desk, staring at the blank page in her notebook. She thought about the first poem she'd ever written, back when she was eight years old. It had been a simple rhyme about her grandmother's garden, inspired by the rows of marigolds and sunflowers she'd loved to visit.
Back then, she hadn't worried about being "good enough." She'd just written what she felt.
Sophie picked up her pen and began to write.
---
The following Monday, Sophie found Mr. Daniels before class.
"I'll do it," she said, her voice trembling slightly.
Mr. Daniels smiled warmly. "I'm proud of you, Sophie. You won't regret this."
---
As the week progressed, Sophie threw herself into her writing. She spent hours refining her poems, reading them aloud to herself, and imagining how they might sound to an audience.
Max and Rachel were her unofficial cheerleaders.
"What about this one?" Sophie asked one afternoon, handing Max her notebook.
He read the poem carefully, his brow furrowing in concentration. When he finished, he looked up at her.
"It's beautiful," he said. "You have a way of capturing emotions that feels so real."
Sophie blushed. "Thanks. That means a lot."
"Have you picked which ones you'll read?" Rachel asked, lounging on Sophie's bed.
"Not yet," Sophie admitted. "But I'm getting close."
---
As the day of the open mic night approached, Sophie's nerves reached an all-time high. She practiced in front of the mirror, stumbling over her words and second-guessing her delivery.
"What if I mess up?" she asked Rachel over the phone.
"You won't," Rachel assured her. "And even if you do, no one will care. They're there to hear you, not to judge you."
Sophie nodded, trying to believe her friend's words.
---
When Saturday arrived, Sophie felt a mix of excitement and dread. Max picked her up, his sketchpad tucked under his arm.
"You ready?" he asked as they walked into the community center.
"Not even a little," Sophie admitted, clutching her notebook.
"You've got this," Max said, giving her a reassuring smile.
---
The room was cozy, filled with mismatched chairs and a small stage at the front. Sophie took a seat near the back, her heart racing as she watched the first performers. There were singers, musicians, and even a comedian.
When her name was called, Sophie felt like she might faint. But Max and Rachel's encouraging smiles gave her the push she needed.
As she stepped onto the stage, the microphone felt cold in her hands. The room was silent, waiting.
Sophie took a deep breath and opened her notebook.
And then she began to read.