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“Amazing first stop, guys. We executed these three shows even better than I expected we would. Let’s crush one last night, yeah?” Haven sparkles in her glittery bodysuit, a smile so big you’d think it would be contagious brightening her face.

A few small agreeing nods travel through the circle, and Haven sticks her hand in the middle of us all. Our signature huddle break waits to send us off for one last night in Dallas.

“Heaven sent on three,” she cheers.

I place my hand quickly over hers, feeling okay with her knowing how sweaty my palms are.

“One, two, three…Heaven sent!” we all shout in unison.

Jerking away, I run my palms over my wispy chiffon costume. My hands shake with a quickening tremor. To my right, the rest of the crew awaits our five-minute signal.

“Do you know if there are bags around here?”

My feet drag beneath me, finding Dan, who’s head of our setup crew. With a scrunched eye, he tilts his head at me.

“What type of bag ya need, hun?”

A lump crawls up my throat, my stomach twisting and growling to match. Get it together, Fia. Rounding my shoulders, I take a deep breath. The bright red clock flashing in front of me tells me that I only have three minutes to get over this feeling.

“Like a barf bag?” I strain to say, my whisper low so no one around us can hear, but more-so because the slickness of my throat is running out with every word.

I can’t believe I’m about to throw up.

“Oh, no. Don’t be nervous. You’ll do great. Have you eaten anything?”

Dan’s kindness gives me a layer of safety I hadn’t even realized I was missing.

Today has been so busy. Between packing up our rooms for our flight out this evening and running through the show once we got to the arena, eating must’ve completely slipped my mind.

“Actually, no. I haven’t.”

I look down at my palms, then back over to the rest of the dancers. They laugh and mark through parts of our upcoming songs with so much energy. My mind tracks backwards. There had been food in the dressing room pre-show, but I don’t remember anyone touching it. As a matter of fact, I glanced at it multiple times, praying someone would grab something from the table so I wouldn’t have to be the first.

No one ever did.

Are they feeling as terrible as I am?

“Here.”

Dan reaches into his pocket and hands me a warm, and seemingly old, granola bar. “See if this helps take the edge off.”

With shaky fingers, I unwrap the smushed bar, inhaling it in almost one bite. Immediately, I’m relieved at the loss of nausea in my stomach.

“Any better?” His tired eyes glimmer with concern.

“Much,” I say confidently. “Thank you, I must’ve forgotten to grab something. Nerves.” I shrug, forcing a weak smile.

It’s not like me to miss a meal, but I’ve also never been in a situation that made me feel like I should. Brushing my uneasy feelings aside, I don’t get too hard on myself for this mistake.

I need all the energy I can get for this performance.

The clock flashes red.

“Thirty seconds till showtime!” a crew member shouts, ensuring everyone is in their designated places. The crowd screams their praises for the final opener, and in anticipation of us.

With one final breath, I close my eyes and redirect my head to the right place.

I can do this.