fantishu
Chapter 293
Time flew by, and before you knew it, the day had arrived for Mirabella to strut her stuff at the city’s French competition.
The event was getting the full Hollywood treatment. A crew from the Educational TV network was filming the entire shebang, and planning to spin it into a prime–time special for their channel.
The showdown was set in the grand exhibition hall on the second floor of the municipal sports arena. It was transformed into a stage with atmosphere to spare, thanks to the TV folks who’d wrangled a crowd to fill the seats below the platform. NôvelDrama.Org content rights.
Mirabella’s game plan for joining the contest was straightforward she had her eye on the $100,000 prize. From the moment she left school, headphones were her constant companion.
A girl, tagging along for the ride, leaned in conspiratorially and asked, “Queen Mira, are you drilling French phrases in there?”
Mirabella turned, about to set the record straight with a ‘nope,‘ when the girl interjected, “Mind if I take a listen?” After a beat, Mirabella graciously handed over one earbud.
When the girl popped it in and was met with the pulse of a pop anthem, she was gobsmacked. Eyes wide as saucers, she stared at Mirabella, struggling to process the scene.
Here they were, minutes from showtime, with everyone else cramming their scripts, and there was Mirabella – not a note in hand, jamming to top forty hits… Seriously? Sure, the song was from her favorite band, and their lead singer’s voice was a killer, but was this really the moment?
“How’s the tune? The lead’s got killer pipes, right?” Mirabella even whipped out her phone, showing off the album cover, pointing out the frontman, “And he’s easy on the eyes, too.”
The girl from another class had heard tales of Mirabella from the Advanced Class and her ice–queen rep, but this was a whole other vibe. Sharing her music and fan–girling over stars, Mirabella was as down–to–earth as they come.
Totally relatable!
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The girl was so charmed that she ditched her French script, and the two of them started fangirling hard.
Returning from the draw, their French teacher nearly fainted at their chatter. He quickly separated them and delivered a motivational speech before handing out the assigned numbers.
There were nearly fifty contestants, and the performance order was a lottery.
Mirabella drew number twenty–one, smack in the middle.
An hour later, it was her turn. As she stepped onto the stage, the spotlight hit her, illuminating
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her delicate features and highlighting her naturally poised aura.
Scanning the audience, Mirabella’s eyes flicked to two sneaky figures tucked in the back corner, causing her eyelids to twitch in irritation.
Regaining her composure, she nodded politely to the judges, and moments later, fluent French poured from her lips.
She recited a well–known piece of poetry sans script – unlike her peers. She stood unshaken, exuding confidence and poise, her pronunciation impeccable. Among the competitors, she was a dazzling standout. Barring any surprises, the top prize was as good as hers.
After a three–minute tour de force, rewarded by thunderous applause, Mirabella’s first move backstage was to reach for her phone.