Page 145 of The Nanny and the Nerd
“Yes, let’s go,” Penny replied as they entered the auditorium and found seats as one of the judges took the stage.
The lights dimmed, and the audience quieted down.
“Thank you to everyone for supporting the Denver Poetry and Short Story Competition,” the striking woman said, addressing the room. “I’m Elle Reynolds-Bergen, one of the judges. This is the final round of the short story competitions. While the finalists’ pieces have been judged and scored, this year, we’ve added a style component where each finalist will read their submission aloud right here, right now.”
Penny jolted upright in her seat.
A what?
She swallowed hard. She’d signed up for the contest in such a rage to spite her mom she hadn’t read the fine print!
“Did you know about this?” H whispered.
“No, I figured they’d announce the winners, and that would be that! I didn’t think anyone would have to read their story to the entire auditorium.”
The judge announced the first finalist.
And hello boob sweat, my old friend!
Penny’s knee bounced as the woman went to the podium and proceeded to read a portion of her story. The sound of her voice faded away. Penny tried to quiet her mind as a rush of blood thrummed in her ears. She blinked and looked up at the stage. A man had taken the woman’s place. It was as if time had hit the fast-forward button. Two down, she’d be the last to go up.
She closed her eyes. “Focus on the lesson. Focus on the lesson,” she whispered, reciting Delores’s words.
“And our third and final finalist is Penelope Fennimore.”
“That’s you, Penn!” Charlotte whispered.
“Me?” Penny repeated.
“Get up there, girl!” Harper cheered.
“You’ve got this, Penn,” Libby added.
Penny stood and walked toward the stage in a fog as the audience applauded. But there was another sound—a mechanical sound beneath it. Or was she losing it? That was a viable option.
“Just read the highlighted portion,” a stagehand instructed. The guy thrust papers into her hand, then gestured toward the lectern.
This was it. She’d made it to the top three. Exhaling a slow breath, she walked across the stage. The tap of her heels echoed as a bank of bright lights momentarily blinded her. She stopped at the podium and stared into the crowd as something odd passed over her. No longer concerned about boob sweat, a profound sense of gratitude kicked in. Out of hundreds of stories, she’d made it into the top three. She exhaled a slow breath as that faint hum caught her attention again.
Or was it a whirl?
She shook off the distraction and surveyed the audience as more familiar faces appeared—and she damn near fell over!
Rowen’s dude squad was there!
And then she spied Mrs. Sullivan, Cecelia Gale, and a cleaned-up Chuck, looking quite dapper, sitting shoulder to shoulder in the front row not far from her sisters and mother. Her attention returned to Regina Sullivan. Who was watching Phoebe? Rowen wouldn’t have taken her to the E3 Expo, would he?
Or worse!
Did he already have a new nanny?
Her heart sank as she attempted to focus. Is that what Madelyn meant about clarity—like it would be clear she’d been fired?
She could not think about that! Not now!
She nodded to the row of judges, ready to begin when that mechanical hum intensified. Like the grand vestibule, the auditorium sported a partial glass wall with views of the courtyard. She glanced outside, trying to find the source of the sound. But there was nothing there. Nervously, she scanned the audience and saw her friends. The women held up their hands, opening and closing them like little mouths.
Little mouths?
