Stepping Out Read Free Page A

knows about the International Teens in Comedy Festival. At least, anybody interested in comedy. It’s huge.
    “And you’re going,” Hunter says.
    I laugh. “Sure I am.” You don’t just go to the ITCF . First you have to be nominated. Then you have to go through a rigorous deal to get on the shortlist. Only the best go to the finals. “Come on, guys, that’s the Super Bowl of comedy. Get serious.”
    “I am serious,” Hunter says.
    My left eye starts to twitch.
    Carly pushes the paper across the table toward me. “We submitted three of your YouTube vlogs as part of the nomination process,” she says. “You’ve aced the first round of eliminations. You’ve been shortlisted.”

Three
    C arly has to be kidding. My eye twitch spreads to my cheek. Isn’t this the first sign of a stroke? My two best friends are trying to kill me. “No way,” I manage.
    “Yes, way.” Hunter smiles. “They have your email. They’ll be sending you the official letter soon.”
    Blood thumps in my ears. This is crazy. Insane. Like some kind of wacky dream. Or nightmare. I’m not sure which. “I got shortlisted for the ITCF ?”
    “I know ! Isn’t it unreal?” Carly’s voice is one decibel below a screech. “You’ve been working so hard and doing all these amazing videos, and you’re finally getting the recognition you deserve.”
    I have been working hard. Doing the vlogs. Networking with other YouTubers. Comedy is what I want to do with my life. Making people laugh comes as easily to me as breathing. Although right now the breathing part is a problem, since I feel like I have an elephant on my chest. Me, shortlisted.
    I crash back to earth. “I can’t go to Portland.”
    “What?” Carly frowns. “Why? You’re banned from the city? Allergic to the air down there? What’s the deal?”
    “That’s stand-up,” I tell them. “You know I don’t do that.” I love the idea of stand-up. I do. It’s a thrill hearing somebody laugh at something I say, especially if I’m in drama class or hanging out with friends. It’s my kind of high. Most people drink when they’re at parties. I make people laugh. It’s a total win-win: no hangover for me and lots of laughs for everybody else. But being in drama class or at a party with people who’ve known me since… well…the purple-and-orange panty days is way different than being onstage in front of a bunch of strangers.
    Strangers who may not find me funny at all.
    “They have a new category this year,” Carly says. “For online comedy.” She taps the paper in front of me. “Look.”
    I start to read. The International Teens in Comedy Festival is pleased to announce a new category this year—video comedy. We’re looking for the mega stars of the future in this growing area of performance art. To qualify, interested participants must submit three videos for consideration by February 28.
    I look up. “I can’t believe you gave them my contact information. And submitted three of my vlogs without even telling me.”
    Carly grins like she’s won the lottery. “Would you have submitted them?”
    “No.”
    “My point exactly.”
    “Keep reading,” Hunter says.
    I look back down. Those who make the shortlist must travel to Portland for the final elimination rounds. At that time, they must be prepared to submit two previously unseen comedy videos, and they must compete with other shortlisted video contestants and do a series of stand-up routines in front of a live audience.
    I suck in a breath. A live audience? Walking across a stage? No way. “I can’t do that.”
    “Yes, you can,” Carly says. “We’ve talked about this, Paige. You can’t hide in your room forever. If you’re going to have the comedy career you want, you need to demonstrate range. You need to be way more versatile.”
    As far as Carly’s concerned, I should charge after everything I want in life. A career in comedy. Hunter. Straight hair. “I’m working on it,” I tell her. “Look at