Chapter 3: The Warning Before the Spotlight
I read the message so many times that the words began to blur.
Vanessa knows about the signature.
She's already spoken to the competition director.
Maya leaned over my shoulder.
“Who sent that?””
“I don't know.””
“Can you call the number?””
I tried.
The call went straight to voicemail.
Maya folded her arms.
“This is getting ugly.””
“It was ugly before.””
“Now someone is warning you to stop.””
I slipped the phone into my pocket and looked toward the auditorium doors.
For the first time, the plan I'd built so carefully felt less like a clever solution and more like standing on a narrow bridge while someone quietly removed the boards behind me.
If Vanessa knew about the fluorescent signature, she might try to cover it. She might replace the wings. She might find a way to keep Brianna off the stage during the UV sequence.
Worse, she might convince the organizers that I was the one trying to sabotage the competition.
Maya touched my arm.
“Nia, we can go to the director ourselves.””
“And say what? That my stepmother stole my costume and is planning to interfere with the show?””
“We have the sketches.””
“But not proof she contacted him.””
“Then we ask him.””
I looked at the stage.
A technician was adjusting the UV spotlight while another checked the control board. The light was switched off, but its position was unmistakable.
“I want to see what Vanessa told him first,” I said.
Maya frowned.
“That's risky.””
“So is letting her get there before us.””
We crossed the auditorium and approached Mr. Collins, the competition's technical director.
He was a broad-shouldered man in his fifties who wore a headset around his neck and carried three different pens clipped to his shirt pocket.
“Morning, girls,” he said.
“You're early.””
“I wanted to check the lighting sequence,” I replied.
“I'm helping with the theater crew.””
“Right, right. You're the one who designed the rose wings.””
My heart jumped.
“You remember?””
“Of course. You showed me the concept drawings last week. Very impressive work.””
Maya and I exchanged a glance.
I took a breath.
“Mr. Collins, has anyone asked you to change the UV lighting for the final round?””
His expression shifted.
“Why do you ask?””
“Because I received a message saying someone had spoken to you about my costume.””
He removed his headset.
“Who sent it?””
“I don't know.””
He studied my face.
“Nia, I need you to understand something. The competition has rules. If you have a concern about another contestant, it must go through the judges. We can't make special arrangements for one person.””
“I don't want special arrangements.””
“Then what do you want?””
“For the planned lighting sequence to happen exactly as advertised.””
He looked at the control board.
“That was always the plan.””
“Has anyone asked you to cancel it?””
Mr. Collins hesitated.
That was enough.
“Mr. Collins,” I said, “I made the crimson rose angel costume. My stepsister took it from my bedroom and plans to compete in it.
I have sketches, photographs, and receipts. If you change the lighting because someone asks you to, you'll be helping conceal a theft.””
His face became serious.
“Are you making a formal accusation?””
“Yes.””
The word came out more steadily than I expected.
He looked toward the doors, where volunteers were beginning to unload decorations.
“Come to my office at noon,” he said.
“Bring your documentation. Don't confront anyone in the meantime.””
I nodded.
As we walked away, Maya whispered, “That was terrifying.””
“I know.””
“You sounded like a lawyer.””
“I sounded like someone who is tired of being ignored.””
At noon, we sat in Mr. Collins's small office beside the auditorium.
The room smelled of coffee and printer toner. A stack of contestant forms sat on one side of his desk, and a Halloween poster hung crookedly behind him.
I laid out my sketches, receipts, and photographs.
Mr. Collins examined each item carefully.
He paused over a photograph showing the wings spread across my worktable, surrounded by tools and loose petals.
“When was this taken?””
“October seventeenth.””
“And the materials receipts?””
“September twenty-eighth through October fifteenth.””
He picked up the sketch of the hidden signature.
“This design is unusual.””
“My mother taught me the technique. I adapted it for the costume.””
“Can you demonstrate it?””
I took the fabric sample from my bag.
He switched off the desk lamp and aimed the UV flashlight at the cloth.
The hidden rose bloomed in bright pink light.
Mr. Collins leaned closer.
“That's remarkable.””
“It's also how I can prove the wings are mine.””
He examined the initials.
“E.R.?””
“My mother's name was Evelyn Rose.””
His expression softened.
“I'm sorry for your loss.””
“Thank you.””
He set down the flashlight.
“I won't cancel the lighting sequence. But I need to be careful about how this is handled. The competition is a public event, and I can't disqualify someone solely because another contestant makes an accusation.””
“I understand.””
“If the costume reveals evidence of ownership, I'll refer the matter to the judges. I'll also preserve the technical schedule so no one can claim we changed the lights to target a contestant.””
“That's all I'm asking.””
He nodded.
Then his office phone rang.
He answered, listened, and looked at me.
“Yes, Vanessa. She's here now.””
My stomach tightened.
Mr. Collins put the call on speaker.
Vanessa's voice filled the room.
“Mr. Collins, I hope you're not allowing Nia to interfere with Brianna's preparation.””
He glanced at me.
“I haven't made any decisions about the contestants.””
“Good. Because Brianna has worked very hard on her costume, and I understand Nia has been making some rather disturbing claims.””
I gripped the edge of my chair.
Mr. Collins replied evenly, “Nia has provided documentation for a concern. The judges will review it according to the competition rules.””
There was a pause.
Then Vanessa laughed lightly.
“Documentation? What could a teenager possibly document about a costume she claims to have made?””
I stared at the phone.
Every photograph. Every sketch. Every receipt.
Vanessa had not even bothered to ask what I had brought.
She had already decided nobody would believe me.
Mr. Collins said, “That will be for the judges to determine.””
“Of course,” Vanessa replied.
“I simply hope you won't allow family jealousy to ruin a wonderful evening.””
Then she added, in a colder voice, “And I would hate for a misunderstanding to damage the reputation of the event.””
The line went silent.
Mr. Collins slowly set the receiver down.
Maya looked at him.
“Was that a threat?””
“Not one I can formally characterize as such,” he said.
“But I'll document the call.””
I gathered my papers.
As I reached the door, he spoke again.
“Nia?””
I turned.
“Whatever happens, don't tamper with the costume or the lighting. Let the evidence speak for itself.””
“I will.””
Outside the office, Maya exhaled.
“Your stepmother is unbelievable.””
“She thinks the rules belong to whoever can pressure people the hardest.””
“And what do you think?””
I looked down at my mother's handwriting on the edge of the sketch.
“I think the truth should be able to survive a little pressure.””
We spent the afternoon preparing for the competition.
I couldn't enter the costume as originally planned because Brianna had taken it, but the rules allowed contestants to submit a design portfolio alongside their presentation. Mr. Collins had confirmed that I could still participate if I presented a separate piece of work.
So I returned to my mother's old sewing box.
Inside were scraps of black velvet, copper wire, and a handful of crimson petals left over from the costume. I had saved them because I never threw away fabric that might still be useful.
By sunset, I had built a small sculptural rose crown.
It wasn't as dramatic as the wings. It wouldn't spread across a stage or catch the audience's attention from the back row.
But it was mine.
I placed it on the table beside my portfolio and photographed it.
Then I received another message.
This time, the number was familiar.
Brianna.
*BRIANNA:* Mom says you're trying to get me disqualified.
I stared at the screen.
*ME:* I'm trying to stop you from pretending you made my costume.
*BRIANNA:* You can't prove anything.
I looked at the photographs and receipts spread across my desk.
*ME:* Are you sure?
Three dots appeared, disappeared, and appeared again.
*BRIANNA:* You have no idea what Mom can do.
I almost replied.
Instead, I put the phone down.
A minute later, it rang.
Brianna's name flashed across the screen.
I answered.
“What do you want?””
“Stop this,” she said.
Her voice was no longer playful. In the background, I could hear a television and Vanessa talking to someone.
“Stop what?””
“You know exactly what. The blacklight thing.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“So you know about the signature.””
“I know you're planning to embarrass me.””
“You embarrassed yourself when you took something that wasn't yours.””
“Mom says the signature is just a decorative effect. You can't prove ownership with a bunch of glowing paint.””
“It's my handwriting. My design. My mother's initials.””
Brianna gave a sharp laugh.
“Your mother's initials don't make the costume yours.””
“The sketches do. The receipts do. The photographs do.””
“You think people care about that? They want a show. They want someone beautiful onstage. They don't want a sad story about a girl who can't handle sharing.””
“Sharing requires permission.””
“Don't lecture me.””
“Then stop calling me.””
She went quiet.
For a moment, I thought she had hung up.
Then she spoke again.
“Do you know what happens if I lose?””
I said nothing.
“Mom has already told everyone I'm going to win. Dad invited people from work. My friends are coming.
The local paper is covering the finale. If you expose me, everyone will know.””
“They should know the truth.””
“You'll destroy this family.””
The words struck a familiar place inside me.
For years, Vanessa had used the same threat in different forms. If I spoke up, I was ungrateful. If I defended myself, I was selfish. If I refused to surrender something, I was tearing the family apart.
I took a slow breath.
“Brianna, I didn't steal your costume.””
“You're doing this because you're jealous.””
“No,” I said.
“I'm doing this because I'm done being afraid of you.””
I ended the call.
My hands shook for several seconds afterward.
Then I opened my notebook and wrote down the time of the call and what Brianna had said.
I didn't know whether it would matter.
But I had finally learned that silence was the only evidence Vanessa and Brianna could use against me.
The next morning, I arrived at the competition venue two hours before the doors opened.
The town's community arts center had been transformed into a Halloween wonderland. Black fabric covered the walls. Paper bats hung from the ceiling. Orange lights illuminated the entrance, and a long red carpet led toward the stage.
Contestants moved through the backstage corridors carrying props, garment bags, and makeup cases.
Brianna stood near the dressing rooms, surrounded by friends.
She wore a black robe over my costume, hiding the wings beneath it. Vanessa adjusted the copper halo while giving instructions to a makeup artist.
When Brianna saw me, her smile faltered.
I was carrying my portfolio and the small rose crown.
Vanessa noticed me a moment later.
She walked toward me, her heels clicking against the concrete floor.
“You actually came,” she said.
“I'm a contestant.””
“You're presenting a little craft project.””
“I'm presenting my work.””
Vanessa glanced at the rose crown.
“That's unfortunate.””
“Why?””
“Because people will compare it to Brianna's costume.””
“They should.””
Her jaw tightened.
“You have one last chance to do the sensible thing. Withdraw from the competition, and we can put this behind us.””
I looked at her.
“Will you give me my costume back?””
“No.””
“Will Brianna admit she didn't make it?””
“Absolutely not.””
“Then there's nothing to discuss.””
Vanessa stepped closer.
“Listen to me carefully. If you humiliate Brianna tonight, your father will never forgive you.””
I held her gaze.
“That's his decision.””
For the first time since I had known her, Vanessa seemed unable to find an immediate answer.
She recovered quickly, of course.
“You always were a difficult child.””
“And you always thought that meant I would eventually give in.””
I walked past her.
Behind me, I heard her heels strike the floor as she turned toward Brianna.
Their voices became a low, urgent whisper.
I didn't need to hear the words to know they were frightened.
At five o'clock, the judges gathered backstage.
Mr. Collins approached me with a clipboard.
“Your portfolio has been registered. You'll present after the second contestant.””
“Thank you.””
He lowered his voice.
“One more thing. The organizers received a request to remove the UV sequence from the finale.””
My stomach dropped.
“From Vanessa?””
“I'm not at liberty to say who submitted it.””
“What happened?””
“The judges voted to retain the sequence. It's part of the published program, and changing it now would be unfair to the other contestants.””
I let out a breath.
“Thank you.””
“Don't thank me yet,” he said.
“The decision about the costume is still up to the judges. If the situation becomes confrontational, follow the event staff's instructions.””
“I will.””
He moved away.
Maya arrived moments later and hugged me tightly.
“Tell me everything.””
I explained what Mr. Collins had said.
Maya looked toward the dressing rooms, where Brianna was laughing too loudly at something one of her friends had said.
“She's acting like she isn't scared.””
“She doesn't know how to act any other way.””
“Are you scared?””
I glanced at the portfolio in my hands.
“Yes.””
Maya squeezed my shoulder.
“Good.””
I frowned.
“Good?””
“It means you understand what's at stake. Just don't let fear make your decision for you.””
A stage manager called the contestants to their positions.
The audience began entering the hall. Through the curtains, I could hear hundreds of voices blending into a steady roar.
I found my place in the lineup and opened my portfolio to the first page.
My mother's handwriting stared back at me.
When you make something yourself, you leave a little of your heart inside it.
I ran my thumb over the words.
Then the stage manager appeared at the end of the corridor.
“Contestants, we're starting in five minutes.””
As the others moved toward the stage, I noticed Vanessa standing beside the lighting booth.
She was speaking to a man wearing an event staff badge. Her expression was calm, but her fingers were gripping his sleeve.
He shook his head.
She leaned closer and said something I couldn't hear.
Then she turned and looked directly at me.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
I understood then that she had not come to the competition merely to support Brianna.
She had come to make certain I never had the chance to tell the truth.
The stage manager called my name.
I stepped forward.
And from behind the lighting booth, Vanessa lifted her phone, pressed a button, and sent someone a message.
My own phone vibrated in my pocket.
I looked down.
The message contained a single photograph.
It showed my crimson rose wings laid out on a table backstage.
Someone had painted over the hidden signature.
May you like
And beneath the photograph were six words:
*YOUR LITTLE TRICK WON'T WORK TONIGHT.*
