The red paint was still dripping off the hem of my daughter’s costume when she started to shake.

We exited the dressing room into the backstage corridor just as the auditorium doors were being sealed for the opening presentation.

Standing near the backstage entrance, sipping a diet soda and chatting loudly with one of the parent-teacher committee members, was Brooke. She had her phone out, clearly showing off Madison’s professional studio headshots. Madison stood beside her, looking miserably hot in her stiff, multi-layered satin gown, fidgeting with a plastic scepter.

My parents were standing right next to them, beaming with pride.

“Oh, yes,” my mother Patricia was saying loudly to another parent. “Madison’s costume was handcrafted by a master couturier in Chicago. We spare no expense when it comes to true talent.”

Marcus Vance stopped dead in his tracks. He leaned toward me, murmuring, “Is that woman claiming my friend Henri’s off-the-rack bridal flower-girl dress is custom couture?”

“Yes,” I murmured back. “Brooke bought it off the clearance rack at David’s Bridal and glued plastic rhinestones to the bodice.”

Marcus choked back a laugh that sounded like a panther coughing.

Just then, Brooke turned around. Her eyes scanned the hallway, clearly expecting to see Lily in street clothes, crying into my shoulder while I begged the organizers for a refund.

Instead, she saw Lily.

Brooke froze. Her jaw literally dropped open, her hand slipping down the paper cup of soda until it crunched in her grip.

Lily walked forward, her head held high, the carbon-fiber wings swaying with an ethereal, bird-like grace. The gold leaf on her chest caught the harsh school lighting, flashing like actual fire against the deep, oxidized red of the acrylic paint.

“What... what is that?” Brooke stammered, her voice screeching into a pitch that made several heads turn. “Emily, what did you do? I threw that garbage away!”

My mother gasped, clutching her chest. “Emily! Did you let that child put on that filthy, paint-soaked rag? She looks like she survived an explosion! She’s going to embarrass the whole family!”

My father took a menacing step forward, pointing a stubby finger at me. “Emily, take that contraption off her right now! Madison is representing the family today. You’re making a mockery of this school!”

Before I could say a single word, Marcus Vance stepped out from behind the shadow of the doorway.

“A mockery, Frank?” Marcus said, his voice ringing through the corridor like a bronze bell. “I’m curious. Since when does fine art mock the ignorant?”

Frank stopped mid-step, his finger still hanging in the air. His eyes bugged out as he recognized Marcus Vance. Frank was an amateur board member of the local historical society; he had spent the last five years trying and failing to get invited to the Lyric Opera’s annual benefactor gala.

“M-Marcus?” Frank croaked, his face draining of color. “Marcus Vance?”

Brooke didn't know who Marcus was. She only saw a tall, arrogant man interrupting her moment of dominance.

“Who the hell are you?” Brooke snarled, stepping up to Marcus. “This is a private school event for families! Emily, who is this creep you brought off the street?”

Patricia’s hand flew to Brooke’s mouth so fast it nearly knocked Brooke off balance. “Brooke, shut up! Shut your mouth!”

“Mom, what is wrong with you?” Brooke shrieked, swatting Patricia’s hand away. “She ruined the plan! Lily was supposed to be disqualified!”

The corridor went instantly, brutally quiet.

Two teachers who were holding clipboard clipboards froze. Three parent volunteers turned around in unison. Even Principal Harrison, who had just arrived with two security guards, paused at the corner of the hall.

Brooke realized what she had just blurted out. Her eyes darted around the hallway, her cheeks flaming scarlet. “I... I meant, she was supposed to be disqualified because her costume was damaged! It’s against school safety codes!”

“No, Brooke,” Principal Harrison said, stepping forward, his voice completely devoid of its earlier warmth. His face was stern, his hands holding a small tablet. “We just pulled the security feed from Corridor B. Exactly thirty-two minutes ago.”

Brooke’s breath hitched. “The... cameras?”

“Jefferson Elementary updated to digital 4K security over the summer,” Harrison said, his jaw tight. “I just watched you take tailor scissors from your purse, walk into the coat alcove, and pour an entire tin of paint over Lily Carter’s project while holding her by the wrist.”

A collective gasp rippled through the hallway.