I suppose when you think about it, that’s all they are– strangers. People who don’t know me, what I stand for or what I am like. I am a nobody– a blank slate in dungarees who is standing on this stage eager and up for the challenge. I can’t be predictable to them; they don’t know me or my next move.
I can be a girl who dives.
‘Are you two ready?’ he asks, grinning at both of us.
It’s now or never.
‘Hell, yeah!’ I yell into his mic.
The crowd roars, the sound helping to steady my stomach. They’re on my side. They like me. I will be OK.
‘Well, then, let’s get this started, shall we?’ the host’s voice booms. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to. . .’
‘PAINT THAT MATE!’
The klaxon blares almost immediately, the sound jolting through my body and pumping my blood round at two times its normal speed. My heart leaps at the challenge, the deafening screams of the crowd spurring me on as I switch into game mode with no time to lose.
I tear open the envelope, the animosity in my grip almost ripping the paper inside with it. But it survives well enough for me to make out the wordplane, typed out in clear, unmistakable font. An aeroplane? How I’m meant to draw a plane when I can’t use my hands is beyond me, but I need to figure it out asap if I want to even stand a chance.
I rush across the stage to the paint, almost skidding as I leg it to the sound of cheers. Four large barrels stand before me,coming up to the height of my ribs, filled with red, yellow, blue and black paint.
‘Mix it! Mix it!’
The screams increase as my opponent gains on me, throwing his full arm into the red paint elbow-first before doing the same with the blue. He is covered. These anoraks may have come with ‘sleeves’, but they’re wide open and billowy, and as fake as can be. He doesn’t seem to care, scurrying back to his canvas and throwing his arm at the slate like a windmill. That’s what I need to do. Throw caution to the wind and, for once, just get out of my head.
So I do.
The noise level soars as I turn my back to the first barrel, using my arms to prop me over it so I can dunk myself in. I sink into the paint slowly, the sensation dense and vaguely off-putting as I drop further in. There’s no stopping me now– I am quite literally in too deep. I wiggle emphatically, ensuring that the colour will stick before repeating the same with the yellow and blue. Then I sprint for my canvas, throwing my entire back into it before smearing the canvas in the muddled blackish browny grey I’ve created. I need the body of the plane to take up as much space as possible– once I have the foundation, the wings should be easy. It’s going to take at least three or four trips to those barrels, but I will make it work.
I should be embarrassed, ashamed, mortified, even– this goes against every fibre of my being. But the undying support from the crowd echoes around the room, blocking my thoughts and filling my head with a strong, fiery delusion. I let their cheers guide me, consume my being as I play to their smiles, ducking and weaving and grinding up on my canvas in time to the music. They want a show and I’m giving it to them, much to their glee.
‘A PLANE!’ They shout out the answer in unison as I smear a blue sky on my canvas with a swipe of my arm.
‘We have a winner!’ The host bounds over to me.
I can barely hear. My head’s pounding with unabashed jubilation.
His hand grabs my own, launching it into the air as the audience hollers louder than humanly possible. Then he smiles widely, handing me a T-shirt and gift card, and gesturing for me to bow for my adoring fans. I do so somehow, my body on autopilot, powered purely by the screams of the people before me. I’m led backstage to remove the anorak and wipe off any excess paint. With shaky legs, I make my way back to my friends, who don’t release me from a squished, euphoric group hug until we have returned to the dance floor.
‘That was unbelievable! You are unbelievable!’ Raina yells as they cling to me for the fourth consecutive minute.
‘And incredibly hot. Seriously, you were onfireup there. Devi got it all on camera,’ Kimi adds.
‘Yeah, we knew you could move, but not likethat. I don’t know what came over you up there, but you should keep it,’ Devi says.
She flashes the screen in my face and I watch myself come to life, owning that stage like I was born to be there. The girl in the video is confident and sexy, almost ethereal. She’s the girl in the dress from the La La Lounge.
‘Send me that,’ I say and Devi obliges immediately, the video pinging through to my phone in its grainy glory.
Free drinks aside, there’s only one thing on my mind. I slam my thumb on the forward button, leaving it caption-free. The video speaks for itself– there’s no need to say more. Less than a minute later, my phone buzzes and a smile forces its way across my cheeks as I read his words once, twice, three times over. It’stwo messages– simple, but all that I needed to pave over a dip in my gut that I’ve only just realised was still there.
Not bad, Maddy.
Now that’s what I call unpredictable.
Nudge 17
The Lucy Hayward of It All
