My hands were slick with sweat. My pulse thundered in my ears. My mind flashed through every possible scenario of how this could go wrong. I was dimly aware of someone announcing my name, the sound of muffled applause somewhere in the background. My legs moved on their own, climbing the stairs up to the stage of their own accord. The stage lights blinded me as I looked out toward the crowd. I moved toward the microphone set up precisely where I didn't want to be, in the center of the stage. Moving toward the microphone, I felt as if I wasn't in control of my body anymore; as if in a dream. That both comforted me and terrified me. The closer I got, the more quiet it became. The anticipation was so thick I could almost feel myself wading through it. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I reached the microphone and the moment that would either be my triumph, or mortal embarrassment came. I was vaguely aware of opening my mouth, felt my vocal cords beginning to vibrate; my heart was beating so violently I almost had a heart attack. I have no idea if I sounded even remotely good, or if I bleated like a goat. Everything blurred together. The next thing I knew, I felt someone hugging me. After a moment, I realized that it was my older twin, Alex; a.k.a., my best friend. I hugged him back, drawing support from it. I felt my pulse calm down, felt myself relax. Alex was the best thing I had since Mom died and Dad married another woman, who considered us trash. I felt my lips curl into a smile. I wasn't alone anymore; I never have been. I didn't care if I lost the talent show; I didn't even care if I was the worst one to perform. I had Alex up here with me, and that was all I wanted.

    “ Rebecca Strovoski; singing,” the announcer called from the stage. I lounged in my seat, second row. This was the last performance, and I knew for sure that my twin would win. She walked confidently up the stage, smiling at the crowd with that smile that had always made me feel like everything would be okay. Ironically, I had been the thing holding Becca together after Mom had died. After a moment, she was at the microphone, and the auditorium was brimming with anticipation. Closing her eyes and leaning in, she began to sing. Her voice was unique, almost ethereal, but that was nothing compared to the bliss on her face as she let all her pent-up emotions loose. She was beautiful, perfect, my twin. She controlled the audience, staying unpredictable, throwing the other contestants out of line for the first place I knew would soon be hers. When the final echos of her song faded from the auditorium, it seemed as if the multitudes forgot how to breathe; very essential if you want to stay alive to see the encore I knew they would beg for. Then, thankfully, they remembered how to breathe, and the auditorium exploded. I ran forward and climbed on the stage with several screaming adults behind me. Running towards her, I threw my arms around her. She started, then hugged me back. I could feel the tension leaving her as she leaned in. I knew how nervous she had been, could see it as only a twin could; but she didn't, wouldn't, let it show. I was so proud, I thought my heart would burst. As we stood together on stage, the entire world cheering at the top of their lungs, I could feel another presence nearby. Becca and I looked up at the rafters to see, for the barest second, a glimmering white aura, before it vanished. Trading a smile, we walked down the stairs together; we both knew what we had seen, and we didn't intend on telling anyone. After all, who would believe you if you said you saw your long dead mother's ghost?