She stopped in front of the DJ. He was a young guy, and he was staring at her with his mouth slightly open like the rest of us.
“Excuse me,” Mia said, and her voice was small but it was steady. “May I please borrow your microphone?”
The DJ looked at Claire. Claire — who had one hand pressed over her mouth, tears streaming down her own face — nodded quickly.
He handed Mia the microphone.
She held it in both hands. I could see them trembling. This tiny girl, in front of two hundred people, holding a microphone that seemed almost too big for her hands. My heart was pounding so hard I thought I might faint. I wanted to run to her, to protect her, to take her out of that room where a grown woman had just told her she was unlovable.
But something told me to stand still. Something told me this was hers.
