Stepping Out Read Online Free PDF Page A

ITCF will get me agency representation,” I tell her. “It’ll open doors for me that I’d never be able to open myself.”
    “Just as long as you’re sure,” she says.
    “I’m sure.” I’m already thinking about what I’ll do for my two new video bits.
    She reaches for the towel. “Don’t worry so much about walking out onto that stage. Concentrate on your material. Make it the best it can be. And have fun spending the money Grandpa gave you too.”
    “I will.” He’s given me three hundred dollars for clothes and to get my hair cut. “Don’t worry about me, Mom. I’m going to win. And thanks to Grandpa, I’ll be a winner who looks good too.”

Five
    I ’m so stoked to work on my new material that it’s still dark outside when I wake up Saturday morning. I throw on a pair of sweats and go to the kitchen, where I quietly make toast and peanut butter and nuke a cup of hot chocolate. Back in my room, I lose myself for the next couple of hours working on a First Paige Monday vlog and then outlining a new video for the contest. By the time I’m finished, the smell of bacon is wafting underneath my bedroom door, and it’s almost ten o’clock.
    Ready for company and a second breakfast, I wander down the hall to the kitchen. I’m almost to the doorway when I hear my sister say, “I can’t believe you’d let her do this.”
    I stop. Brooke knows I’ve been shortlisted. Of course, she’s choked. She hates it when I get more attention than she does. When we were little and I had all those surgeries, she would get mad when people brought me gifts and stuff. Maybe she felt left out. I don’t know.
    “It’s Paige’s decision,” Mom says. “Not ours.”
    “She’ll totally make an ass of herself.”
    Really? That’s what she thinks?
    “I certainly hope not,” Mom says.
    “She’d better not say anything about me. Home stuff is off-limits.”
    “Paige knows that.”
    I do, but like Grandpa said, I’m either in it to win or I’m in it to lose. And since comedy is all about weirdness, of course I’ll use my family. That’s another reason I don’t want Brooke or my parents there.
    “Nobody thinks she’s funny,” Brooke says. “Some kids call her the freak.”
    The freak . My insides turn to mush. Brooke is the one who calls me the freak. Nobody else. I start to tremble.
    “I certainly hope you stop them,” Mom says sharply. “That’s unacceptable.”
    “Of course I stop them.”
    Yeah right. If anybody called me a freak, my sister would probably agree. I know I should turn around and go back to my bedroom. But I don’t. Instead I walk the last few steps and stop in the kitchen doorway. “Time out.”
    They turn to look at me. Brooke’s eyes widen. Mom goes white.
    I stroll to the counter, exaggerating my limp because I know it pisses my sister off. “Even freaks need their morning coffee.” I pause for a heartbeat. “Hey, that could be a bumper sticker. I should get on that.” And I laugh.
    Because if you’re laughing, you can’t be sad.

    Mom never gets involved in our fights. You girls need to work things out yourselves, she’s always said. But this time when Brooke offers me a grudging apology, I figure Mom made her do it. I’m fine with that. I’m also fine with the fact that Brooke avoids me for most of the weekend.
    That afternoon I pull out some old material that never made it to YouTube to see if anything can be rejigged for the contest, and I spend an hour commenting on a few other YouTube vlogs. It’s fun to see what other people are doing, and it’s a great way to boost my profile. At the mall on Sunday, I study people. It’s a comedian’s job to notice stuff (that’s according to Chris Rock, who used a different word for stuff ), so I spend hours observing, jotting down notes and thinking about my new routines.
    I almost manage to bury Brooke’s hurtful words. And so what if she doesn’t think I’m funny? That’s nothing new. She hasn’t laughed at one