Alma.

The application to become the dancer for the most popular and wealthiest singer: Clifford, was holding right at a musical building in the school compound.

The magnificent and beautiful building was built purposely for Clifford and his bands.

Unlike other school days, the school was extremely busy with ladies from different states, they were hundreds and its really surprising to know that Clifford’s management will only pick one dancer.

Everyone knows Clifford as the best singer, he wins practically all song context but lost the recent one cause he didn’t have a dancer.

Now that he needs a dancer badly, I would definitely be applying.

I know I stand a little chance of winning but since applying doesn’t hurt, I decided to apply.

Jennifer ran to me on seeing me.

She was my best friend.

“Alma!” She called my name and we hugged.

“You could have come to class first.” She said.

“No no, don’t you see the number of people that applied, my number is 40… some people’s number are above 100, I don’t want to slack on this.” I said.

She licked her lower lips and said; “But…you know you are wasting your time, Alma. Everyone knows Clifford hates you and the last thing he would ever want is to have you as his dancer…”

“Are you discouraging me already?” I asked.

“No…” She said and glanced at the crowds of applicants.

“I actually have a plan…”

“Tell me about it?” She requested.

I brought out a facial skin mask and said; “I will put this on once it’s my turn, if I luckily get picked, I will then come forward as myself.”

Jennifer was quiet for a while and said; “I won’t discourage you, I’ll sit here until you are done…Good luck.”

She then went to sit.

I waited for a while until it was the turn for number 40 to be called.

“Number 40, your turn.” Someone shouted from the inside and I walked in.

I appeared in a large and very beautiful hall, I was on a stage while Clifford, his four bands and his management sat as judges.

“Show us your dancing skills.” His manager said and one of Clifford’s music was played.

It was my favorite song of his.

I began to dance. Dad used to tell me that my dancing skills will make way for me and I believed it.

In the past, I had danced flawlessly. I had participated in many local dance context and won.

But this is a professional one that requires extra skill and…grace.

I heard claps from them all of a sudden and an expression of happiness could be read on their faces.

Clifford was the first to stand.

“This is beautiful.” He said and clapped the more.

His four brothers stood too and continued clapping, then his management stood up and clapped for me.

My head swell and I can’t help but ask myself if I had been picked or…

I was confused.

“Congratulations.” I finally heard his manager said and I screamed happily to the top of my voice.

My mind drifted to how I would bless my poor and devasted parents with money earned from being Clifford’s Dancer.

God! This is a dream come through for me.

Bob whispered some words into the ear of Clifford, he then turned to him and said; “Yes, dismiss the rest. This lady here is so good. I love her dancing skills.” His manager went out to dismiss everyone.

My happiness would have been full if I was my real self but I was actually putting on a mask.

God help me, I was extremely nervous.

They all walked to the stage and began to shake me hands to hands one after the other , saying; “Congratulation,Welcome to the band.”

I shook the first four brothers and then, it was Clifford’s turn.

I had heard Clifford vowed during an interview on the television that he would never see any reason to touch poor people.

I don’t understand why he hates us so much but here is, about to touch me.

He probably thought I was rich.

“Are you wealthy?” He asked softly before he extended his hand to shake me.

It won’t be good if I lie in my very first conversation with him.

Afterall, they need my skill and not my identity.

“No.” I shook my head in response.

He ran a distance away from me and began to examine his body.

“Call the doctor, she’s poor, she must have contacted me with a germ.” He said and his manager ran out hurriedly.

He came back with a middle aged doctor and the man began to quickly examine Clifford.

What! What exactly does he see poor people as?

Jeez!

“You are fine sir!” The doctor said to Clifford and he breathed heavily.

“Bob! what we’re you doing that you didn’t know a poor girl applied for my contest?” He shouted at Bob.

I angrily removed the face mask on my face and shouted painfully; “I’m poor and I’m proud of it…I will be rich someday too.”

I ran out with tears pouring heavily from my face. Not like I chose poverty, I was just a victim.

And there I was, being treated like the custodian of germs.