I couldn't help but feel out of place as I strutted around the stage. Well, not out of place...since I had always felt at home on the stage, as long as I was singing. And I was singing at the moment...so I felt at home. But at the same time, I felt...odd. I felt like I was overstepping my bounds, stealing something that wasn't mine.
And I think it was all because of the outfit they put me in. I looked good; that much was true. Everyone assured me it was so, particularly Ben, who swore on all that was holy to him (not much...but what made it through was powerful) that I looked absolutely perfect. And the fans seemed to like it, I think. I wasn't quite sure if they were screaming from my singing, or from my outfit and getup, or both. I hoped it wasn't just the outfit...since I was up there for the singing.
I guess I thought it looked good too. At least, when I looked in the mirror, I saw an attractive, if less than familiar, young man. The dark red, almost black, leather pants they had tugged onto me (with some difficulty...they were that tight) were just the right shade to bring out the bright red highlights they had streaked into my hair (which was black, and had been for a few months after they finally convinced me to stop dying it red). The black shirt shot with silver was loose, but clung to my body in ways that shouldn't have been possible. And the rest just worked with it...perfectly.
Yeah, I looked good. But it wasn't me. I was comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt, or sometimes just the jeans. Casual was perfect, and I would have felt more at home on that stage wearing just casual, except that no one would accept that of me, or of any of the others. We weren't just playing our music for fun anymore. We were performing, and that meant that we would be seen as well as heard, and that we had to look our best. The others were used to it; they'd been doing it for years now. But me...it was my first performance as an actual member of the band.
I was scared stiff, though I strutted around the stage and sang anyway. I tried to make it look a little more natural, like I was having fun, and before long I had myself believing it. That was the first step to enjoying it, rather than being so consumed by fear that I couldn't do anything without every single person in the audience realizing that I was an amateur, and that I really wasn't suited to be a part of this newly revitalized band.
But that didn't mean it felt natural. Sure, Rhythm had told me over and over and over again that it was one of the most basic rules for self-confidence. "If you got it, flaunt it," he had told me time and time again. He insisted that in order to succeed, one had to take a stance of pure arrogance and total self confidence. He claimed that if you weren't convinced that you were good enough, in either looks or sound, to make the others love you, then you never would. And he had a point, I guess.
But still, it wasn't me.
"If you got it, flaunt it..." I whispered to myself during a pause, making sure to avoid the mike in my hand. Then I continued Rhythm's words from that first time he brought the subject up. "You got it, Kei. You know it, so why worry?"