Early that evening, as Bindi made her way down the corridor backstage, she could feel her tummy give a flip. Her pre-performance butterflies had arrived. Small or large, she never failed to get them. Bindi had even categorised them into actual butterfly species. Tonight’s butterflies, she decided, were the lemon migrant, a favourite species of hers, which was found in tropical Australia. ‘Come on, guys,’ she whispered to her tummy. ‘Give us a good performance!’ The corridor was abuzz with pre-show preparation. Singers were warming up their voices, technicians were hastily preparing last minute details, producers and organisers were racing around, consulting clipboards and speaking in low voices into their walkie-talkies. Bindi caught sight of Tess and Ella at the door of the change room. They were dressed and in make-up and looked fantastic in their convict costumes. Tess gave Bindi a wave. ‘I’m so excited!’ Bindi smiled. ‘Me too. You guys look fantastic, but look at me.
