I've taken a slightly nerdy approach to pre-event music: curated mini-soundtracks based on mood. For interview jitters I open with something steady and epic like 'Time' and follow with a peppy lyric track such as 'Roar' to switch from introspective to assertive. For auditions or competitive stages, I love a high-intensity chain—'Remember the Name' into 'Lose Yourself'—and I time the songs so the climax hits right as I step up. That timing trick makes the whole entry feel like it’s scored.
When I need swagger rather than raw aggression, I pick rhythmic pop: 'Uptown Funk' or 'Can't Stop the Feeling' — they loosen up my shoulders and make me grin. I also experiment with tactile rituals: tapping a rhythm on my leg, a single breath technique, or a tiny dance move in the bathroom mirror while the chorus plays. It sounds silly, but pairing music with motion cements the confidence. The payoff is immediate: I walk in less like I’m hoping it goes well and more like I expect it will.
Quick hits — here are the go-to songs I pull out when my stomach does that nervous-flutter thing before a big moment. I like short, punchy choices with clear builds or bold lyrics.
'Lose Yourself' — instant focus and intensity, perfect for getting into a take-no-prisoners mindset. 'Remember the Name' — rhythmic, steady, and makes me feel like I’ve earned the spotlight. 'Don't Stop Me Now' — high-energy and joyful; great for shaking off nerves. 'Titanium' — powerful vocals and that soaring chorus feel like armor. 'Confident' — literal and cheeky; great when I need a sharp attitude. 'Believer' — raw, driving percussion that turns anxiety into momentum. 'Dog Days Are Over' — cathartic blast of happiness for a mental reset. 'Uptown Funk' — if I need to loosen up and be charming, this one gets my grin on.
I tend to keep these in a tiny playlist and reorder them based on the vibe I want. For interviews I’ll start calmer and build; for auditions I go straight to the heavy hitters. Music is weirdly ritualistic for me — put on the first track and suddenly I’ve already won half the battle.
Music has this weirdly reliable way of flipping nervous energy into something fierce. For me, the secret is picking songs that match exactly how I want to feel — fast beats to get my heart racing, lyrics that remind me I'm capable, and a familiar hook that snaps me out of doubt. I usually build a mini-ritual: headphones on, one warm-up track to shake out the jitters, then two or three bangers that escalate in tempo and intent. Tracks that always make the cut are 'Eye of the Tiger' for its steady, triumphant pulse, 'Lose Yourself' because the urgency in the verse feels like permission to own the moment, and 'Don't Stop Me Now' when I need pure, goofy joy before stepping out.
I also pay attention to different flavors of confidence. If I want grit, I go for 'Remember the Name' — the beat and the lyrical mantra are like a pep talk from a hype coach. For sleek, modern swagger, 'Can't Hold Us' or 'Uptown Funk' do the trick; they make me move and smile, and smiling lowers my stress before anything important. If I need to feel unstoppable in a polished way, 'Stronger' or 'Titanium' lift me up with production that feels colossal. For a cinematic boost I’ll sometimes cue 'Time' by Hans Zimmer or 'Heart of Courage' style tracks; they make whatever I'm about to do feel epic and inevitable.
I mix in a few curveballs depending on the event: 'Confident' by Demi Lovato for a no-nonsense attitude, 'Survivor' when I need reminder of resilience, and 'Dog Days Are Over' if I want euphoric energy that feels like a release. My tiny playlist is usually six songs long — it starts calm, rises to anthemic, and ends with one final power track that matches the exact tone I want to carry into the room. The real trick is association: a song tied to past wins amplifies confidence more than a random hype song. I’ve used this before presentations, auditions, and races — sometimes I’ll throw in a goofy guilty-pleasure tune at the very end just to relax the shoulders and grin. It works every time; I walk in feeling oddly invincible and usually end up grinning like an idiot, which is exactly the point.
Some days I need cinematic lift and other days a steady groove—so I split my pre-event music into two categories: hype and focus. For hype I hit 'Believer' or 'Thunderstruck' for immediate energy; their rhythm and punchlines prime me to move confidently. For focus, an instrumental like 'Lux Aeterna' quiets scatter and sharpens resolve without distracting lyrics. I also like mixing an old favorite like 'We Will Rock You' when I want communal, stomping confidence—great for team events.
I try to keep it short: a single song or two, because too long makes me overthink. The psychological trick is associating a particular track with a winning outcome—once that's built, pressing play produces the same boost every time. It’s a small ritual that reliably improves how I carry myself.
Today I wish I had a mic just to narrate my pre-game playlist, it's that theatrical in my head. For real, nothing makes me stand taller than a blaring chorus of 'Remember the Name' or 'Hall of Fame'—those tracks are basically confidence in stereo. I use them for anything competitive: presentations, pitches, sports—if adrenaline’s the engine, these are premium gasoline. I pair them with a short visualization: two deep breaths, picture the best outcome, and then let the beat carry me into action.
I also keep a two-song fallback for days when I don't want to be loud but still need boldness: 'Brave' or 'Fight Song' work as quiet anthems. Volume matters too; louder for leaving the house, medium for a quick mental reset at my desk. And yeah, tempo is everything—around 120–140 BPM gets me moving without hyperventilating. Simple routine, huge payoff, and I always end up smiling into whatever room I walk into.
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Claire is a typical nerd at school but a club DJ and a performer during weekends. She has been bullied since she started school with a particular girl named Samantha, their academy's Queen Bee and Head Cheerleader.
But little did Claire know that her bully, whom she hates the most, feels something special for her since the first time they met.
During the summer vacation, I go overseas with my boyfriend, Cornell Glover, to attend his favorite music festival that is called the Tuchella Music Festival.
When we are lining up to go into the venue under the sweltering heat of 86F, I go to the vendors nearby to buy him some iced bottled water.
But by the time I get back, Cornell is gone. To make things worse, my digital ticket shows that it has already been checked in.
Anxious, I call him and ask, "Have you gone in? Why does my ticket show that I've checked in?"
Cornell replies, "Oh. I ran into Ellie Valdez, the intern from our department, just now. She was crying at the entrance because she couldn't get a ticket, so I gave yours to her."
"Are you crazy? I was the one who got us those VIP front-row seats!" I exclaim.
"Come on. It's not like you're interested in rock music. You'd just be scrolling on your phone after you get in. Ellie is a diehard fan. Don't you think you should let someone who appreciates the music have this instead?" Cornell says nonchalantly.
I am so shocked that I don't know what to say.
After a few seconds, I say in disbelief, "So you left me out here, all alone, for an intern's sake?"
Cornell sounds dismissive as he says, "You can hear the music from outside anyway. Just find somewhere to sit and wait until the music festival ends. Don't be so selfish."
I listen to the long, monotonous beep after he hangs up on me for a moment before calling my lead singer brother right away.
A month before the SATs, I, Jenny Reid, could see my score.
Literally. It was just floating right above my head. But there was a catch.
Every time I cracked open a prep book, my score would drop by ten points. But if I skipped a day of school? It jumped right back up by ten.
So, I played the system. For a whole month, I barely lifted a finger. And on the day of the test, the number glowing over my head was a solid 1560.
When the scores finally dropped online… I'd scored a 500.
And the 1560? That was my little sister Patricia's score.
My parents lost it. As punishment, they got me a grueling night-shift job at a local electronics factory. That first night, a bunch of guys I'd never seen before cornered me in the parking lot and beat me half to death.
Fading in and out of consciousness, I heard my sister's voice right by my ear.
"You just had to one-up me, didn't you? Thought you were so smart… but you never figured out I was the one controlling that number over your head."
The truth hit me like a physical blow. The score had been her trick all along.
I opened my eyes—and I was back. One month before the SATs. The number above my head read exactly 1300.
"Hey," my sister said, all fake sweetness. "Want to study together tonight? We can go over the practice tests."
I looked at the stack of papers in my own hands. Without a word, I pulled out my lighter and set them on fire right there in the driveway.
"Exams are coming," I said, watching the flames. "I'm not studying."
My score ticked up to 1310. My sister's face was this perfect mask of disappointment, but the second I turned away, I caught the sly smile she couldn't quite hide.
She had no idea… the real performance, the one I'd been rehearsing just for her, was finally about to begin.
In a music competition show, my rival unexpectedly played the melody I had in my mind before I could.
Shocked, I confronted her, asking why she plagiarized me. However, she turned the accusation against me and said, "You said I stole your work, but do you have any proof?"
However, I was unable to provide any concrete evidence. Thus, I was labeled as a bully and a plagiarist, ultimately meeting a tragic end. Even in my final moments, I couldn't figure out how she managed to steal something from my mind.
When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on that same stage.
Seeing that my rival was about to play her part, I stopped her and said, "This time, it's my turn to go first."
Before the final match of the national championship, I received some devastating news. As the team captain, I was accused of having stimulants in my water.
I was immediately disqualified from the competition and faced severe penalties, including the possibility of a lifetime ban.
Amid the overwhelming boos and jeers from the audience, all I wanted was to prove my innocence to my girlfriend.
When I called her, she said in mockery, “It’s just 300,000 dollars. You aren’t that broke, are you?”
“You’ve already earned more than enough honors. If you’d let Ethan play earlier, I wouldn’t have had to pull this move.
“He’s been diagnosed with cancer. He doesn’t have much time left. I had to make his last wish come true.”
She had no idea that this match was not just any competition for me. It was my last before retirement.
I wanted to win the championship. I wanted to propose to her. I also planned to reveal my identity as the heir of Everglory Group.
Quinn Parker has a system: keep her grades up, keep her feelings private, and absolutely never act like the kind of girl who screams over a boy band, no matter how many NEON ATLAS songs she has memorized.
So when the group’s lead singer, Jace Wilder, is chased through the arena hallway before a sold out show, Quinn reacts on pure instinct: she yanks him behind a giant fake pot plant, yells his name, and points the stampede of fans in the wrong direction.
Jace disappears with security. Quinn goes back to her life. End of story.
Except a week later, Quinn lands an after school cleaning job at a luxury rental and opens the door to find Jace Wilder alone, exhausted, and nothing like his shining, onstage self. He tries to flip the charm back on when he realizes she’s the girl who saved him, but Quinn doesn’t buy it. She makes him a coffee, tells him to sit down, and treats him like a normal person for the first time in a long time.
Quinn isn’t falling for a fantasy. She doesn’t even know him.
But the more time she spends in his offstage world, between rehearsals, rumours, and the pressure to always smile, the harder it becomes to ignore the quiet, real boy behind the spotlight… and the fact that he’s starting to look at her like she’s the only place he can breathe.