smother. [h.s.]

9. the audition

Carmen Suite 

//play when you see *

I'm suddenly awoken by the deafening ring of a bell. My body is violently ripped from a deep sleep, the powerful buzzing startling me to my core. 

What the... 

My eyes shoot open as I take in my position on the bench. I'm no longer upright like I last remember, and am instead laying on my side with my legs curled into a ball under my arms. I'm wrapped in Harry's oversized blazer like a blanket. There's a little drool coming off of my bottom lip, some of it on the inside collar of his jacket too. 

I furrow my eyebrows in disgust as I try to wipe as much as I can away from the uniform. The bell continues to chime repeatedly, the loud sound reverberating against the stone walls around me. I cover my ears with my hands to shield myself from the overwhelming commotion and sit up gingerly. 

That's odd, I think to myself. There usually aren't any bells on Friday nights.

I turn my head towards the closed windowpane, noticing the way a thin stream of light pours through the stained glass fragments. I stand up abruptly and whip the window open, closing my eyes in sensitivity as the bright morning sun blinds me. 

It's the first bell— the one that sounds out at 8 AM each day. 

The audition. It's starting. 

*

I spring into action, scrambling to grab my bag and phone, then sprint down the steep, maze-like stairs before me. I keep my head down and watch as my feet maneuver rapidly across each step. I make sure not to slip as I charge out of the main doors. 

The ballet studio is on the other end of campus. I can make it, I'll be late but I'll still be present. I pray that they let my partner pair up with someone else or wait for my arrival. That's the only reason why I feel so bad, I would have just skipped or sent an email under other circumstances. I would have trouble forgiving myself if I ruined someone's chances at a role. The arts are taken seriously here. This could be a life-changing event for someone, and here I am, sprinting across the frosty grass fields covering the quad, panting with every wide step. 

I don't give myself time to stop and catch a breath. I glance down at my phone, wincing as I see it's 8:07 AM. 

Almost there. I run around the corner of the library building, catching my bag as it almost slips off my shoulder. I reach the performing arts center, open the entrance, and sprint down the dim hallway. 

Finally, I push through the main studio's door, entering the expansive room as quietly as I can. 

The moment I step in, all heads in the room turn to where I stand. 

About ten pairs of dancers are lined up against the wall with their hair perfectly done up, brand new ballet shoes on, and their best leotards on display. I lock eyes with Sasha and Ivan in the corner. Sasha's bun is flawlessly slicked back and her cheeks are dusted in a soft shade of baby pink. Ivan is wearing men's dancing tights with a well-fitting white top. For the first time since I've known him, he looks clean and poised. 

In the front of the room sits Miss Karenina at a table with another woman around her mature age. 

I'm frozen by the door, looking down at myself as I take in my appearance compared to theirs. My hair is unruly from the wind. My clothes are wrinkled from sleeping in them, and I'm still wearing Harry's giant blazer. The sleeves go past my fingertips and the shoulders sag. My face is unwashed; my teeth unbrushed. I've looked better.