Brighton Part One

Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Tracy's given some Advil the next morning before she jumps in the shower. She feels awkward when Amelia strips down, showering right beside her. Living the communal lifestyle in the dorm still brings a few new shocks, but Amelia tries to assure Tracy that everything will take some time to adjust.

"Come on, I don't bite under the water! Maybe a few kisses if you let me wash your back," she says, smiling and giggling, "I'm kiddin'; get in here. We need to get to our first sessions. They hate tardiness, and if you're late, they'll embarrass you."

Finally letting go of the towel, Tracy steps to the shower beside Amelia. Twisting the knobs, Tracy adjusts the water and then steps under the water, but while she stands there soaking her body, she looks over, admiring Amelia's athletically toned body.

"I have to say, you're a hotty," Tracy admits, slapping her hand over her mouth.

Amelia smiles, closes her eyes, and nods, "Thank you. You're quite a looker yourself! I'd love to have those hips of yours and your perkiness. Ugh, and I am so jealous of your long hair and its layers."

"Thank you. I hate my hips, but I love my hair." Tracy replies while she runs her hands through it.

Quickly shaving and washing herself off, Tracy dries off and uses her hairdryer to rush before getting dressed. Tracy tries to hurry to get her schedule, but the elevator stays in heavy use, so she decides to take the stairs.

When she reaches the first floor, Tracy dashes past others standing around the auditorium, where she finds everyone has gathered around the instructor for voice training. The female instructor notices Tracy trying to sneak in but calls her out the moment she stands still.

"Excuse me, you must be Miss Wilcox. You're two minutes late," the tall skinny woman announces in a New York accent, pushing her wire-framed glasses back up her nose, "That tells me you aren't in need of my services as much as the others who made it on time."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. The elevator was held up. I know that's a lame excuse, but I promise I will not be late again."

Not impressed, the instructor introduces herself, "I surely hope not. I am Cheryl Slater. You would not have missed that part if you had been here on time. I am not a 'ma'am.' Since you apparently have more talent, I want to hear you switch your dialect to a Western European style. Let's hear what you can do with a Norwich accent from England."

Tracy tries to quickly clear her throat, caught off guard by not knowing there's much of a difference in an English accent, "I say, Ms. Slater, it's a lovely day to make your acquaintance."

Pushing her tongue against her closed lips while some of the others chuckle, Cheryl reaches back, tugging her hair in a ponytail, "You have promise. I can see why Dylan had some praise about you," she quits talking, pressing her left index finger to her lips for a moment, "However, you need to dig into your research more. That would have been excellent had that been the lower part of England. Like here in America, not all accents and dialects are the same. You're obviously from around the Texas-Arkansas region, and it shows, but that twang isn't the same as someone from Georgia or Virginia. My thoughts to focus on before you take your final lessons here is to research accents. Now that we can move on, this session's feature presentation is the play, Our Town. For those unfamiliar with Thorton Wilder's 1938 play, I want you to find it anywhere you can across the web this evening."

Glad to have attention taken off her, Tracy breathes a sigh of relief. She takes a notebook to start taking notes. The first session lasts nearly two hours, and Tracy walks into the main corridor when it's over. Nearly two dozen other students gather around the lunch doors, waiting for them to be allowed in to eat. While she waits, Tracy takes out her earbuds to search for the assignment.