Open When I'm Gone

12. Some Things Are Meant To Be.

It seemed like no time had passed and yet suddenly it was the day of the auditions. I felt like if I prepared anymore I might lose my mind, but that was okay, at least I was prepared. I would much rather be prepared than walk in there with my eyes closed.

"Are you ready for this?" Jolie asks, squeezing my hand as we wait outside of the auditorium.

After telling her about the auditions, she insisted she try out as well. Said she knew this was one thing she didn't want to miss out on.

"Yeah," I sigh, pulling away from her, sliding open the door.

The first thing I notice is the lighting, the dim almost mysterious lamps that line the gray siding on the walls. The brown linoleum floors click under Jolies white heels, her hands sliding over the faux plush seats clustered in groups along the aisles. My eyes drift up to the walls, built up around us in some sort of nineteenth century style with high arching ceilings like it was built to be a cathedral and not a high school theater in Colorado. The curtains were drawn, the brightest lights in the whole room making the red glow like fire under the stage lights.

It feels so familiar that it's as if a million pounds that has been weighing on me the past few months suddenly disappears. Abby said this would happen, that I would feel happier if I auditioned, but I didn't think it would be so tangible. I breathe out an audible sigh, and it's like I can stand up a bit straighter in this place I know so well.

There were more students than I expected, crowded in small groups or by themselves, singing or stretching against some of the hollow walls. Some of them laugh with each other, a boy twirling a girl in an excited circle, dipping her against himself.

Jolie and I caught the gaze of a tall boy with wavy midnight colored hair. He grins at us as he saunters over, his red Nike shirt brightening in the little light the room holds.

"Hey you guys," He hums, a grin widening his face. "Blake Reed, at your service," He sticks his hand out brightly, waiting for me to shake it. My hands tremble but I still accept the offer. I try to hold eye contact, but his piercing blue eyes push my gaze down to my feet.

"Simon," Jolie introduces for me, offering her hand out to greet him. "And I'm Jolie. I just transferred here last year from Montana."

When Jolie says my name, his eyes flash with recognition, first with shock, then pity, before they fall back to their neutral welcoming gaze.

He flashes an award winning smile, nodding energetically. "Of course! I remember seeing you on the debate team at nationals last semester, You're really good."

Her cheeks flush red, and my stomach does a flip as she replies with, "I'm really not that good. It's all about relying on your team."

"I totally get that," He replies, running his fingers through his hair. "It's the same thing with theater, you gotta rely on other people. Or else the show doesn't run well."

Jolie nods, smiling at him like he's holding the whole world.

But she intertwines her fingers with mine, squeezing tightly.

She's still here.

"Wait one second," Blake tells us, turning over his shoulder and waving to one of the girls clustered in a group by the stage. She bounces on her toes as she walks over to us, and I can't help but take in her excitement. She wears her hair in two tight french braids, a green jacket draped over her white t-shirt and black leggings, coming to halt at a pair of too-white tennis shoes. Her eyes, unlike Blakes, are an unnaturally beautiful shade of brown, verging on black with seemingly no end. She looks up at him, a bit shorter but not by much, probably just a few inches at most.