ANDRO [VOL. 1]

Track #1

Line after line of girls doing vocal warm-ups, dancers stretching or trying to sweat off the morning bloat. Girls practicing their bars or reviewing the lyrics to another song. Girls dabbing their cheeks with makeup to conceal any flaws and enhance their strengths. Girls from all over Washington came to the ACT Theatre in Seattle for a chance to perform in front of talent scouts and record executives in the hopes of getting picked. It was an opportunity that came once every five years and shined a light on the state drenched in rain. All in front of the bulletin board collecting dust.

A beat-up truck pulled up in the parking lot, hitting the curb outside the entrance. Cracking the backseat open, a head of chocolate brown curls popped out along followed by a pair of neon green shoes. A line of keys jangled on the left side of her jeans from a carabiner as she leaped out of the truck, slamming the door. Rolling down the driver's window he chastised her.

"Solo llámame cuando estés, ¿vale?"

A woman kissed the man's cheek before opening the passenger's door. He cleared his throat looking at the younger girl.

"¡Santana! ¿Me estás escuchando?" She turned around looking back at him. His once lively curls had long gone limp, sunken cheeks, those dry battered hands, and textured olive skin. She smiled reassuringly.

"Sí Apa. ¡Maneja con cuidado!"

The woman smacked her upside the head.

"Ow! Sonia why?"

"You got twenty minutes before you have to sign in, act like you got some sense."

Santana mimed her talking as they started walking. Just in front of the entrance she stopped at a puddle.

Standing still, she looked at her distorted reflection in the murky water. The way her long curls fell in her face made it hard to see. Harder to see the lump bobbing in her throat, harder to see the heavy weight of her brows. Sonia glanced at her reflection in the puddle before leaning down and whispering.

"I wouldn't tie it up. It hides your jaw."

She lingered, really taking in her features before walking past the puddle.

Backstage girls turned their heads to her. Perfectly straightened hair, green eyeshadow layered over taped eyelids, a matching pink tweed Chanel set. She crossed her legs in the chair and sighed.

"The weather is straight ass out here."

"We are here on your accord Ms. Khan. But if it's any consolation we'll be back in California by Tuesday." The stocky man in a starched black suit stood militantly.

"I'm aware Vincent. Thank you. And I told you to just call me Rani." He picked stray lints off her coat and sighed dramatically.

"If there's something you want to say, say it."

"I just think it's unwise to audition here. You know Mr. Radcliffe wouldn't like it."

"He doesn't like anything I do. If he had it his way he'd lobotomize me." Seeing a poster on one of the boards she ripped one down and handed it to Vincent.

"Could you write down any bars I say? Any that just fuck?"

"I'm not quite sure what that means but I'll make due." 

One by one they heard their numbers.

"Number sixty-five!"

Santana stepped forward from backstage. Bumping into a girl she turned around.

"Sorry," she started but the girl was already gone.  The stage thrust out, with the judges and executives surrounding her from every side in those red velvet seats. They were so close it seemed too intimate.