Real Trouble

3

I wake up to the sound of my alarm, but instead of rushing to school like any normal day, I'm staying home. Today is the day. The day I've been working toward for what feels like forever. The audition at the KNB-affiliated Ballet Academy for a chance to be in one of the big performances this year—The Nutcracker, Apollo, La Bayadère, or Serenade.

I can already feel the nervous energy buzzing in my stomach. I've been a trainee here since I was 16, and now, at 18, this is my moment. I know I've got the skill. I've done my time as part of the Corps de Ballet, danced as a demi-soloist, and even competed as a soloist. But this? This could change everything.

After stuffing a quick breakfast down, I throw on my academy uniform and head to the mirror. Hair in a tight, perfect bun, leotard smooth and flawless. I'm not playing around today. With my bag slung over my shoulder, I grab my phone and head out.

The academy is alive with dancers everywhere. The energy is intense, everyone either warming up or nervously chatting with their friends. I head straight to the desk and grab my number—Trainee 3A1. My heart skips a beat when I see it. That's me. This is real.

I take my usual spot in the room next to the audition hall, pulling out my mat to start stretching. Flexibility is key, and I don't need to be the stiff one in the group. The secretary walks in, clipboard in hand, and starts calling out names by rank and year. As a Trainee 3A, I know my group is next.

Finally, she calls us. "Trainees 3A, it's time."

Here we go.

We enter the audition room and bow to the five Masters and the director, who are sitting in a perfect row at the front. The room is silent, except for the soft sounds of slippers brushing the floor. My heart pounds in my chest, but I keep my face calm. This is it—no turning back now.

The music starts, and I glide into position. The choreography we learned has been drilled into me for weeks, but I still run through it mentally as I start. It's a mixture of sharp movements and fluid transitions—pirouettes that need to be fast and clean, arabesques held long and strong. My body moves instinctively, a perfect combination of strength and grace, like I've become one with the music. My arms float through the air as I leap into a grand jeté, landing smoothly without a sound. Every detail counts—my toes pointed, my posture perfect.

We finish the routine, and I hold my final pose, chest rising and falling with my breath. Then, we bow. The room stays quiet as we file out, but I think I nailed it. I hope I nailed it.

As soon as we're out of the audition hall, I let out the breath I didn't even know I was holding. It's done. Now all I can do is wait.

Hee-kyung, my older sister, is already waiting for me when I leave the academy. She rolls down her car window, smirking. "So, how'd it go? Did you fall on your face or something?"

I give her a look and sling my bag into the backseat. "Yes, I tripped over my own feet, fell into the director's lap, and now they've banned me from ever dancing again."

She laughs as I slide into the passenger seat. "Classic Mi-kyung," she says with a grin. "But really, how was it?"

I stretch out in the seat, feeling my muscles relax for the first time all day. "It went fine. If I don't get a solo, I'll just quit ballet, become a professional sandwich maker, and never dance again."

"Sure you will," she teases, pulling out of the parking lot. We chat and joke on the way home, and for a while, I forget about the audition and all the nerves that came with it.

When we get home, Mom is waiting, like she's been standing by the door the whole time. "Mi-kyung, how did it go? Do you think you'll get a good part? Did you dance well? What did the Masters say?"

I laugh, dropping my bag onto the floor. "Oh my god, am I in an interrogation? Should I call a lawyer?"

Mom gives me her typical mom look, and I pull her into a hug. "It went fine, Mom. I did my best. I'm just glad it's over."

She ruffles my hair, but before she can say anything, the door creaks open. Ju-kyung walks in, and I swear I almost scream. She looks... well, she looks like she's a ghost or something. Her makeup is horrendous, a base too white, a lipstick very bright and two big circles around her cheeks that must be blush.

"Ya! What happened to your face?" I ask, half laughing, half cringing.

"You almost gave your mum a heart attack" says mum as he walks towards her.

"I just put on some makeup"

"Did you just get back from filming a horror movie?" Says Hee-kyung, while we try to not laugh.

She looks at us, dead serious. "I want to transfer schools."

"Will you please let me?" Ju-kyung says begging.

Before anyone can respond, Mom drops the real bombshell. "Goodness, you don't even have to beg for it."

We all stay silent.

"We're moving back to our old place, so you have to transfer."

Ju-kyung literally starts dancing around the room like she's just won the lottery, but I freeze. Wait, what? Moving back? That means... the academy. My academy is way too far from there. What about my friends? I'd have to start all over again!

"No, no, no," I say, my voice coming out shaky. "That can't happen. What about my academy? It's too far! What about my friends?" My heart starts racing, panic bubbling up. How can they expect me to leave everything behind just like that?

Ju-kyung's still doing her weird little happy dance, and I just stand there, frozen, watching my entire life flash before my eyes. This can't be happening. It can't.

What am I supposed to do now?