dancing into her world / Taylor Swift

Chapter 2: The Audition

The hotel room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Amira sat cross-legged on the bed, her phone in one hand and the acceptance packet in the other. She had read through the instructions at least five times, but her mind refused to settle. Tomorrow morning marked the first day of rehearsals, and the pressure weighed heavy on her chest.

After all, the audition process had been anything but easy.

It had begun with chaos.

Amia arrived at the North Hollywood dance studio to find the street teeming with dancers. Hundreds of them, stretching and warming up on the sidewalk, their energy a volatile mix of excitement and nerves. Amira tried to stay calm, focusing on her breathing as she slipped into the line that snaked around the block.

Inside, the studio was massive, with high ceilings and wall-to-wall mirrors that reflected every movement. A panel of judges sat at a long table at the front, their expressions unreadable.

"Welcome, everyone!" a choreographer announced as the first group was ushered into the room. "This is going to be a long day, so bring your best energy. Remember: we're looking for precision, musicality, and storytelling. Make us feel something!"

Amira was in the third group to audition, and as she stepped onto the floor, her nerves kicked into overdrive. She tried to ground herself, rolling her shoulders back and shaking out her hands as the choreographer clapped to get their attention.

"Alright," he said, clapping his hands once more. "Here's what we're doing. This is a high-energy piece, so stay sharp. Watch closely."

The music started—a remix of Taylor Swift's Look What You Made Me Do—and the choreographer launched into a lightning-fast routine. The movements were crisp, each one demanding full-body precision. Amira's eyes stayed glued to him, memorizing every beat, every flick of the wrist.

When it was time for her group to perform, she took her place in the center, reminding herself to breathe.

"You've got this," she thought, even as her hands felt clammy. The music blared, and she moved.

The routine felt like a blur—fast turns, sharp arm movements, explosive jumps. Amira pushed herself to hit every mark, blocking out the other dancers around her. She imagined herself onstage, the roar of a crowd in her ears, the spotlight warming her skin.

When the music cut off, she froze in place, her chest heaving as she tried to gauge the judges' reactions. Tyce Diorio leaned forward, scribbling something in his notebook. The others whispered among themselves.

"Thank you," Tyce said finally, motioning for the next group.

Amira stepped back, her heart pounding. Had she been good enough?

The day dragged on. After the group routines came the freestyle round, where dancers were given thirty seconds to showcase their individuality. Amira waited her turn, watching as one incredible dancer after another took the floor. Some moved with wild athleticism, flipping and spinning like gravity didn't exist. Others exuded raw emotion, their movements telling stories that brought tears to Amira's eyes.

Her name was called, and she stepped forward, the nerves coiling in her stomach like a snake.

"Your track is Enchanted, instrumental version," the judge said, nodding toward the DJ. "When you're ready."

The soft piano notes filled the room, and for a moment, Amira closed her eyes. She let the music guide her, imagining it flowing through her veins. Then she began to move.

Her steps were fluid, a mix of contemporary and ballroom influences that felt uniquely hers. She dipped and twirled, her hands brushing the air like she was reaching for something just out of her grasp. She let her emotions take over, pouring everything she had into the performance.

When she finished, the room was silent. Amira opened her eyes, her chest heaving. The judges were quiet, their expressions inscrutable.

"Thank you," Tyce said after what felt like an eternity. "Next!"

Amira stepped back, her heart sinking. Had she done enough?

The final round came hours later, after several cuts had been made. Only fifty dancers remained out of the hundreds who had auditioned, and Amira was one of them. Relief coursed through her, but it was short-lived.

"This is the last test," Tyce announced. "We want to see how well you can partner. We'll pair you up, and you'll perform a duet to All Too Well (10 Minute Version). It's about connection, storytelling, and trust. Don't overthink it—just feel the music."

Amira's partner was a tall dancer named Julian, whose sharp features and calm demeanor gave him an air of quiet confidence. They had ten minutes to learn a brief choreographed sequence before performing it in front of the panel.

"Ready?" Julian asked, offering her his hand.

Amira, though her palms were damp. "Ready."

The music started, and they moved together, their bodies mirroring each other's movements. The duet was slow and deliberate, filled with intricate lifts and synchronized turns. Amira focused on the connection, meeting Julian's gaze and trusting him completely as he spun her into a dramatic dip.

When the song ended, she straightened, her heart racing.

The judges conferred for what felt like an eternity. Then Tyce stood, clearing his throat.

"Alright, dancers," he said. "Thank you all for your hard work today. This wasn't an easy decision, but we've made our selections. If I call your name, congratulations—you're officially part of the Eras Tour dance team."

At this point, Amira's breath hitched.

Names were read off one by one, each one accompanied by cheers and gasps. Amira waited, her stomach a twisted knot of anxiety.

...

"Amira Miller," Tyce said.

Her knees nearly buckled.

She barely registered the rest of the names, her mind a whirlwind of disbelief and elation. She had done it. She had made it.

When she stepped outside the studio later that evening, clutching her acceptance packet, the sky was painted in hues of pink and orange. The air smelled of jasmine and warm asphalt, and for the first time in years, Amira felt truly alive.

As she walked toward the parking lot, a soft voice called her name.

"Amira?"

She turned, her heart skipping a beat. Taylor Swift was standing there, a small smile on her face.

"You were incredible today," Taylor said, her voice as warm as the sunset. "I'm so glad you're joining us."

Amira's cheeks flushed. "Thank you," she stammered. "It's an honor to be here."

Taylor nodded, her gaze lingering for a moment before she turned to leave.

As Amira watched her walk away, a strange feeling settled in her chest—something between awe and anticipation.

She had no idea what the next few months would bring, but one thing was certain: her life was about to change forever.