Just One Voice

•Playing Well With Others•

~18~

"Ryls, if you use anymore hairspray, we're both going to get lung cancer or something." I spurt, coughing and fanning my face in hopes to clear the heavily contaminated air.

She laughs, despite my actual concern, giving one more generous spray for good measure, "I'm going for the 'hair lift plus face lift' look."

I crack open the one little window in our dorm room, quickly taking a whiff of the fresh morning air that seeps through. "Sorry, I would laugh if my vocal chords weren't currently solidifying."

"It's my first Elites rehearsal, I can't let a single hair fall out of place."

I move on to my next early Saturday task of making my bed, starting by tucking the corners of my faded white sheets back under the flimsy mattress, "I always thought that perfect ballerina buns were just kind of an exaggerated stereotype."

"Stereotypes exist for a reason," Rylie says, "I normally don't give a crap about my appearance, but any professional dancer has to look presentable. You're the newbie to this school, but now I'm new to the Elites. I may have made it into the group, but every day is like another audition."

Listening to her words while I work, I slowly nod my head. "I originally thought that getting into this school would be the hard part, but I was so wrong. Each day, each assignment, I feel like I have to prove that I'm good enough all over again."

Rylie slips a plush pair of shorts over her tights, "That's MACC for you. Why else do you think we average around fifty dropouts a year?"

I position the last pillow at the head of my comforter, "Heat stroke?"

"You're funny, Brooklynn Hope."

"Actually, I'm nervous." I truthfully admit, stepping into our minuscule bathroom to apply a small amount of chapstick. I can't help but steal a glance of myself in the mirror. Besides my now watermelon scented lips, my face remains bare of any other makeup. My frizzy hair delicately spills out of the loose messy bun I had thrown it up into about an hour or so ago. My slouchy top and black leggings really tie everything together, in my humble opinion, because I had simply made an effort to not look decent today. The opposite of pretty—ugly even. Because frankly, this is going to be a painfully long Saturday.

"Right, you've got McCally coming over soon. How did you even get that unlucky?"

"Beats me," I huff, falling onto my newly neat bedding.

"Well, that really sounds like a personal problem, so have fun. If he ticks you off enough to make you feel a little murder-y, just don't leave any blood stains. I don't want to have to pay damage fees."

I raise my index finger at her request, just before she speedily makes an escape, grabbing her dance bag and closing our room's door behind her.

I sigh, checking my phone's clock and deducting that Oliver should be here any minute now. I never thought that I would be welcoming Hell in human form itself into my home, but here we are. Though this school has pushed me to do a lot that I wouldn't normally agree to, and I'm still not quite sure how I feel about it.

Minutes trickle by, then tens of minutes pass, and still no signs of Bulldozer. Though I would be just as happy to not ever have to see his stupid face again, our grade depends on him not being a no-show.